As the first vestiges of dawn illuminated the horizon, painting the veil of darkness with hues of gold and crimson, Chase, Drew, and a few other unidentifiable individuals returned to the shoreline.
The guys had an arsenal of surfboards and associated equipment, all prepared for an early morning aquatic adventure.
Undressing beside the smouldering embers of the campfire, the men revealed bodies hardened by countless hours in the gym.
Contrary to my expectations, none donned neoprene wetsuits, instead opting for simple, quick-drying board shorts—a choice I reflected, completed by a T-shirt I had borrowed from Royce.
My once-bold declaration that I could conquer the sea's wrath was mercilessly pulverised against the wild waves.
Icy waters, akin to the frozen obstacles of Iceland's glaciers, sent shivers to the very bone, and the appearance of scales spurting from the depths like apparitions shattered the delusion of tranquil waters teeming with graceful tunafish.
The underwater adventure had transformed into a harrowing struggle for survival. I dismounted the waxed surfboard for the umpteenth time since convincing myself this was a good idea, only to be unceremoniously plunged backwards into the ocean's lair when an enormous wave towered above me.
Obliterated by the tireless inundation of swirling water, my body battered and bruised like a lone leaf caught in a cyclone, I clutched at the air with a closed throat.
Royce's words had been clear: When you tumble into the surf, let your breath flow to stave off the panic.
But there I was, defiant of guidance, with every bit of learned advice slipping through my fingers like sand.
Forty-five minutes of lessons dissolved into the salt water. I was nearly my own undoing, a rebel against the very rules meant to save me.
Instead of rising to the surface, I flailed beneath the water like a fish out of its element, my movements desperate and disoriented.
The surfboard, once a beacon of hope, had vanished from my grasp, the loosened ankle strap a cruel reminder of my inexperience.
Disoriented and consumed by hysteria, I struggled to maintain my composure, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I fought against the pull of the ocean's undertow.
Just as the hopelessness threatened to pull me into the abyss, a lifeline emerged. A strong, inked arm wrapped around my waist and yanked me to the surface.
The moment my head broke through the water, I gasped, a deluge of air rushing into my lungs, mingling with the salty tang of the sea.
Trembling from head to toe, I clung to Royce with unwavering gratitude. My heart overflowed with appreciation for his timely intervention.
"You never fucking listen!" Royce's harsh voice cut through my panic-stricken thoughts. His hands, normally rough and calloused, felt surprisingly gentle and pruned against my cold cheeks. "I told you not to panic."
I bet my makeup was a mess, running down my face in streaks of mascara and eyeliner like a smear campaign.
"Panic leads to hyperventilation, making it difficult to breathe." Royce's words, each one a sharp jab at my carelessness, felt like a slap to the face. "It can also cause dizziness and lightheadedness, increasing your risk of injury." His grip on my cheeks tightened slightly, his thumb denting my flesh, a silent reminder of the danger I had put myself in. "And what can hypoxia trigger, Liv?"
Our intertwined bodies bobbed gently in the ocean, the rhythm of the waves lulling me into a false sense of security.
My legs encircled his torso in a gesture that belied the precariousness of our situation. I clasped onto his broad shoulders. "Drowning and marine life encounters."
"Brain damage," he punctuated, his voice carrying an undercurrent of sternness that served as a stark reminder of my already fragile mental state. "Is that what you want? Another knock to the fucking head."
"Can you yell at me later?" My body was wracked with coughs and spasms as I tried to expel the water that had filled my lungs. "I am still recovering from narrowly escaping the jaws of one of the largest tuna fishes I have ever seen in my life! It was practically a fabled leviathan from the deep!"
Royce's signature slicked-back hair had surrendered to the elements, with long, wet strands sticking to his forehead and framing his face like a wild mane.
"Should you at any point lose your balance and fall off your board while surfing," he began, his tone a low rumble that held the tinge of pent-up frustration, "the most important thing to do is to relax and let your body rise to the surface." Ignoring my previous attempts at justification, he continued his stern lecture. "Once you have regained composure, take a deep breath and carefully assess the situation. If you have sustained injuries, signal for assistance or swim back to shore cautiously."
