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shattered cobalt.
Leilani flicked saltwater at him with a fingertip. "Enough to make you beg for seconds." The corner of her mouth curled as Aitor shouldered past with the first cooler, his biceps flexing under its weight. She let her gaze drag down his spine—slow, deliberate—before tossing another fish into the second crate.
The path to the kitchens wound through dense palms, the fronds whispering overhead. Aitor led, his steps measured beneath the load, while Kaled followed close behind, the rhythm of his stride syncing with the distant pulse of the surf. Leilani walked between them, her fingers brushing Kaled's forearm as she reached for a stray lock of hair stuck to his neck. "You're burning," she murmured, thumb smearing a bead of sweat down his throat. Kaled inhaled sharply but didn't pull away.
By the second trip, the cooler handles had left red grooves in Aitor's palms. Leilani took his wrist at the threshold of the kitchen's shade, her grip firm as she turned his hand over. Her calloused thumb pressed into the imprint, slow circles that drew a shudder from him. "Always so quiet," she teased, her breath warm against his knuckles. Aitor's pulse jumped when she lifted his palm to her lips—not a kiss, just the ghost of her exhale—before releasing him with a smirk.
Kaled deposited his own load with a muffled thump of fish against ice, then leaned against the counter, arms crossed. His gaze flicked between them, dark with amusement. "Should I leave you two alone with the seafood?" The bass of his voice rippled through the humid air. Leilani tossed a lime at his chest. He caught it one-handed, rolling the fruit between his fingers before lifting it to his nose—inhaling the zest like a man savoring a sacrament.
The wood of the ancient cask groaned under her fingers, its iron hoops pitted and scarred by the island's salt-laden breath. Leilani bent at the waist, the indigo fabric stretching dangerously tight across her curves as she checked the brass spigot. Aitor's throat went dry. The ties at her hips had loosened further; one dangling end brushed the inside of her thigh as she adjusted the glasses with deliberate slowness. Kaled's drumming fingers stilled against the countertop. "Forty years in the dark," she murmured, her voice like a secret as she turned the tap with the ceremonial precision of a priestess. The rum hit the glasses with a viscous sound, thick and dark as liquid mahogany. She slid one toward each of them without looking up, her thumb lingering a heartbeat too long against Kaled's knuckles as she released his drink, leaving the heady scent of charred oak and molasses in the air between them.
Aitor took his in silence, the glass already sweating in his palm. The first sip burned—not the sharp bite of cheap alcohol, but the slow, deep heat of aged oak and vanilla curling around his ribs. Leilani leaned against the bar between them, her hip brushing Aitor's thigh as she lifted her own glass. "To fatigue," she said, lips glistening with the kiss of liquor, "and the things that cure it."
Kaled's chuckle was a low hum against his glass. He drank with his eyes closed, throat working as the taste unfolded—molasses, smoke, the faintest echo of citrus buried deep. When he opened them again, his gaze snagged on the way Leilani's tongue darted out to catch a stray drop at the corner of her mouth. Aitor saw it too; the flex of his fingers around the glass was the only betrayal.
Leilani set her drink down with deliberate slowness, the glass clicking against the counter. She turned, bracing both hands behind her, and let her head fall back—exposing the long line of her throat. The indigo ties at her hips gave another perilous shift. "You're both staring," she murmured, though she made no move to cover herself. Aitor's knuckles whitened. Kaled's drumming fingers twitched against his thigh, itching for a surface to map the rhythm coiling in his blood.
The kitchen's overhead fan stirred the scent of her—coconut, salt, the faint musk of exertion—into the liquor-heavy air. Aitor inhaled through his nose, his body taut as a drawn bowstring. Leilani's smirk deepened when she caught the movement. She pushed off the counter and stepped into his space, her breasts brushing his chest as she reached past him for the abandoned lime. Her forearm grazed his ribs; the contact burned through the thin film of sweat on his skin. "You're tense," she observed, rolling the fruit between her palms. The zest burst into the air, sharp enough to make his mouth water.
Kaled watched from his perch, the glass dangling loosely between his fingers. His gaze tracked the way Leilani's fingers dug into the lime's flesh, juice running in rivulets down her wrists. When she lifted one dripping hand to Aitor's lips, his breath hitched. "Taste," she commanded, her thumb pressing against the seam of his mouth. He obeyed, tongue flicking out to catch the tartness—and the salt of her skin beneath it. A low noise escaped him, unbidden. Leilani's eyes darkened.
Kaled moved before he thought. His glass hit the counter with a dull thud as he crossed the space in three strides. He caught her wrist midair, turning it palm-up, and bent his head to drag his lips along the slick path of juice and sweat. Her pulse jumped under his tongue. The scent of her—citrus and heat and something deeper—flooded his senses. He kissed higher, following the curve of her elbow, the dip of her bicep, the taut line of her shoulder. Each press of his mouth was deliberate, an exploration of textures: the roughness of salt-crusted skin giving way to the softness behind her ear.
