SWEATY MORNING BY THE SHORE 18+

I  woke  to  the  first  whisper  of  dawn,  a  fragile  thread  of  light  slipping  through  the  shutters,  teasing  me  awake  before  the  world  fully  stirred.  The  sky  beyond  my  balcony  was  a  canvas  of  soft  pinks  and  golds,  hues  bleeding  into  one  another  like  watercolor  left  to  run  wild.  My  island my  sanctuary stretched  out  below,  a  private  slice  of  Mexico  carved  from  the  chaos  of  my  life,  a  place  where  the  relentless  clamor  of  the  outside  world  could  not  reach  me.  It  was  more  than  a  retreat;  it  was  a  fortress,  a  testament  to  the  years  I  had  spent  clawing  my  way  out  of  the  shadow  cast  by  the  Arquette  name.  Here,  surrounded  by  cliffs  and  sea,  I  could  breathe.  Here,  I  could  pretend  the  past  did  not  exist.

The  air  was  thick  with  the  scent  of  salt,  sharp  and  briny,  mingling  with  the  sweeter,  headier  notes  of  hibiscus  that  climbed  the  villa’s  walls  in  reckless  bursts  of  red  and  pink .  It  hung  heavy  around  me,  warm  as  a  lover’s  sigh,  and  I  pulled  my  silk  robe  tighter,  the  fabric  cool  against  my  skin  as  I stepped  onto  the  balcony.  The  tiles  were  still  damp  with  dawn’s  dew  beneath  my  bare  feet,  grounding  me  in  the  quiet  rhythm  of  this  place.  Beyond  the  railing,  the  ocean  glittered  under  the  rising  sun,  its  surface  a  mosaic  of  light  and  shadow,  waves  rolling  in  with  a  cadence  that  echoed  the  restless  thud  of  my  heart.  I  had  always  known  peace  was  something  to  be  felt  here, a gift  I  had  fought  for,  a  stillness  I  had  earned.  But  that  morning,  something  else  stirred  inside  me,  a  flicker  of  unease,  a  pull  I  could  not  name.  Something  or  someone  was  shifting  the  balance  I  had  so  carefully  built.

I  lingered  there,  hands  resting  on  the  railing,  The metal, cold and rigid, pressed firmly against my palms.  The  island  unfolded  beneath  me  like  a  living  thing, lush  green  hills  sloping  down  to  meet  the  shore,  the  sand  a  pale  crescent  kissed  by  the  tide.  It  was  mine,  bought  with  the  fortune  I  had  inherited  and  shaped  with  the  will  I  had  forged.  Five  years  ago,  I  had  stood  on  this  very  spot,  the  ink  still  drying  on  the  deed,  and  promised  myself  this  would  be  my  haven.  No  paparazzi,  no  boardroom  battles,  no  echoes  of  my  father’s  voice  telling  me  I  would  never  be  enough.  Just  me,  the  sea,  and  the  silence.  I  had  spent  months  overseeing  every  detail: the  villa’s  whitewashed  walls,  the  infinity  pool  that  seemed  to  spill  into  the  horizon,  the  paths  winding  through  gardens  where  bougainvillea  tangled  with  jasmine.  It  was  perfect.  Untouchable.  And  yet,  as  I  stood  there,  watching  the  dawn  ignite  the  world,  I  felt  the  first  crack  in  that  perfection,  a  tremor  beneath  the  surface  I  could  not  ignore.