Perched atop surfboards, Drew and Chase appeared as weightless figures gliding across the water's surface. Their sharp gazes were fixed on our exchange, their faces revealing a blend of curiosity and perhaps a hint of amusement.
One could almost feel the unspoken questions churning in their minds as they deciphered the mystery behind Royce's decision to include me in their otherwise exclusive adventure.
My clumsy shot at surfing had unwittingly disrupted their usual camaraderie, intruding upon their cherished "boy time."
Royce extended his arm and retrieved my runaway board, bobbing idly and forlornly upon the water's surface. He drew it between us, his fingers tapping the board's surface to emphasise his point. "Get on."
Drawing in a lungful of air, I adjusted my position along the board's expanse.
The borrowed clothes, crafted to expel moisture rapidly, stuck to my form like a translucent second skin, subtly revealing the curves beneath.
I aligned my body along the board's longitudinal axis whilst he fastened the tether to my ankle, binding me to the board.
Royce returned my gaze, our eyes meeting in a moment of shared focus, mere inches apart, as he reassessed my readiness.
"Line up." He ensured the board's alignment in preparation for the approaching wave. "Remember what I said: paddle towards the wave to generate the necessary speed and momentum, then swiftly pivot your board perpendicular to the wave's direction, positioning your body to face the beach head-on. Execute the pop-up manoeuvre and firmly grip the rails."
Nodding, I licked the taste of gritty salt from my chattering lips.
Royce seized my hands and demonstrated the proper hand placement, his palms positioned over my knuckles. "You have to forcefully flip the board to gain access to the underside of the wave. Tuck your arms and legs close to your body and ride it out." He waited for me to nod. "Got it?"
The temperamental surf instructor, his countenance carved with a perpetual frown, directed his unwavering gaze upon me, anticipating some indication of comprehension.
A tentative nod later, I made a silent pact to delve deeper into my reserves of resolve. I observed, with a scintilla of bewilderment clouding my perception, as he positioned himself on his board, our fingertips nearly brushing against each other.
Unlike Chase and Drew, who rode the waves with respectful distances between them, Royce lingered nearby as if drawn by an invisible magnetic pull.
It was clear, though Royce's lips were sealed, his proximity was born of my uncanny ability to attract mishap as if I were a veritable lodestone for accidents waiting to happen.
"Hannah's sidekick!" Drew boomed, eliciting an exasperated eye roll from me. It seemed our mode of address had regressed to stupid titles rather than my actual name. "How was your trip under the sea?" His shrug was slow, casual and aloof. "Did you find Sebastian?"
"What?" Observing the surfers languidly drifting along the distant stretch of water, a curl of disdain involuntarily crept onto my lips. "That's not even funny."
"Teenagers." Drew turned to Chase, whose infectious laughter peeled through the air, offering a chorus of encouragement. "They think they know everything. You give them an inch, and they swim all over you."
My fingers were firmly affixed to the edges of the surfboard. "I must say, your effort to imitate a Trinidadian crab is lamentably inadequate."
"Go on, Royce." Drew's lips pursed in a comical grimace. "Kiss the girl." His body bobbed rhythmically along the water's surface, the surfboard securely positioned between his spread legs. "You gotta pucker up your lips like this."
Royce's eyes darted over to his friends with a flicker of disdain, like they were a persistent thorn in his side rather than the source of companionship he ought to cherish. "Drew, go and fuck yourself."
Drew chuckled heartily. "How does one fuck themselves?"
"If anyone can ace that skill, it's you." Royce's quip was delivered with a laconic drawl. His gaze was magnetically lured to the approaching wave. "Get ready to line up, Liv."
In a motion of acquiescence, I swung my attention to the approaching wave, its formidable presence looming in the distance yet far too close for comfort.
