“You look like you’re looking for something.” The voice came from nowhere, soft as the surf, and yet a knife cutting through the silence.
I flinched, almost dropping the towel. My eyes took a moment to filter him out of the blinding light that stabbed through the olive trees. He stood there, barefoot, his feet in the sand, his jeans rolled up to his knees. No shirt. His skin was so deeply tanned by the sun that the lighter streaks around his eyes looked like a mask. I guessed him to be in his early thirties, maybe a few years younger than me.
“I’m looking for peace,” I said, noticing how hoarse my voice sounded. I hadn’t spoken a word in hours.
He smiled, not broadly, just with the corners of his mouth. “Then you’re in the right place. Here, most people only find what they’re not looking for.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I turned away and let myself sink onto my towel. The gravel pressed through the fabric into my skin. I closed my eyes, listening to the gentle lapping of the waves breaking lazily against the rocks. When I opened my lids again, he was gone—as if the sun had absorbed him.
Half an hour later, I ventured into the water. It was cooler than expected, and the shock of how salty it was made me exhale loudly. I swam a few strokes, then let myself drift onto my back, arms spread wide. The sky was so pale it looked almost white. I closed my eyes and let the sun burn on my face.
“Careful you don’t fall asleep.”
His voice was close—too close. I spun around, swallowed water, and coughed. He stood waist-deep in the water, hands in the pockets of his shorts. Up close, I saw that his eyes were green—not the bright green of meadows, but a dark, swampy green, like moss on a hidden stone.
“Don’t scare me like that,” I gasped.
“Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry. “I’m Marin.”
“Lena.”
“Do you really want peace, Lena, or are you looking for something else?”
His directness caught me off guard. I hadn’t exchanged more than three sentences with anyone in days. Loneliness had grown on me like a second skin, but now I felt it cracking under his gaze.
“I don’t know what I’m looking for,” I said honestly.
“Then let me show you.”
He reached out his hand to me. Without thinking, I took it. His fingers were rough, his palms calloused—working hands. He pulled me gently toward him until I stood close. The water reached my chest, but only his waist. I felt his warmth, even though the water was cold.
“Come with me,” he said, letting go of my hand. He waded back to the shore, not turning around to see if I followed. I followed.
On the beach, he grabbed a backpack I hadn’t noticed earlier and pulled out a bottle of wine. “Homemade,” he said, “from my father’s grapes. Want to try?”
We sat on a flat rock that jutted out of the water like a table. The wine was tart and smelled of sun. I drank straight from the bottle, taking my time. He watched me drink, his eyes roaming over my body, slowly, as if memorizing every detail.
“You’re alone here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “Because I was tired of always doing what others expect of me.”
He nodded, as if he understood exactly. “I know that. Here, in this cove, I’m also the person I really am. Not the son, not the employee. Just Marin.”
His hand lay on the rock, close to mine. I felt the urge to touch it, but I hesitated. Instead, I took another sip of wine.
“Tell me about your life here,” I said.
He talked. About fishing with his grandfather, about the olive groves that belonged to his family, about the tourists who came every summer and left. His voice was deep and steady, like the murmur of the waves. I listened, letting myself be lulled, as the heat of the wine crept into my belly.
At some point, the bottle was empty. The sun hung low, painting the water in shades of orange and red. Marin stood up, stretched. His bare skin gleamed in the last light.
“Are you staying?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He sat down again, this time closer. I felt the warmth of his thigh against mine. A slight shiver ran through me, but it wasn’t from cold. He put his arm around my shoulders, as naturally as if we’d known each other forever.
“You’re trembling,” he said.
“I’m not cold.”
His gaze met mine, and this time I didn’t look away. His fingers stroked my upper arm, slowly, in circles. I let my head fall back, closed my eyes. His lips touched my shoulder, barely perceptible, like a breath of wind. I sucked in the air.
“Is this okay?” he whispered.
I didn’t answer, just turned my head until my mouth found his. The kiss was soft, exploring. His lips tasted of wine and salt. My hand wandered to his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, became more demanding. I felt his tongue pressing against mine, and I returned the pressure.
His hand slid from my shoulder to my back, under my bikini top. His fingers were warm on my bare skin. I moaned softly as he undid the clasp. The top fell away, and the cool evening air enveloped my breasts. He pulled back, looked at me. His gaze was dark with desire.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
I felt the blush rise to my face, but it wasn’t shame. It was the feeling of being seen. Really seen. He leaned forward and took my left nipple into his mouth. His tongue circled it, first gently, then harder. A shiver ran through me, and I dug my fingers into his hair. He sucked until the tip was hard and sensitive, then switched to the other.
I gasped, the sound echoing over the water. The beach was empty, no one would hear us. That knowledge made me bold. I pushed his shorts down, and he helped by straightening up and pulling them off completely. His cock stood stiff and long, the tip wet. I wrapped my hand around it, felt the pulsing under my fingers. He moaned and closed his eyes.
“Slowly,” I whispered, “we have time.”
I caressed him with my hand while returning his kiss. Then I pulled him onto the towel I’d spread out earlier. The stones pressed in, but I didn’t care. I lay on my back, and he knelt between my legs. His
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