The  threats  had  started  six  months  ago vague,  insidious  little  shadows  creeping  into  my  life.  Letters  slipped  under  the  door  of  my  penthouse  in  Mexico  City,  emails  that  bypassed  every  filter,  voicemails  left  on  a  private  line  I  had  never  shared.  “You  will  pay  for  what  your  family  has  done,”  one  said,  the  voice  distorted  and  cold.  “The  Arquette  legacy  ends  with  you,”  read  another,  scrawled  in  jagged  black  ink.  They  were  disjointed,  untraceable,  a  puzzle  with  no  clear picture.  My  security  team  called  them  “low  risk” annoyances,  not  dangers but  my  father  disagreed.  “You  are  a  target,  Emily,”  he  had  said,  his  tone  clipped  over  the  phone,  the  same  tone  he  had  used  when  I  was  a  child  caught  failing  to  meet  his  impossible  standards.  “Wealth  like  ours  comes  with  enemies.  You  need  protection.”  I  had  argued,  of  course I  always  did but  in  the  end,  I  had  relented,  if  only  to  quiet  him.  That  is  when  Eduardo  arrived.

I  did  not  hear  him  at  first,  not  over  the  murmur  of  the  waves  or  the  rustle  of  palm  fronds  swaying  in  the  breeze.  My  eyes  drifted  downward,  past  the  terrace  steps,  past  the  line  of  coconut  trees  that  marked  the  boundary  between  villa  and  beach,  until  they  settled  on  the  shore.  That  is  when  I  saw  him:  Eduardo.  He  was  a  silhouette  against  the  dawn,  his  broad  frame  cutting  through  the  stillness  as  he  moved  through  his  morning  push ups  with  a  precision  that  bordered  on  ritual.  The sand moved beneath his hands, giving way under his weight,  and  his  curly  hair dark  and  unruly clung  to  his  forehead  with  sweat,  catching  the  light  in  faint  glints.  Every  flex  of  his  arms,  every  rise  and  fall  of  his  body,  sent  a  jolt  through  me,  sharp  and  electric,  like  a  current  I  had  not  known  I  could  feel.

It  had  been  thirty seven  days  since  he  started  working  for  me I  had  counted ,  though  I  would  never  admit  it and  every  morning,  without  fail,  he  was  there,  turning  my  ocean  view  into  something  more.  Something  alive.  I  could  not  look  away,  though  I  knew  I  should.  He  had  been  hired  to  guard  me,  to  stand  between  me  and  whatever  faceless  threat  lingered  beyond  the  horizon,  but  from  the  moment  I  met  him,  I  had  known  he  was  more  than  that.  It  was  those  eyes deep  hazel,  flecked  with  gold,  locking  onto  mine  with  an  intensity  that  stole  my  breath  the  day  he  arrived.  “Eduardo  Vega,”  he  had  said,  extending  a  hand,  his  voice  low  and  smooth,  tinged  with  an  accent  I  could  not  quite  place.  “I  will  keep  you  safe ,  Miss  Arquette.”  I  had  shaken  his  hand,  felt  the  warmth  of  his  grip,  and  something  inside  me  had  shifted something  I  had  buried  years  ago  beneath  layers  of  control  and  ambition.

Now,  watching  him,  I  gripped  the  railing  tighter,  my  pulse  racing  as  he  paused  to  swipe  a  hand  across  his  brow.  His  white  tank  top  clung  to  him,  damp  and  translucent,  outlining  the  contours  of  his  chest,  the  smooth  expanse  of  tanned  skin  that  seemed  to  glow  in  the  morning  light.  Those  shorts simple,  functional did  not  hide  the  power  in  his  legs,  the  way  his  muscles  tensed  and  released  with  every  movement,  He  was  discipline  personified,  a  man  who  lived  by  a  code  I  could  only  guess  at,  and  yet,  standing  there,  I  could  not  stop  myself  from  wondering  what  it  would  be  like  to  see  that  discipline  falter.  To  see  him  unravel,  just  for  me.  The  thought  was  reckless,  absurd,  a  betrayal  of  everything  I  had  built.  I  was  Emily  Arquette heiress,  philanthropist,  the  woman  who  had  turned  a  crumbling  family  empire  into  a  force  for  good.  I  did  not  lose  myself  in  fantasies,  especially  not  about  a  man  paid  to  protect  me.