Adrenaline rushed through my blood. I followed Royce's lead, skilfully steadying the lineup while paddling with undeterred focus.
In unison with Royce, I rotated my board perpendicular to the wave's anticipated trajectory and braced myself for the tide of powerful energy.
The wave's imminent impact is seconds away. I tensed my muscles and prepared for the explosive act of popping up and seizing the rails.
A distinct shift in my position heralded the transition as I ascended rapidly. One moment, I bobbed serenely on the top of the water and then was catapulted upwards.
The events unfolded with such rapidity that rational thought was rendered futile. In a split-second decision, I flipped the board into position, aligning myself with the wave's surging energy like a professional.
A spark of belief ignited my soul. I almost squealed. I had finally mastered the technique.
However, my optimism was short-lived when dense water crashed down on me, the implacable force knocking into me with such ferocity that it nearly wrenched my head from my bloody shoulders.
The wave's ride ejected me into the frothing pit of the ocean, the surfboard slipping out of my possession.
In an unforeseen, jarring twist of fate, I once again separated from the board, the savage spirals taking turns pummelling me and tossing me around like a mere plaything caught in an underwater tornado.
Royce's words repeated in my mind like a mantra, an anchor in the heart of chaos: Do not panic.
Determining to quell the rising tide of terror, I surrendered to the water's hold and let my body float towards the surface.
Surfacing from the deepness of the sea, I gasped for air, the cool, life-giving oxygen replenishing my lungs with ease.
Grateful to no longer be captive to the elements, I watched as the swell of water resumed its inexorable wade towards the picturesque shore.
At the crux of the boundless ocean, I could faintly make out the indistinct silhouettes of Drew and Chase, along with their fellow surfers, as they made their way to the beach for a respite.
My feet could not find purchase on the seabed. I drifted weightlessly, my chin resting gently on the rippling stretch of water.
Royce rode the wave's crest towards me, the board slicing through surges with effortless precision. He raised himself into a straddle position, seized my wrists and pulled me out of the water.
Blowing a steady breath, I sat astride the board, facing him, waiting for his next instruction.
Royce's eyes, framed by a curtain of wet strands, held mine captive. "You okay?" His fingers flexed restlessly around my waist. I could not believe how perfectly I fitted in his hands. "You almost had it that time."
With a hesitant nod, I tacitly acknowledged the overestimation of my abilities.
The art of surfing, once perceived as a mere recreational pursuit, had revealed itself as a discipline of intricate complexity, demanding far more dedication and perseverance than I had initially anticipated.
However, I was not deterred by the daunting prospect of an extended apprenticeship. I would master this exhilarating sport eventually.
In the peaceful silence of the coastal region, I observed the breathtaking skyline with its fiery strokes of paradise.
Profound gratefulness settled over me as I breathed in the crisp sea air.
In that ephemeral instance of serenity, I found solace in the beauty that surrounded me, a beauty so pure, so exquisite, that words could only attempt to capture its essence.
I was drawn back to Royce. He did not see me looking at him. His attention was captivated by the mesmerising splendour of the ocean's artistry.
My eyes traversed his muscular form, impressed by the detailed artwork on his chest, which was undeniably a remarkable display of well-defined musculature and aesthetically appealing body art.
As my eyes ascended, tracing the contours of his broad shoulders and the sturdy column of his neck, I got detected in his gaze. His serious eyes held mine with an intensity that sent a flush of heat to my cheeks.
The realisation that he had caught me admiring him, once again, only served to heighten my embarrassment.
"Do you want another ride?" His deep voice carried a rough edge, each word punctuated by the rise and fall of his Adam's apple, a subtle strain that hinted at the raw masculinity beneath his sun-kissed skin. "You might catch the wave this time."
I assented with a curt nod.
"We'll have to find your board." His gravelly whisper made my skin tingle. I was too lost in the sculpted lines of his pectoral muscles to respond, struggling to comprehend how any man could possess such physical perfection. "My eyes are up here, Liv."
My heart thundered like a drum in my chest while the world dissolved into a distant murmur.
