25F: Bali Heat. Day One: The Australian. DM for more details

We checked into our private villa in Seminyak, the pool gleaming under afternoon sun. By sunset, we were at Potato Head Beach Club, three glasses of rosé deep. That's where I saw him—tall, sun-bleached hair, shoulders that looked carved from the limestone cliffs. His name was Jake. He was thirty, a surfer from Sydney with calloused hands and a smile that made my stomach flip.

"Your friends are bold," he said, nodding toward Priya and Rhea who were already dancing with two Swedish guys. "But you look like you need convincing."

I didn't. I just needed an excuse.

We stumbled back to his beachfront bungalow, the sound of waves drowning out my inhibitions. He pushed me against the bamboo wall before the door even closed, his mouth hot and tasting of salt and rum. His hands—those rough, surfer hands—slid under my sundress, finding me already wet. No pretense. No slow build.

"Fuck," he groaned against my neck, feeling how ready I was.

He lifted me easily, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carried me to the bed. The mosquito netting swayed as he dropped me onto the mattress, stripping my dress off in one motion. He paused, looking down at me in just my black lace bra and panties, his chest heaving.

"Jesus, you're beautiful," he said, and I believed him.

He tore his shirt off. His body was everything—tan lines, muscle definition, a trail of blonde hair leading into his board shorts. When he freed himself, he was thick and already leaking at the tip. I sat up, taking him into my mouth, tasting the salt of the ocean still on his skin. He groaned, fingers tangling in my hair, guiding my rhythm.

"Stop," he panted, pulling me back. "I need to be inside you."

He rolled on a condom—thank god he was prepared—and pushed me back onto the pillows. When he entered me, it was with one hard thrust, filling me completely. I cried out, arching against him. He was big, stretching me deliciously, and he knew exactly how to move—deep, grinding strokes that hit every nerve ending.

"You're so tight," he growled, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand while the other gripped my hip. "Fuck, you feel incredible."

The bed creaked with every thrust. Outside, the ocean crashed, but inside, all I could hear was the slap of skin and our ragged breathing. He changed angles, lifting my legs over his shoulders, and suddenly he was hitting that perfect spot deep inside. I clawed at his back, moaning shamelessly as the pressure built.

"Come for me," he demanded, reaching between us to rub tight circles over my clit. "Let me feel you."

I shattered, my orgasm ripping through me in violent waves, my body clamping down around him. He followed seconds later, thrusting deep and holding there, groaning long and low as he emptied into the condom.

We fucked twice more that night—once in the outdoor shower under the stars, water streaming over our bodies as he took me from behind, and again at dawn, slow and sleepy, my legs wrapped around him as the sun rose over the Indian Ocean.