If  he  knew  what  I  was  thinking,  I  would  be  ruined.  He  could  sue  me  for  harassment,  twist  my  fleeting  thoughts  into  a  legal  weapon .  The  headlines  would  scream  scandal “Arquette  Heiress  Crosses  Line  with  Bodyguard” and  he  would  walk  away  with  millions  while  I  drowned  in  the  wreckage .  My  father’s  voice  echoed  in  my  head:  “You  are  reckless,  Emily.  Always  chasing  trouble.”  Maybe  he  was  right.  I  should  have  turned  back,  retreated  to  the  safety  of  the  villa,  let  the  morning  unfold  without  me.  I  tried  to God,  I  tried but  before  I  could  stop  myself,  my  voice  broke  the  silence,  sharp  and  impulsive.

“Eduardo!  You  are  up  early.  Why  do  you  not  swim  with  me  instead?  The  water  is  perfect  this  time  of  day.”

He  looked  up,  and  for  a  heartbeat,  I  was  caught  in  that  calm,  piercing  gaze,  as  if  he  were  peeling  back  every  layer  I  had  wrapped  around  myself.  My  breath  hitched,  a  sudden  panic  flaring  in  my  chest.  I  had  gone  too  far,  had  I  not?  Blurred  the  line  we  had  both  been  pretending  to  respect the  line  between  duty  and  desire,  between  what  was  safe  and  what  was  not.  But  then  he  stood,  brushing  sand  from  his  palms  with  a  casual  grace  that  belied  the  tension  I  felt,  and  nodded.

“If  you  are  sure,  Miss  Arquette…”  he  said,  his  voice  low  and  smooth,  that  faint  accent  curling  around  my  name  like  a  secret  whispered  in  the  dark.

“Emily!”  I  corrected,  sharper  than  I  meant  to.  He  was  off  duty  now,  and  I  was  tired  of  the  formality,  the  distance  it  forced  between  us.  “And  I  am  sure.  Call  it  your  morning  workout  and  keep  me  company.”

A  flicker  of  a  smile  crossed  his  face, small,  rare,  and  enough  to  make  my  stomach  flip  like  I  was  sixteen  again,  breathless  and  undone.  He  followed  me  to  the  water’s  edge,  his  footsteps  steady  behind  me,  and  I  let  my  robe  fall,  the  silk  pooling  on  the  sand  like  a  discarded  promise.  My  white  swimsuit  felt  too  exposed  under  his  glance,  the  fabric  clinging  to  me  in  a  way  that  made  me  hyper aware  of  every  curve,  every  inch  of  skin.  I  caught  the  brief  sweep  of  his  eyes  before  he  turned  away,  tugging  off  his  tank  top  in  one  fluid  motion.  I  nearly  forgot  to  breathe.  The  sunrise  gilded  his  skin,  painting  him  in  shades  of  gold  and  bronze,  highlighting  every  line  of  muscle, the  broad  planes  of  his  shoulders,  the  taut  ridges  of  his  abdomen.  I  dived  into  the  water,  desperate  to  cool  the  heat  creeping  up  my  neck,  to  drown  the  thoughts  I  could  not  shake.

The  sea  welcomed  me,  warm  and  familiar,  its  embrace  as  constant  as  the  island  itself.  I  swam  out,  letting  the  rhythm  of  my  strokes  wash  away  the  tension  I  could  not  name a  tension  that  had  been  building  since  Eduardo  arrived.  He  was  beside  me  soon  enough,  his  strokes  strong  and  sure,  matching  mine  effortlessly.  We  did  not  speak,  just  swam,  the  island  fading  behind  us  as  the  ocean  stretched  out  like  it  could  swallow  us  whole.  The  silence  between  us  was  not  awkward; it was  alive,  charged  with  something  I  did  not  dare  define.  After  a  while,  we  stopped,  treading  water  as  the  sun  climbed  higher,  spreading  gold  across  the  waves  like  molten  light.  I  tilted  my  head  back,  closed  my  eyes,  and  let  myself  float,  surrendering  to  the  buoyancy  of  the  sea.  He  was  close I  could  feel  it,  his  presence  steady  and  warm,  a  tether  in  the  vastness.  It  was  all  I  could  do  not  to  reach  for  him,  to  keep  my  hands  still  against  the  pull  of  something  I  did  not  fully  understand.

