They had been together for almost six months now, and they seemed happy, especially since she had moved into his apartment. One night, no different from the rest, he asked one question he had been meaning to ask for some time.

She paused, her expression thoughtful, as if weighing her feelings carefully. Her soft voice barely broke the silence as her green eyes met his, filled with a mix of hesitation and vulnerability.

"I don’t know…" she said, her soft voice as her green eyes met his.

He stayed patient, clearly not expecting a definitive yes answer.

"It’s just… I’ve never done it before."

Her answer seemed to make him happy, but at the same time, he could tell she might still be hesitant and could say no. He didn’t rush to say anything, just gave a small, understanding smile.

She glanced down, her long, dark lashes fluttering as if weighing her options. Then she nodded, a slow, tentative movement.

"Maybe… if we were somewhere special? Somewhere romantic?"

And just like that, it was decided. He gifted her with a trip to the island she once said she dreamed about—turquoise water, palm trees swaying in the heat, the kind of place people brag on social media. Their bungalow was tucked away from everything, with a wide terrace that looked straight out at the ocean and a canopy bed covered in white sheets that seemed almost too soft to touch. It was a place where time seemed to slow down, where everything looked untouched and pure. A place he imagined would make her feel safe enough to surrender. It was perfect.

The night arrived as they enjoyed a candlelight dinner out on the terrace, accompanied by soft music and the gentle sounds of the ocean. The air was filled with exotic scents that awakened their senses and made the moment feel even more special. As the night deepened, they slowly leaned into each other, sharing tender kisses and warm embraces. The world around them seemed to fade away in the perfect, romantic prelude. Playful teasing gave way to lingering touches, the growing heat of anticipation pulsing through their bodies.

He shifted, pressing down against him, moving in slow, deliberate rolls of her hips. His breath caught, his hands tightening at her waist.

She repeated the motion once, twice more, then stopped, almost laughing as she pulled back just enough to look at him. His need was obvious, written in his face, in the way his body strained beneath hers.

With a teasing smile, she slipped from his lap and rose gracefully. At the doorway, she paused. “Wait for me under the sheets,” she said, before disappearing into the bathroom. Moments later, the sound of running water carried out onto the terrace.

He watched her, mesmerized, as she emerged from the shower, the silk robe clinging loosely around her, its soft folds teasingly revealing the curve of her small, perky breasts. His eyes followed, fixed, hungry, as though the sight were a performance meant only for him. Slowly, he reached out, letting his fingers brush along the delicate fabric before slipping beneath it to trace the smooth lines of her body. His touch was determined and firm, gliding over her shoulders, down her back, and finally settling on the swell of her hips.

His hands peeled the robe away inch by inch, unveiling the warm skin beneath as he leaned close, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered, “You’re beautiful. You know that?” The words sent a shiver through her, whether from his voice or the way his palms now caressed her round, firm buttocks, kneading softly, awakening a delicious tension in her muscles.

She slowly shifted, lowering her head deep into the softness of the pillow, hiding her face as if in sweet anticipation. Her back arched naturally, lifting her hips high and offering herself openly—her curves exposed in a silent invitation that was both vulnerable and tantalizing.

He trailed his fingers down her spine, pausing at the small of her back. A shiver ran through her.

"Are you ready?" he asked with his warm voice as he playfully kissed her ass cheeks.

She nodded, swallowing hard.

"Just go slow."

He positioned himself carefully, his hands steadying her hips. He prepared her with plenty of lube, his fingers warming up the tight hole.

When he pushed inside, she gasped, her fingers tightening on the sheets. Her body tensed, a small whimper escaping her lips. He stopped and looked to see her reaction.

"I don’t want to hurt you," he said, rubbing soothing her back.

"Go on, it’s OK," she whispered.

He started again, with deliberate and slow movement as his gaze locked onto her, craving every inch of this moment. His hands steadied her, possessive, sensing the subtle resistance beneath his touch. A rush of excitement mingled with tension took over him, like a thrilling secret waiting to unfold. As he pressed harder, the anticipation built—his desire sharpened by something he longed for beyond the ordinary, something more intense. Her body tensed briefly, but gradually gave in, softening around him, letting him in as her hesitations faded away.

He murmured praises, his words a soft reassurance, as his hips started to move in a subtle rhythm that built between them, growing steadier and more confident. She clung to the sheets, her breaths coming quicker, and murmured something he didn’t understand. He fully pulled back, letting her breathe for just a moment before pushing back in, teasing her and savoring the fresh surrender. He repeated this move three more times, each one a slow, deep thrust.

She wanted to see the awe in his eyes, the pride in his voice as he unlocked something sacred, a king conquering new territory, claiming her ass as his own. And so, she gasped at the right moments, shivered when expected, gripped the sheets just enough to seem overwhelmed.

In the end, isn’t that what he wanted? To be her first, to be the one who teaches, who guides, who owns this part of her?

"Come in me," she whispered, as she sensed the moment approaching.

She moaned again, pushing back against him, letting herself slip deeper into the role.

He groaned, his grip on her tightening. She knew he was giving her exactly what he wanted.

Afterward, as they lay tangled together, his fingers lazily tracing circles on her damp skin, she exhaled softly.

"It hurt a little."

Then, with a small, secret smile, she added,

"But it was also really sexy. I think being here helped a lot, too. It just felt right. Romantic."

She glanced toward the open balcony, where the moonlight spilled across the white sheets, painting them in silver and shadow. The scent of the ocean drifted in, mingling with the remnants of their passion.

He smiled, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple.

"I wanted it to be special for you."

"It really was."

James sighed beside her, content. She listened to his breath, slow and steady, knowing he thought he’d won something. But she knew better. She didn’t think of it as a lie, more like a performance. A carefully woven illusion.

The scent of the ocean drifted in, and for a moment, it wasn’t James touching her. The past crept in.

At first, it was Mark. Something like a joke, or a dare, more like it, after too much tequila one night. The idea seemed ridiculous, but she did it anyway, just to see if she could. It wasn’t the grand, sensual experience people talked about—it was more of a challenge, something unexpected.

And somehow, she liked it. The sensation, the way it felt so different, so taboo. Mark’s excitement didn’t hurt, but the whole thing felt more like an experiment.

Later, it was herself. The dildo, cold and hard, its texture so different from a man’s touch. She’d experimented, curiosity driving her to explore what she liked. There was something more private about it, just her and her body. No expectations. No one to impress. She learned to enjoy it on her own terms, to understand how it felt, how to love it.

Then there was Paul. Paul, with his quiet fascination for her ass. For that particular hole. She remembered how it had started—slowly, almost innocently, as a compliment.

"You have such a beautiful ass," he’d said once, his voice low, his eyes never leaving it.

She’d laughed it off, but something about the way he looked at her, touched her, felt different. There was a hunger in his eyes when his hands wandered lower, always drawn back to the curve of her body, to the part she used to consider a private, forbidden place. To her, it had always been something "other," something a little more adventurous.

But with Paul, it became something else entirely. Her ass was his playground, and she was more than happy to let him explore it.

And now, now it was James and this slice of paradise.