The rain came from nowhere.

One moment: clear sky, fire, low conversation. Next moment: a wall of tropical rain so solid and immediate it was less like weather and more like a decision the sky had made about them specifically.

“Cave,” Reid said. They ran.

The cave was smaller than it had looked from the beach. That was the first problem. The second problem was that there was only one viable sleeping area — a relatively flat section of rock at the back, wide enough for approximately one adult person. Of course.

Two adults could probably squeeze in if they were on close personal terms. They were not on close personal terms. Yet, her pussy corrected. Shut up.

They stood at the entrance dripping and assessed the situation with the careful neutrality of two professionals in a negotiation.

“I can sleep near the entrance,” he said.

“The entrance is where the rain is,” she said.

“Oh yeah.”

“We’re both adults,” she said.

A pause. “We are,” he agreed.

“You better behave.” Because I am not sure I can.

What followed was a logistical negotiation that would have been farcical under other circumstances — two people attempting to arrange themselves in a space designed for one, elbows and knees and the hard reality of a rock floor, trying various configurations with the focused energy of people who were absolutely not thinking about the other person’s body. The only position that worked without someone’s hip on bare rock was spooning. She faced the cave wall. He curved behind her. His arm settled across her waist because there was nowhere else for it to go.

I don’t mind, she thought. Her pussy disagreed: He could do better.

The rain hammered the rock outside. His breathing slowed behind her. She lay very still and stared at the wall. Then she fell asleep.

***

She woke up in the cave alone, again. How did he manage to get out without waking me?

She lay on the rock listening to the sound of the ocean below and basked in the morning light. The rain had done what it had come to do and was now gone.

She looked down toward the beach. He was already in the water. Of course he was.

She sat at the cave entrance in her denim cut-offs and black bralette with the open printed jacket pooling around her and watched him in the water. She thought about the previous night and his arm across her waist, his reaction to being caught staring, and she thought about the arranged marriage she was no longer on her way to.

“Fuck this,” she said.

She was already moving as she said it.

The cut-offs came off first. She left them where they came off. The bralette. The underwear. Splash.

He heard her before he saw her. Turned. Went completely still.

She walked toward him through the water like she had somewhere to be. He stood like he’d forgotten he could walk — to her or away, whatever he chose. At least a part of him hadn’t forgotten.

She reached him. Her hands went straight to his waistband. She held them there and looked up at him — decision time.

He pushed them down.

Continue the story in And Then There Were Three.

All images are AI generated and do not depict any real person.