My husband wrestles me down, pinning me against the mattress, and (graciously, might I add)—I let him.

Okay, well, I couldn’t stop him if I wanted to…but I don’t want him to.

I’m a fucking winner. Always have been, always will be.

But for once in my life, I actually want to lose.

His lips are burning as they crush mine. The night may be cool, but his skin is like fire. Not even the breeze coming off of the ocean can cool the heat of his body…

Or the heat of his passion. Evan is moving against me like never before.

I’ve had him steamy. This is far from the first time I’ve had him all hot and heavy, believe me.

It’s different this time.

There’s heat, and then there’s fucking heat.

Evan’s kisses this time around make every other kiss between us seem like jalapeño peppers. These kisses? They’re Carolina ghost reapers.

It’s not just his kisses, though. It’s the wanting. The sheer fucking need for him. It ripples through me with every caress, every squeeze, again and again at every point of contact between his skin and mine.

We’re burning, but we’re burning together.

“Take me already,” I growl at him.

“Fucking beg for it then,” he purrs at me with a sneer.

We’re drunk. God, we’re so fucking drunk. I’m not even sure how much of this is tequila at this point, and how much is just pure fucking pheromones.

But I want him.

I want him bad.

It’s not just the tequila talking.

Tequila is an enabler at best at this point.

This is something primal. Something passionate beyond passion—something so intense and visceral and real that if I don’t have him right fucking now, I feel like the bonds between my very cells are going to dissolve under pressure, and I’ll turn to a puddle of Emilia goo here on these pristine fucking sheets.

It’s already started between my thighs. The slickness of my cunt is unbearable as Evan positions his cock against me, ready to fucking drown in my need.

“Yes,” I’m hissing at him. “Yes! Yesssss. Take me, take me, fucking take me—”

He makes that face that he always does when he’s about to plunge into my pussy, and I brace myself for impact.

I’m fucking feral at this point. Feral and wild and impassioned and in love.

It’s like preparing yourself for a car crash…then the driver gently pulls the car over to the side of the road.

“Take me, take me, take—huh?” I open my eyes and stop begging for a second to see what fucking gives.

I should be coming around his cock by now, dammit! Not laying here, soaking wet and losing my mind out of fucking wanting!

“Hold on,” Evan says.

So I dig my nails deeper into his shoulders and he winces.

“Not here,” he grunts, taking the pain like a man.

And before I can argue, he has me swept up in his arms.

Evan carries me naked and horny and dripping to the beach just outside the cabana. Normally, I’d argue that beach sex is totally dumb and mega cliché—but as of right now, I don’t give a damn.

He can fuck me tits-deep in the ocean right now for all I care.

I just need him to fuck me.

That’s the important thing: his cock in my cunt.

Beyond that, I could care less.

“Perfect,” he says, even though I’m so fucking desperate for him I don’t understand how he can give two fucks about atmosphere right now.

Sure, the moon is glistening overhead in a silver crescent, sending reflections rippling off the water like this is a Bob Ross original work of art.

And sure, the sand is still warm from the sun as he lays me down in it.

And sure, the lapping of the tide against my toes is like, kind of nice or whatever.

But it’s all so fucking irrelevant to me right now.

I’ve gone full caveman, babes. I want to be taken. Used! I want to be plowed until the fucking sun comes up. Hell, even after the sun comes up—we can keep going all day and get the world’s weirdest tan.

I’m just imagining that—the outline of my legs wrapped around Evan’s waist, burned into his skin by the sun itself—when Evan springs something on me that I didn’t fucking expect.

“Em. Babe,” he says, caressing my cheek.

He looks down at me with a whole hell of a lot of serious contained in his dark, gorgeous eyes.

And even though I’m so horny I could pretty much die…

This seems important.

I whimper.

And I blink.

“I love you.” His voice is all raspy and deep.

“I know,” I tell him. “I love you too. Fuck me already.”

I have patience, okay? But only so much.

“Em…” he says again.

I bite my lip.

“I want to put a baby in you tonight,” he admits. “If that’s wrong, I’m sorry. I don’t even fucking know why. And I know this is coming out of nowhere, but—”

“Hey,” I say. Even just to stop him from rambling for a hot second.

A little smile plays on his lips. “Hey.”

He’s fucking right—it’s from straight out of nowhere. For a second, I wonder if it’s not the tequila talking. Or the ocean. Or the moonlight.

But then I think about it. Really fucking think about it.

And just like that, in an instant, it all clicks.

“Let’s do it, then,” I tell him. “I want it. I want you. I want everything, Evan. Give it to me—I can take it. It’s alright.”

He plunges his cock as deep inside me as it can go without even another moment’s hesitation.

That’s how things end here.

I am his. And he is mine.

I’m an author. I know stories, and I know how they end.

If you’re an asshole, you leave things on a cliffhanger.

If you’re a decent fucking human being, you end on something sweet and poignant. Something that ties the whole story together in a nice little bow.

Happily ever after, right?

But here’s the thing about real life: it keeps on going long after the final page is turned.

This story is over.

My ever-after couldn’t be happier if I wrote it myself.

But this adventure?

Babe, this adventure is just beginning.