Chapter 3

They’d eaten dinner barefoot on the veranda, the air cooling just enough to ease the sweat from their bodies. Between bites and sips of wine, they’d slipped into easy laughter—old memories, Ron stories, a few scandalous moments from Lena’s wilder days.

By the time the plates were cleared and the sun had vanished beyond the sea, they were relaxed. Buzzed. Charged with something that had no name yet.

Later...

Marc lay on his back in just his boxers. Lena beside him in a soft camisole and hipster shorts. They were close. Not touching. But the space between them pulsed like a live wire.

Marc glanced over, voice low and teasing. “So ... about that video.”

Lena raised a brow. “You’re relentless.”

“You promised,” he said, smirking.

She sighed dramatically. “You’re a bad boy. I’m naked and having sex in that video.”

Marc grinned. “Then maybe you shouldn’t show me.”

“Oh, now you grow a conscience?”

He laughed. “I mean, if it’s too much for you...”

She swatted his arm. “Don’t cry, little bro. I’ll show it to you.”

She reached for the tablet.

She looked at him, then tapped play.

On-screen, Lena straddled Nova’s thigh, grinding slow and deep, her slick center leaving wet trails as she moved. Her nipples brushed Nova’s lips—soft, flushed, aching to be taken. Nova’s mouth opened, tongue darting out, teasing the tip.

Then Nico stepped into frame. He kissed the back of Lena’s neck, slow and open-mouthed, his thick, glistening cock pressed between their bodies, leaking against her spine. The way he looked at her—hungry, reverent—made it clear: this wasn’t just lust. He was worshipping her.

The camera angle widened. Nova sucked Lena’s nipple now, one hand still guiding her thigh, the other teasing circles on her clit. Lena was gasping, rocking faster, her fingers tangled in Nova’s hair. Nico positioned himself behind her, guiding the head of his cock to her slick entrance. Ron’s voice murmured, low and warm from behind the camera: “Take her slow. Make her feel every inch.”

Nico slid into her. Lena cried out, her head tipping back, one hand flying to Nova’s mouth, the other bracing against Nico’s thigh.

“That’s it,” Ron breathed. “Now fuck her. Just like that. Let her come with both of you on her.”

Marc’s breath stuttered. He adjusted his position, spreading his thighs wider, his cock flushed and slick with pre-cum. The glow of the screen shimmered off his chest.

Beside him, Lena pulled her shorts halfway down her thighs. She was soaked. Her fingers slid between her folds, two slipping in easily. She moaned aloud, head rolling on the pillow.

Marc stared. Then met her eyes.

She didn’t look away.

His hand moved. Slowly. He reached down, wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock, and stroked it once, then again—tight, wet, controlled. The contact made him shudder. His chest rose with every breath, his knuckles trembling.

Lena gasped beside him, fingers circling faster, slick and deep. Her thighs shook. Her breath hitched. Her whole body began to hum.

They weren’t watching the screen anymore.

Not really.

They were watching each other.

Marc’s voice broke. “You were gorgeous. You are ... fucking gorgeous.”

Lena came first. Her back arched, toes curling, belly pulling tight as a soft cry escaped her lips. She bit down on it, barely. Her fingers didn’t stop—she rode the waves until they let her go.

Marc followed. Jerking harder now, his head tipped back, his jaw clenched—he groaned low and long as his orgasm hit. Thick streaks of cum landed across his stomach, chest, and waistband, glistening in the low light. His cock twitched once more, spilling another rope.

Marc groaned. “Fuck, Lena.”

Lena reached out, dipped her fingers into the mess. Brought it to her nose. Then her tongue.

“Tastes like heavy cream,” she murmured.

Marc looked wrecked. Breathing like he’d run.

She laughed softly and peeled off her shorts the rest of the way, then tossed them at his face.

They landed wet. Heavy. Right across his mouth.

“Good night, little bro,” she teased.

He pulled them down slowly, looked at her with something between hunger and awe.

“We’re not sleeping yet,” he said.

Lena smiled. “We’re not?”

Marc’s voice was low, thick with suggestion. “There’s more video files. Can we watch another one?”

She raised a brow, still breathless. “Let’s have a break first.”

The night air was thick and slow, clinging to their skin like steam. The moon hung low over the sea, and the waves rolled with lazy rhythm. On the veranda, the only light came from a flickering candle and the soft glow from inside the house.

Lena stood at the railing, barefoot, a sarong tied low on her hips. Her camisole was damp and clinging to her skin—until she tugged it up and over her head, tossing it onto a nearby chair with a sigh.

“Too hot,” she muttered, not bothering to look back.

Now her back glistened with sweat, hair pinned up messily, loose strands brushing her shoulders. Her breasts were bare, nipples hard in the heat. Her chest rose and fell, still flushed from what had just happened.

Marc wore only a sarong as well, loosely knotted. In his hand, he held Lena’s panties—damp and warm. He brought them to his nose and inhaled slowly, deeply. His cock stirred beneath the fabric.

Lena turned, saw him, smiled without shame.

She stepped closer, her fingers brushing along his abs. She traced the lines cut into his stomach, then the curve of his ribs. Her hands moved to his arms—his triceps, his biceps—squeezing gently, admiring the way he tensed under her touch.