An overpowering sensation stirred within me, one that, despite the amnesia's veil, remained eerily recognisable. It was the sensation of infatuation and composition of emotions that sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach whenever he drew near.
Unsure of how to handle this uncharted territory, I wrestled with prohibited thoughts, each one wilder than the last.
Royce's presence had become an inescapable preoccupation, his every word and gesture painting him in a romantic light from which I could no longer resist or escape.
The soul-consuming fire that had first sparked in my chest when I met my husband, the kind that made you hungry for just one more moment, had flared up from nowhere.
Only now, it was an inexplicable enchantment so fiercely for a man who lived a world away from the life I had pledged to lead.
This emotional turmoil, both intoxicating and unsettling, threatened to sweep me into a maelstrom of conflicting desires and loyalties, leaving me questioning the very foundations of my existence.
"Royce," I croaked, flustered by the flurry of passion for a man who was not my husband. "I should go home..." before I succumb to an act of indiscretion with someone who had ensnared me in a web of deceit since our encounter at Mac's Bar. "Perhaps we can surf on a different occasion."
Royce's large hand, with an almost predatory swiftness, snatched my wrist. His silence was deafening, his stare a painful force that bored into my very soul.
My eyes fluttered shut.
Then, with a slow, agonising deliberation, his rough hand, imbued with a boldness that debunked the unspoken tension between us, ventured along my thigh.
His fingers ascended, inch by painstaking inch, until he reached the apex of my thigh.
His thumb, a mischievous explorer, dared to creep beneath the borrowed shorts he had so generously provided, teasing the sensitive skin of my hip bone, kindling a trail of goosebumps across my flesh and arousing a tremor of anticipation.
I caught my breath.
My rational mind prodded me to question his actions, to challenge his audacity in breaching the boundaries of respectability and appropriateness.
I should have recoiled and verbalised my disapproval.
But instead, under the watchful gaze of the sun, our sole witness, I stayed quiet, consenting to the exploration of his hand to cross the curve of my backside, to linger upon my cheek, as if his actions were the most commonplace of movements.
Why had I allowed him to overstep the limits of propriety? The answer, though shrouded in the contradiction, is undeniable – it felt intoxicatingly good. He reawakened a dormant sensuality that had long been suppressed and neglected.
Although Royce's nearness was a siren's call, I lacked the courage to confront the reality of the situation.
My eyelids remained sealed in a desperate attempt to preserve the illusion of innocence.
This self-imposed blindness provided a temporary refuge, a sanctuary where I could evade the weight of my actions and face my husband later without the burden of truth.
Royce, unrestrained in his pursuit, leaned in, his lips dangerously close to my ear as he guided my hand to his chest.
My fingers traced the outlines of his muscular pecs, his touch leading me downward, inviting me to explore the path to his lower stomach, where his well-defined abs rippled beneath my fingertips.
"Liv," he rasped, his voice a seductive caress, "tell me to stop."
Shaking my head, I forced myself to swallow, the dryness in my throat a glaring manifestation of my weakness and indiscipline. I revelled in the sensation of his fingers charting a course from the arch of my derrière to the intricate network of my spine.
Each pad of his fingertips danced across my skin, sending a jolt of electricity through my body. He expertly identified and soothed the knots of tension that had accumulated in my back whilst moving closer to forbidden zones.
Then, without warning, his mouth descended upon my shoulder, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin with a feather-light whisper. His teeth, nipping and grazing, inscribed a graceful line across my flesh.
I shuddered.
Royce possessed an intimate knowledge of my body, almost as if he had touched me a thousand times before. I responded to his every move, instinctively complying with his wants and desires.
His soft, wet lips teased the line of my shoulder to the hollow of my throat. There, he paused, his breath warm, lingering for a moment before he delivered a sharp, biting kiss. I ached to resist his touch, to push him away and halt this descent into the unknown, but I was trapped in a tangle of passion.
