Honeymoon Night With My Bull

My name is Emily. I’m twenty-four, married for exactly forty-one hours, and the Caribbean night air is thick enough to taste. Salt, rum, and something electric that has nothing to do with the ocean.

Mark and I are sitting at the edge of the beach bar on the second night of our honeymoon. The resort is all soft lanterns and reggae drifting through palm fronds. My new husband keeps tracing the platinum band on my finger like he still can’t believe it’s real. He’s sweet, gentle, and just a little too eager to please. I love him for it. I also love the way his cheeks flush whenever I catch him staring at other men who look at me too long.

Tonight one of those men won’t stop looking.

Darius stands six-foot-four at least, skin like polished obsidian under the amber lights. His white linen shirt is unbuttoned far enough to show the deep cuts of his chest and the ridges of his abs. He’s twenty-eight, moves like a predator who already knows he’s going to win, and when his dark eyes lock on mine across the bar, my stomach flips so hard I have to press my thighs together.

Mark notices. Of course he does.

He leans in, voice shaky. “Em… you see that guy?”

“I see him,” I whisper. My nipples are already tight against the thin sundress I wore because I wanted to feel pretty for my husband. Now they ache for an entirely different reason.

Mark swallows. His fingers tremble on the stem of his mojito glass. “I’ve… I’ve fantasized about this. About watching you. Being a hotwife. I never thought I’d say it out loud on our honeymoon, but… fuck, baby. The way he’s looking at you. Like he already owns you.”

The word owns slides between my legs and settles there, hot and wet. I should feel guilty. Instead my clit throbs so sharply I have to bite my lip.

“Are you serious?” I ask, turning to face him fully. My wedding ring catches the light between us.

Mark’s eyes are glassy with nerves and lust. “I’m sure. If you want him… I want to watch. I want to give you my blessing. Right here. Right now.”

My pulse is hammering in my throat. I reach over and slide my hand up his thigh until I feel how hard he is. Tiny, trembling, but rock hard.

“Then go tell him to come over,” I say, voice husky. “Tell him my husband wants to watch a real man take his new bride.”

Mark’s breath catches. He stands on shaky legs and walks over to Darius. I can’t hear what they say, but I see the slow, confident smile that spreads across the taller man’s face. Darius looks straight at me the entire time, eyes dragging down my body like he’s already undressing me. When he starts walking over, Mark trailing behind like an obedient shadow, the ache between my legs becomes a deep, needy pulse.

Darius stops in front of me. Up close he smells like coconut oil, clean sweat, and pure masculine power.

“Evening, Mrs. Emily,” he says, voice low and smooth as rum. “Your husband tells me you’re on your honeymoon. And that he’d like to see you properly fucked on it.”