Late evening at Pedro's beachside apartment in Swakopmund
The ocean breeze drifted through the open windows, mingling with the scent of garlic and herbs still lingering in the air from the dinner they had just finished. Lisa was barefoot, in one of Pedro's oversized shirts, her hair damp from the shower. She stood by the sink, drying a wine glass when Pedro came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist.
Pedro's voice was low, teasing. "You always look good… but there's something about you in my shirt that drives me insane."
Lisa smirked, tilting her head back against his chest. "Is that your way of saying thank you for the pasta?"
He leaned down, lips brushing her neck. "It's my way of saying I'm about to ruin your plans of doing the dishes."
She turned in his arms slowly, their bodies now flush against each other. The air between them charged with tension—the kind that had been building for days. He looked at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered, eyes dark, intense.
"I missed you," Lisa whispered, her fingertips tracing the line of his jaw.
"I missed this," he said, voice husky. "Us. No lies. No distance. Just you and me."
Pedro kissed her—soft at first, like a question, then deeper, rougher, as if he was starving for her. Lisa melted into him, her hands tangling in his curls, pulling him closer. They stumbled toward the couch, knocking over a pillow on the way but neither of them cared.
He hovered over her, eyes searching hers. "Tell me you're mine."
"I've always been yours," she breathed. "Even when I was too stupid to see it."
That did it.
The air between us is thick with heat and want. Pedro's lips find mine again—slow this time, deep and consuming. His hands cradle my face like I'm something precious, but the way his body moves against mine says otherwise—says he needs me, craves me.
Still nestled on the velvet couch , our bodies press close, skin slick with desire. He runs his hands down my sides, over my hips, gripping me like he'll lose his mind if he lets go.
"You're driving me insane," he whispers, his voice low, rough, broken with lust. "I'll never get enough of you, Lisa."
I slide my hand down his chest, fingers teasing the waistband of his sweats, feeling the shiver ripple through him. His breath hitches. That alone makes me smile.
"You don't have to," I whisper back. "I'm all yours, Pedro."
With that, he lifts me again, carrying me effortlessly to the bedroom. My legs stay wrapped around him, my lips locked in a kiss that's more hunger than sweetness. He lays me down on the bed, bodies glowing in the soft gold light from the hallway.
This time, there's no pause. No teasing.
He enters me slow and deep, and it's everything.
The way he looks at me eyes burning, hands firm on my hips—makes my heart thunder. He moves like he knows my body better than I do, like every stroke, every thrust is mapped in his memory.
My nails dig into his back, head thrown back in ecstasy. "Pedro… oh God—"
He groans, hips meeting mine harder now, deeper. "Say my name again."
"Pedro…"
His name falls from my lips like a prayer—again and again—until my whole body arches beneath him, drowning in waves of pleasure. He kisses every inch of my skin as if grounding himself to reality, as if I'm the only thing tethering him to this world.
Then, in that final rush, our bodies tremble together. His forehead rests against mine, his breath mingling with mine, warm and uneven.
He doesn't pull away immediately. Instead, he wraps his arms around me, holding me tight, like he's afraid I'll disappear.
"I love you," he murmurs against my lips, soft but fierce.
I trace my fingers through his hair, smiling, heart full. "I love you too, Pedro. Always."
And for a moment, everything is still. Just the sound of my breathing, the scent of love in the air, and the way his arms never leave my body—even in sleep.