Royce's tongue glided along the edge of my ear, his teeth clamping down on my earlobe. His arm wrapped around my waist, drawing me to him until our chests touched and our knees kissed either side of the board.
Just when I thought I could not take anymore, he seized my throat in a forceful grip, his inked fingers encircling my neck.
His thumb, like a relentless piston, pressed against my windpipe. He rubbed back and forth with a methodical rhythm, seeking to measure the strain in my laboured breathing.
"Liv," he grated out, barely holding onto restraint. "If you were mine, I would kiss you."
The deliberate absence of sight heightened my other senses, transforming them into keen instruments of perception.
Royce's thumb followed the shape of my lips with a brushstroke. His ragged breath nuzzled the groove of my neck.
Then, slowly, he repositioned his head, his nose gently grazing mine, a teasing prelude to his lips, which hovered at the corner of my mouth, promising a taste of the forbidden.
It remained unclear what catalyst precipitated the unexpected turn of events. Our friendship had been one of mutual tolerance. Yet, in this secluded enclave, far from the prying eyes of the world, like moths drawn to an irresistible flame, a compelling longing took hold of us—a desire so potent that no conceivable power could have thwarted our actions.
Acting on a sudden impulse, I leaned in and kissed him softly.
His response was muted, his lips pliant yet unreceptive, as if I were the least desirable option in the world.
A knot of uncertainty tightened in my stomach. I may have read the signals wrong. He wanted to kiss me, right? My relationship status is what stopped him...
Royce's body stiffened. His hand found the nape of my neck, tugging me closer, and his lips parted to receive mine. His kiss was insistent, deepening the connection between our tongues.
I should not have enjoyed it, let alone initiated it, but I was powerless to resist. He had a way of making me forget my identity like I was someone else entirely.
Butterflies uncaged in my chest.
My moral compass faltered, and my dedication to my husband wavered. I craved this, the sensation of being desired so intensely that it would be unbearable for this man to exist without me.
And he reciprocated, kissing me with a fervour that spoke of desperation, a raw, unrestrained hunger that mirrored my own.
His dominance was undeniable. He took control of the kiss—like I belonged to him. I was his to claim and consume.
Royce yanked my legs around his waist so that I was sitting in his lap, his hard length digging into me. He fisted my hair, keeping my head still as our tongues tangled together.
He tasted like a night of alcohol, sea salt and himself. It was something I had never experienced before, yet here I was, savouring every second of it.
With an urgency that brooked no resistance, I hurled myself into his embrace, our bodies melding together in a fervent collision.
My lips pressed against his with an insatiable hunger that refused to be appeased. I knew that this moment—this unadulterated passion —could never be replicated. I surrendered to its intensity, determined to wring every last drop of ecstasy from its fleeting existence.
The world around us faded into oblivion. All that existed was the feverishness of our heartbeats, the hypnotic blend of our breaths, and the insane obsession that drew us closer until we were but two halves of a whole.
When Royce broke the kiss and moved his lips to my throat to feel my pulse, I opened my eyes, breathing rapidly, caught sight of the cliff house and inwardly died.
How could I be out here with a man I barely knew, kissing him like he was the oxygen I needed to breathe when I was supposed to be up there, waiting for the man I married to come home?
Yet, I never pulled away.
Fate, however, had other ideas.
A colossal wave, a veritable leviathan of the sea, heaved itself skyward and cast an ominous pall over our idyllic interlude.
In the span of a heartbeat, before our reflexes could register the peril—before our entwined forms could disengage—the wave descended upon us with thunderous force.
——————————————
I will be back for typos. ❤️
Thoughts on the update?
—Olivia?
—Royce?
—Drew?
—Chase?
—Daniel?
—Also, I noticed, whilst typing this out, how much I like short names. 🤣 I have never noticed it until now, but it seems to be a common yet unplanned theme.
TLCK is similar. 🤷🏻♀️
Are there any mentions I missed?
I have the second update ready...👀
Thank you for reading! 💙
Please don't forget to vote. ⭐️