I Came For You

Tara pulled up on that bicycle built for two. I’d seen them in photos—two seats, one long frame, the kind of thing that felt like it belonged to another century. Watching her pedal toward me made the whole thing suddenly real. We rode it all the way to the bluffs above Santa Monica, the ocean wind cutting across our faces. I held my phone the entire way; my followers would never forgive a missed clip of something like this. When we finally stopped, the view knocked the breath out of me—blue water stretching for miles, the pier tiny in the distance. That sight stayed with us all the way back to the room. The door had barely clicked shut before we were on each other, hands pulling at shorts and shirts, mouths hungry and open. Tara dropped to her knees first, tongue working hot and slow against me until my knees gave out. I pulled her up, stripped her the rest of the way, and pressed my thigh between her legs until she ground down hard. We moved to the bed in a tangle, her fingers inside me, mine inside her, until everything narrowed to the wet sounds and our breathing. I came so hard it left my vision white for a second—sharp, deep, impossible to shake. We caught the last bit on camera. Now the rest of it belongs to anyone who wants to watch.