Leilani shuddered when his teeth grazed her earlobe. Her free hand found his hair, fingers tightening, not guiding—just holding. Anchoring. Kaled breathed her in, the drumbeat of his own blood loud in his ears. Behind them, Aitor's glass clinked against wood. The sound was deliberate, a punctuation mark in the thick air. Kaled lifted his head just enough to see the Basque's silhouette against the kitchen's amber light—broad shoulders taut, jawline sharp as a blade.
Aitor didn't speak. Never needed to. He stepped into Leilani's space with the same deliberate economy he used when clearing a room—no wasted motion, every shift of muscle calculated. His palm settled warm against the nape of her neck, fingers splaying into her damp hair. He inhaled once, slow, before bending his head to her throat. His mouth moved down the column of it, lips parting just enough for the heat of his tongue to follow the salt trail along her collarbone.
Leilani arched into him with a sound like breaking surf. Kaled felt it vibrate through her ribs where his hand had slipped beneath the loose knot of her bikini top. The fabric gave way under his fingers, pooling at her waist as he traced the swell of her breast—callouses catching on stiffened peaks, the contrast of rough skin against soft flesh dragging a shudder from them both. She turned her face into Aitor's shoulder, breathing him in: gunmetal and sea-worn leather beneath the island's golden musk.
The Basque's palm slid lower, spanning the dip of her spine. His thumb pressed into a knot of tension there—the kind earned from hours straining against fishing nets—and Leilani groaned as the ache unraveled under his touch. Kaled seized the moment to capture her mouth, his kiss as deliberate as the rhythm he'd coax from a djembe. She tasted of aged rum and stolen lime, tartness giving way to something deeper when Aitor's teeth grazed her shoulder. The dual assault of sensations—Kaled's tongue mapping hers while Aitor's stubble burned a path down her sternum—made her knees buckle.
Aitor caught her weight effortlessly, his grip shifting to cradle her thighs as he lifted her onto the kitchen counter. The butcher block chilled her bare skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from the men bracketing her. Kaled dragged the abandoned lime across her collarbone, catching the stray droplets with his lips before peeling the rind away with his teeth. The citrus sting mingled with the salt of his sweat as he leaned in again, his knee nudging her legs wider.
Leilani arched into their hands, her fingers finding purchase in Aitor's hair as he mouthed along the swell of her breast. The cooler handle's imprint still burned red across his palm when he reached past her—grabbing the nearest bottle without looking. Olive oil sloshed against glass as he uncorked it with his teeth, the scent of grassy bitterness cutting through the room's musk. Kaled, meanwhile, plucked a mango from the fruit bowl, his thumb splitting the skin with a practiced twist. Juice gilded his fingers, thick as syrup, before he painted a glistening stripe down her sternum.
Aitor's slick hands found her first—broad palms kneading the weight of her breasts with the same deliberate pressure he'd use to field-strip a rifle. Thumbs circled her nipples, slow and firm, until the peaks stiffened against his calluses. Leilani gasped when his grip tightened fractionally, the oil making every drag of skin against skin a shared shudder. Behind her, Kaled pressed the torn mango to her lips. She sucked at the pulp, juice dripping down her chin as his free hand skated lower—past her ribs, over the taut plane of her abdomen—to hook a thumb under the last scrap of fabric clinging to her hips.
The indigo ties unraveled with a whisper against her thighs. Kaled caught the fabric before it hit the floor, his other hand still working the mango's flesh against her tongue. Aitor watched, his breath uneven, as juice and oil mingled in the hollow of her throat. He bent to lick a stripe through the mess, teeth grazing the delicate skin beneath her jaw. Leilani's fingers twisted in his hair, pulling just shy of pain. The sound that escaped him was raw—half growl, half plea—before he crushed his mouth to hers.
She tasted like victory, like stolen fruit eaten straight from the tree. Kaled's fingers replaced the ruined mango, tracing the seam of her lips before slipping inside. Her teeth closed lightly on the pad of his thumb, a warning and an invitation all at once. His breath hitched when her tongue curled around the digit, sucking the sweetness from his skin. The counter creaked beneath them as he stepped closer, his thigh pressing insistently between hers. Heat radiated from her, a furnace stoked by their hands and mouths and the relentless island sun.
Aitor's oil-slick palms slid lower, skirting the dip of her waist to grip her hips with deliberate force. His thumbs dug into the soft flesh of her inner thighs, parting them further as he dropped to his knees. The tile was hard beneath him, unforgiving—he welcomed the bite of it. Leilani's breath came faster now, her chest rising and falling in uneven rhythms as Aitor's breath ghosted over the slick warmth between her legs. He didn't rush, didn't dive in like some eager novice. Instead, he pressed a single, lingering kiss to the inside of her knee, his stubble scraping sensitive skin. Her thighs trembled.