I  did  not  know  when  I  drifted  off,  but  suddenly,  I  was  somewhere  else.

The  world  softened,  its  edges  blurred  until  it  was  just  me  and  the  beach.  The  sun  was  still  low,  brushing  the  sky  with  peach  and  lavender,  but  the  island  felt  different, wilder,  untamed,  like  it  was  mine  in  a  way  it  never  had  been  before.  My  swimsuit  was  gone,  replaced  by  a  cloth  lighter  than  air,  a  whisper  of  fabric  that  clung  to  me  like  a  second  skin.  I  walked  toward  the  water,  my  bare  feet  sinking  into  the  sand,  and  there  he  was:  Eduardo,  standing  in  the  surf,  waiting.

His  eyes  burned  into  mine,  dark  and  alive  with  something  I  had  only  dared  to  imagine  in  the  quiet  corners  of  my  mind.  He  was  shirtless,  sea  spray  kissing  his  skin,  droplets  catching  the  light  like  tiny  stars.  I  stopped  short,  my  pounding  heart  so  loud  I  was  sure  he  could  hear  it  over  the  crash  of  the  waves.  He  stepped  closer,  the  water  swirling  around  his  legs,  and  I  lost  my  ability  to  move though  I  did  not  want  to.  The  air  between  us  crackled,  electric  and  heavy,  and  I  felt  the  weight  of  every  moment  that  had  led  us  here.

“Emily…”  he  whispered,  and  it  was  not  the  polite,  measured  tone  he  usually  used.  It  was  raw,  intimate,  daring,  like  he  had  been  holding  my  name  inside  him  for  too  long,  letting  it  simmer  until  it  could  not  be  contained.  The  sound  sent  a  shiver  racing  down  my  spine,  igniting  something  deep  within  me,  and  I  closed  the  gap,  my  hands  trembling  as  they  found  his  chest.  His  skin  was  hot  under  my  fingers,  a  stark  contrast  to  the  cool  sea  air,  and  he  sucked  in  a  breath,  his  hands  settling  on  my  hips,  pulling  me  against  him  with  a  force  that  stole  the  air  from  my  lungs.

I  looked  up,  and  his  lips  crashed  into  mine slowly  at  first,  tentative,  like  he  was  testing  the  waters,  then  deeper,  hungrier,  as  if  a  dam  had  broken.  His  taste  was  salt  and  something  I  could  not  name,  something  wild  and  addictive  that  made  me  press  closer,  my  hands  sliding  up  to  tangle  in  his  hair.  The air was thick with salt and the faint tang of seaweed, carried on the restless breath of the ocean. It clung to my skin, a damp veil that shimmered faintly under the fractured sun rays spilling across the shore. The waves rolled in ceaselessly, their deep, resonant hum vibrating through the sand beneath me, a living pulse that seemed to sync with the unsteady thudding of my heart. I could feel it all: the vastness of the sea, the weight of the dawn pressing in around us, as if the world itself were holding its breath, waiting.

He groaned, soft and low, and that sound raw, unguarded cut through the stillness like a match struck in the dark. It ignited something deep within me, a spark that flared and spread, setting everything ablaze. My senses sharpened, attuned to every nuance of the moment: the faint rasp of his breath, the warmth radiating from his skin, the way the shadows played across his face, softening the hard lines of his jaw. Eduardo. His name hovered on the edge of my thoughts, a quiet anchor in the chaos threatening to consume me.

