The turnout is nothing more than a sandy patch carved out beside the road, but the view steals my breath. The beach stretches wide and wild, framed by dark cliffs, waves pounding the shore in a steady, relentless rhythm.
Damien kills the engine, and the silence rushes in — broken only by the wind and the ocean. He swings off the bike, pulls his helmet free, and runs a hand through his hair.
“This is where I come when I need to think,” he says, voice carrying over the crash of water. “Cold air… it shakes the noise out.”
I pull off my own helmet, setting it on the seat. The wind whips my hair across my face, and before I can brush it away, Damien steps closer, catching the strands gently in his fingers. He tucks them behind my ear, his touch lingering just a little too long against my cheek.
There’s nothing polite or staged in the way he’s looking at me now. No one to play to, no sponsorship to protect. Just that quiet, unguarded hunger I’ve caught in him before — the one that always made me wonder what it would feel like if he stopped holding it back.
I don’t know who moves first. One second there’s space between us, the next his mouth is on mine.
It’s not like the kiss at the diner. That one had an audience, a purpose. This one is just… us.
His hands frame my face, rough palms warm against my skin, and I’m melting into him before I can think about what it means. The taste of him is salt and cold air, the scrape of his stubble making my lips tingle. He kisses like he’s been starving for years, like he’s finally letting himself take what he’s wanted.
I grip the front of his jacket, pulling him closer until our bodies line up and the warmth between us blots out the windentirely. His tongue brushes mine, slow and sure, sending heat spiraling down my spine.
When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard, our foreheads resting together.
“That,” he says, voice low and certain, “wasn’t for the cameras.”
“I know,” I whisper. And I do. God, I do.
The wind whips around us, but I barely feel it — not when Damien’s mouth is moving over mine like he’s determined to make up for every second we didn’t have.
His hands slide from my face to my waist, drawing me in until my hips press to his. A soft, involuntary sound escapes me, and something in him changes — his restraint frays.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to shrug out of his jacket, tossing it onto the sand between us. His eyes catch mine, dark and burning. “Lie down.”
It’s not a question, and my knees go weak at the sound of it.
I sink onto the jacket, the fabric still warm from his body. The ocean roars behind him as he kneels over me, bracing his hands on either side of my head. For a beat, he just looks at me — like he’s memorizing this, committing every detail to memory.
Then he’s kissing me again, harder this time, his weight shifting as he lowers himself just enough that I can feel the solid length of him pressing into me through our clothes. My fingers slide up under his shirt, finding the heat of his skin and the ridged muscle I’d felt on the bike. He groans into my mouth, the sound low and rough, and dips his head to my neck.
The scrape of his stubble against the sensitive skin there makes me gasp, tilting my head back to give him more. His lips find the spot just below my ear, and heat floods through me so fast I have to curl my fingers into his sides to keep from pulling him fully on top of me.
“Damien…” My voice is barely a whisper, carried away by the wind.
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “Tell me to stop.”
But I don’t. I can’t.
Instead, I hook my leg around his, bringing him closer, and his mouth crashes back to mine. The world narrows to the taste of him, the weight of him, the way every touch feels like it’s been years in the making — because it has.
The kiss turns almost desperate, teeth and tongues tangling, the sound of the waves crashing behind us like they’re egging us on. Damien’s hand cups my face, tilting my head just right so his mouth can trail down the side of my throat.
I shiver — not from the cold — when his lips graze the sensitive spot at the base of my neck. He lingers there, breathing me in like he’s been starving for this.
“You have no idea,” he murmurs against my skin, voice ragged. “All the times I wanted you… and had to pretend I didn’t.”
My chest tightens, the confession sinking deep even as his mouth moves lower, slow and deliberate over my collarbone. “Damien—”
“I stayed away because you were with him,” he says, his hand slipping under my sweater, warm against my bare stomach. “And because I knew… once I had you, I’d never give you back.”
The heat in his touch makes my back arch. His palm slides up, fingers splayed wide, like he’s trying to claim every inch of me. He kisses down my stomach, his stubble a rough contrast to the softness of his lips, and I can’t stop my fingers from tangling in his hair.
Then his hands are at my waistband, pausing — giving me that moment to stop him. I don’t.