Above her, Kaled's mouth was a relentless counterpoint—his teeth grazing one peaked nipple while his fingers rolled the other between them, slow and insistent. He'd shed his shirt somewhere in the tangle of limbs, the sweat-drenched planes of his chest pressing against Leilani's back as he bent her further over the counter. The mango's sweetness still clung to his lips when he captured her mouth again, swallowing her gasp as Aitor's tongue finally—finally—dragged through her folds.
The Basque's technique was methodical, unhurried; every flat stroke of his tongue mapped her like terrain under surveillance. His hands anchored her hips, thumbs digging into the crease where thigh met pelvis when she tried to rock against him. He denied her the friction she craved, instead circling her clit with agonizing precision—just enough pressure to make her whimper, never enough to tip her over. Kaled chuckled against her collarbone, his breath hot. "Patience," he murmured, though his own grip on her breasts tightened, pulling another broken sound from her throat.
Leilani arched off the counter, her spine a taut bowstring. The contrasting sensations were maddening—Aitor's relentless, calculated rhythm below, Kaled's teeth and tongue wreaking havoc above. The musician's calloused fingers twisted her nipples, alternating between sharp pinches and slow, rolling pressure that sent electricity arcing straight to her core. When she gasped, Kaled captured the sound with his mouth, swallowing it whole as his free hand slid down to join Aitor's work. Two thick fingers pressed inside her without warning, curling just so—
Her thighs clamped around Aitor's head like a vise, heels digging into the hard planes of his back. The scream tore from her throat, raw and unrestrained, as the orgasm ripped through her. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, each one more intense than the last. Aitor didn't relent—his tongue flicked over her clit with pinpoint precision, drawing out the torment until her muscles trembled with exhaustion. Kaled held her through it, his chest flush against her back, his heartbeat hammering against her shoulder blades.
Leilani barely registered the sound of the mango hitting the floor, juice splattering across the tile. Her vision blurred at the edges, the world narrowing to the relentless heat between her legs and the solid weight of Kaled behind her. She could feel the smug grin against her shoulder before he nipped at the skin there, whispering something in Amharic too low for her to catch. Aitor's answering growl vibrated against her thighs as he redoubled his efforts, fingers pumping in tandem with the sinful rhythm of his tongue.
"No." The word tore from her throat—not a plea but a command. She fisted her hands in Aitor's hair, yanking his head back with enough force to make his teeth click. Kaled froze behind her, his breath stuttering against her sweat-slick skin. Leilani exhaled slowly, watching the flush spread across Aitor's throat as she tightened her grip. "Strip. Both of you."
Kaled's laugh was a low rumble against her spine, but he obeyed—stepping back to peel his swim shorts down his thighs in one fluid motion. The fabric pooled at his feet, revealing the thick length of him already glistening at the tip. Aitor moved slower, his gaze locked on hers as he worked the knot of his waistband loose. The fabric fell open, his cock springing free—heavy, flushed, a vein throbbing along the underside. Leilani licked her lips. They smelled of salt and musk and the lingering sweetness of mango pulp.
She slid from the counter onto her knees between them, the tile cool against her bare skin. Her fingers curled around their bases simultaneously—Kaled's familiar warmth in her right hand, Aitor's unfamiliar heft in her left. The contrast was intoxicating: Kaled's smooth, even heat against her palm, Aitor's rougher texture where old scars interrupted the skin. She stroked them once, twice, savoring the way their hips jerked in unison. Then, without warning, she leaned forward and took Aitor deep.
The Basque's groan was a visceral thing, torn from his chest as her throat opened around him. His hands fisted at his sides, muscles trembling with restraint—she could feel the effort it took him not to thrust. Beside him, Kaled's breath came in ragged bursts, his fingers tangling in her hair. She pulled off Aitor with a wet pop, turning her head to drag her tongue along Kaled's length, catching the bitter-salt drop at the tip. His hips bucked forward, his cock brushing her cheek.
Leilani laughed, low and throaty, before swallowing him down. The musician's thighs tensed, his groan harmonizing with the distant crash of waves. She worked them in turns—Aitor's thick girth stretching her lips, Kaled's velvet heat gliding against her tongue—until their breathing synced into a ragged chorus. Sweat dripped down Aitor's sternum when she glanced up; his jaw was clenched, veins standing out in his neck. She hollowed her cheeks around him, relishing the way his abdomen twitched.