We stumbled back onto the sand, a clumsy, desperate retreat from the water’s edge. The cool, pliant grains shifted under the weight of my heels, and I barely registered the sensation before his body was above me, a solid, grounding weight that pressed me deeper into the earth. The sand cradled me, soft and forgiving, molding itself to the contours of my spine as if it, too, were complicit in this moment. His presence was overwhelming, his broad shoulders blocking out the sky, his chest rising and falling with breaths that mirrored my own. I could feel the heat of him through the thin barrier of our clothes, a promise of something more, something inevitable.

The cloth between us melted away, dissolving like mist under the sun. I did not know how it happened whether it was his hands, deft and sure, or mine, trembling with need and I did not care. It did not matter. All that mattered was the sudden, electric contact of skin against skin, the way his palms slid over me, mapping every curve and hollow with a reverence that made my chest ache. His touch was deliberate, unhurried, as though he were committing me to memory, tracing the outline of my ribs, the dip of my waist, the flare of my hips. Each brush of his fingers sent tendrils of heat spiraling through me, pooling low in my belly, tightening into something almost unbearable.

I arched into him, my body moving before my mind could catch up, a silent plea for more. My breath caught in my throat, sharp and ragged, as his lips followed the path his hands had blazed. They pressed against the sensitive hollow of my neck, soft at first, then firmer, a slow descent that left a trail of fire in their wake. His mouth lingered at my collarbone, teeth grazing the delicate ridge of bone, and I shivered, the sensation rippling through me like a stone dropped into still water. Every kiss sparked heat, blooming across my skin, igniting nerve endings I hadn’t known existed. The ocean roared louder now, its rhythm swelling to match the pulse hammering in my ears, a wild, untamed cadence that drowned out everything else.

I was sinking, pulled under by the tide of him his scent, his warmth, the sheer, unshakable reality of his presence. My hands found his hair, thick and slightly damp from the sea air, and I threaded my fingers through it, anchoring myself as the world tilted beneath me. “Eduardo…” His name slipped from my lips, a whisper, a prayer, a spell cast into the fresh ocean breeze in the morning. It hung between us, fragile and potent, and he stilled for a moment, lifting his head to meet my gaze.

His eyes locked onto mine, and in that instant, the chaos receded. The hazel depths shimmered under the sun lights, flecks of gold and green catching the silvery glow, and there was something there, something tender, something unguarded. It was a quiet promise, unspoken but palpable, woven into the way he looked at me, as if I were the only thing that mattered in the vast, endless stretch of the universe. That look broke me open, peeling back layers I had kept hidden even from myself, exposing the raw, vulnerable core beneath. I felt bare, stripped of pretense, and yet safe, held by the weight of his gaze.

He leaned down again, and this time his kiss was harder, more insistent, a claim as much as a surrender. My hands slid to his shoulders, fingers digging into the taut muscle there, nails biting into his skin as I pulled him closer. I needed him closer, needed to erase the space between us, to blur the lines where I ended and he began. The world spun, a dizzying whirl of sensation and sound: the crash of the waves, the rustle of the breeze, the faint creak of the sand shifting beneath us. Time bent, folding in on itself, stretching and contracting as our bodies found a rhythm. It was slow at first, tentative, a dance of exploration, his hands sliding down my sides, my legs tangling with his, the press of his chest against mine. Then it shifted, urgency bleeding into every movement, a desperation that clawed at us both.

The sand was cool against my back, a stark contrast to the heat building between us. It gave way under our combined weight, cradling us in a shallow hollow that felt like a secret carved out of the shore. The sea sang on, its voice rising and falling, a constant, eternal witness to the fire igniting within me. His breath was hot against my ear, ragged and uneven, and I could feel the tension coiling in him, mirroring my own. My hands roamed his back, tracing the planes of muscle, the faint sheen of sweat that glistened under the hues of the rising sun. Every touch fueled the blaze, stoking it higher, tighter, until it was a pressure I could barely contain.

