CHASE
Family beach weekend.
Everyone else asleep.
We slipped out at 1:14 a.m.
Outdoor shower—wood slats, open roof, ocean thundering fifty yards away.
I pressed her face-first against the tile, hooked one leg high over my forearm, and thrust in deep.
Water roaring full blast—masking every gasp, every wet slap of skin.
I f****d her hard—deep—growling low against her ear:
“Feel that? That’s me claiming you—right here—while our parents sleep fifty feet away.”
She came clenching—biting her own forearm—silent scream ripping through her body.
We kept going until the hot water ran cold, then walked back inside through separate doors—pretending nothing happened.
Late-night horror flick.
Almost empty theater.
We took the back row.
She climbed into my lap—facing the screen—skirt alread