"Enough." She released them both with a wet sound, palms braced on their thighs. The counter's edge bit into her back as she hoisted herself up, legs spreading wider. "Now." Her fingers curled around their shafts, guiding them forward until their tips brushed her entrance—Aitor's blunt crown nudging against Kaled's slick length. The Basque exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip on her knee tightening. Kaled murmured something in Amharic, his free hand smoothing up her inner thigh.
They didn't ask if she was sure. This was the sanctuary; trust was the only law. Aitor's palm cradled her ass, lifting her higher as Kaled angled his hips. The first press was slow—too slow—her body resisting the impossible stretch. Leilani snarled, nails scoring their shoulders. "Harder." Kaled's teeth flashed in a grin before he rocked forward, his thickness splitting her open alongside Aitor's. The burn was immediate, molten, her cry fracturing into panting gasps as they seated themselves to the hilt.
Her spine bowed off the counter, the world narrowing to the points where their bodies joined—Aitor's cock grinding deep, Kaled's pulsing against him inside her. The stretch bordered on pain, but pain had always been Leilani's compass. She arched, rolling her hips to take them deeper, relishing their twin groans. Aitor's forearm braced beside her head, veins standing in stark relief as he fought to stay still. Kaled wasn't so patient; his hands gripped her thighs, pulling her down onto each measured thrust. The counter shuddered with their rhythm, wood groaning under the force.
Aitor's breath hitched when she clenched around them, her inner muscles fluttering in protest before surrendering to the relentless invasion. His teeth scraped her shoulder, a wordless snarl vibrating against her skin. Kaled's rhythm stuttered, his hips snapping forward with sudden force—a punctuation mark to the symphony of their bodies. Leilani's thighs trembled, sweat-slick and straining, as they found their pace: Aitor's deep, rolling strokes countered by Kaled's sharp, punishing angles. The air thickened with the scent of salt and sex, their skin sticking where they collided.
She threw her head back, the wooden counter digging into her spine with each thrust. Pain and pleasure blurred—the bite of Kaled's fingers on her hips, the drag of Aitor's cock against oversensitized nerves. Her vision whited out when Kaled shifted, driving upwards to grind against that spot inside her. Aitor's growl reverberated through her chest as he felt it too, his grip on her thigh tightening to hold her open wider. "Again," she gasped, nails raking down Kaled's back. He obliged with a brutal snap of his hips, his teeth sinking into the juncture of her neck and shoulder as she came with a guttural cry.
Aitor didn't let her ride it out. The moment her muscles fluttered around them, he pistoned into her with renewed force, his rhythm fracturing into something ragged and desperate. Kaled matched him stroke for stroke, their bodies slamming into her with a wet, rhythmic slap that echoed off the kitchen walls. Leilani's screams dissolved into choked whimpers, her legs hooking around their waists to pull them deeper. The counter shuddered beneath them, glasses rattling in the cabinets as they drove her towards another peak. She could feel the tension coiling in their thighs, the way their breaths came in sharp, fractured bursts.
The first pulse was Aitor's—a deep, shuddering throb that made him curse through clenched teeth. His cock twitched inside her, the heat of his release flooding her in thick waves. Kaled followed seconds later, his hips stuttering as he buried himself to the hilt with a groan that vibrated against her collarbone. Leilani felt every pulse, every jerk of their lengths as they emptied themselves into her, their cum mixing and spilling down her thighs. The sensation was obscenely intimate, the way their bodies locked together, still trembling with the aftershocks.
Then gravity took them. Aitor's knees buckled first, his iron grip the only thing preventing Leilani from crashing onto the tile as he dragged both her and Kaled down with him. They collapsed in a tangled heap—limbs slick with sweat and oil, breath ragged and uneven. Leilani landed half-sprawled across Aitor's chest, her back pressed against Kaled's heaving torso. The kitchen floor was cool against her flushed skin, a stark contrast to the feverish heat radiating off all three of them.
She traced idle patterns in the cum drying along Aitor's abdomen, her fingers sticky with it. Kaled's arm tightened around her waist, his nose buried in the damp mess of her hair. "We're disgusting," she murmured, though there was no disgust in her voice—only lazy amusement. Aitor huffed something that might have been agreement, his calloused thumb absently stroking the inside of her knee.
The ocean breeze slipped through the open window, carrying the scent of salt and damp sand. Leilani lifted her head, catching the distant glimmer of moonlight on the waves. "Come wash me," she said, her voice low and roughened. She dragged a fingertip down Kaled's forearm, leaving a shiny trail. "The tide's high enough to float us."
Aitor moved first—not toward the door, but toward Leilani's discarded bikini tangled on the floor. He tossed it at her, the fabric landing across her bare thighs like a challenge. It fell to the floor. "Race ya," he said, and the command sent a jolt through her muscles before she even registered standing. Laughing, Leilani raced toward the beach with the two men quickly following, leaving swimsuits, crushed fruit, and a bottle of olive oil scattered around the kitchen.
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