It built and built, a relentless wave surging toward its peak. My heart pounded, a frantic drumbeat that echoed in my chest, my throat, my fingertips. I clung to him, lost in the intensity of it, in the way his body moved with mine, sure, deliberate, yet trembling with the same need that consumed me. The heat coiled tighter, a white hot thread stretched to its breaking point, and then it snapped. The release crashed over me, sudden and overwhelming, a tidal wave I couldn’t outrun. I cried out, my voice swallowed by the roar of the ocean, my vision fracturing into shards of light that danced behind my closed eyes. It was too much and not enough, a collision of sensation that left me gasping, trembling, undone.

He followed moments later, his grip tightening on my hips, his breath hitching as he buried his face against my neck. I felt the shudder that ran through him, the way his body tensed and then softened, collapsing into me as the last echoes of his release faded. The light behind my eyes splintered further, breaking into a thousand glittering pieces, and for a moment, I was weightless suspended in a space where nothing existed but the two of us, the sand beneath us, and the sea stretching out into the dawn…

The aftermath settled over us like a blanket, heavy and warm. My chest heaved as I fought to catch my breath, the air cool against my flushed skin. Eduardo shifted slightly, his weight easing off me, but he did not pull away. His hand rested on my waist, fingers tracing idle patterns against my skin, and I turned my head to look at him. His face was softened now, the sharp edges blurred by exhaustion and something deeper contentment, perhaps, or peace. The rays of the sun caught in his hair, turning it to golden, and I reached up to brush a strand from his forehead, my touch lingering.

The ocean hummed on, its song quieter now, a soothing lullaby that wrapped around us. The sand clung to my skin, a gritty reminder of where we were, but I did not mind. It felt right, somehow raw, unpolished, real. I could still feel the echo of him in my body, a faint pulse that matched the rhythm of the waves, and it grounded me, tethering me to this moment. I did not want it to end, did not want to let go of the fragile, perfect thing we had built here on this stretch of shore.

“Eduardo,” I whispered again, softer this time, testing the weight of his name on my tongue. He smiled at a small, private thing that crinkled the corners of his eyes and leaned in to press a kiss to my temple. It was gentle, almost chaste, a stark contrast to the urgency of before, and it made my heart stutter in a way I hadn’t expected. There was a promise in that kiss, too, a quiet vow that lingered in the space between us.

The morning stretched on, endless and vast, and we lay there, tangled together in the sand. The feeling was like one of those magical fairy tale nights with the stars wheeled overhead, faint pinpricks of light against the velvet dawn and the sea whispering its secrets, a language I couldn’t decipher but felt in my bones. I closed my eyes, letting the sound wash over me, letting his warmth seep into me, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself simply be here, now, with him.

Resting in his arm as feeling the rising sun was some another level for me. My heart could not able to stand it anymore. I needed to do something to break the atmosphere, like adding a pinch of salt to a dessert or sugar to a spicy sauce to break the acidity. When I checked him, I saw that there was something resident, pure and virgin. I helplessly pressed my lips against his and his immediate response was revealing that he was not done with me yet. His hunger, fed mine to starve me. I wanted him even more like we were not the one that blended together few minutes ago. Our hands were in a rush like Wall Street on Monday mornings… I felt his stocks down there rising against my thighs. Found out myself pressing towards him even more. He never lost an opportunity to make me his and himself mine. As he moved faster, harder and deeper, my voice increased simultaneously.

“Eduardo!”  I  screamed,  the  sound  was literally ripping  from  me,  wild  and  desperate,  as  the  world  dissolved  into  sensation. I kept screaming ‘’Eduardo’’ like I was declaring to the universe, what was going on between us.

His hands were holding my shoulders and shaking me as I was screaming his name and responding me ‘’Ma’am!’’

All of a sudden I opened my eyes. We were in the middle of the night, I was all sweaty in my bed. Eduardo was holding me by my shoulder and calling me ‘’Ma’am!’’

‘’Ma’am, I think you need to go to the hospital!’’

That was the last thing I have heard before I fainted in his hands like crumbling cookies.