The bass from Tom's DJ set thumped through the villa's stone walls, a physical pulse in the humid Ibiza air. On the terrace stage, silhouetted against the setting sun, Tom worked the decks with one hand. His other arm was locked around Eva's waist, anchoring her to his side as she moved to the rhythm. A trio of Swedish girls, all blonde limbs and hopeful smiles, hovered just offstage, their eyes fixed on Tom. Every time one drifted too close, Eva shifted, her back meeting his chest, her hips rolling against him in a silent, possessive claim.

Inside the climate-controlled lounge, the music was a muted throb. Dan exhaled a cloud of cigar smoke, watching it curl around the head of the girl grinding in his lap. She was Spanish, maybe twenty, with a round, full ass that strained the fabric of her gold shorts. "You like that, sí?" she murmured, reaching back to run a hand through his hair.

"I like the view," Dan said, his voice a low rasp. His hands spanned her hips, guiding her rhythm. He didn't look at her face. His gaze was fixed over her shoulder, where Wayne was conducting his own ritual.

Wayne had his girl bent over the back of a white leather sofa. Her shorts were around her thighs. In his hand was an open bottle of expensive white wine. "Hold still, darling," he murmured, not unkindly. He tipped the bottle. The pale liquid cascaded over the perfect, olive-toned curves of her ass, tracing glistening paths into the deep cleft.

The girl gasped at the chill. Wayne dropped the bottle. It thudded onto the plush rug, spilling its remainder. He didn't notice. Both of his large, tanned hands were spreading her cheeks apart. He leaned in, his nose almost touching her skin.

He inhaled. Deeply. A long, slow drag of breath.

His eyes closed. A shudder ran through his shoulders. This wasn't the usual party scent of sweat and perfume and salt. This was different. Cleaner. A faint, intimate musk, yes, but underneath it… something almost sweet. Untouched. His dream. He’d only ever imagined it.

"Fuck me," Wayne breathed out, the words ragged. He opened his eyes, staring at the glistening skin now inches from his mouth. "You're a virgin."

The girl trembled but didn't deny it. She just pressed her face into the sofa cushion.

Wayne's control snapped. He didn't just sniff this time. He licked. A broad, wet stripe from the bottom of her spine down, through the wine and the salt and that pristine, forbidden scent. He groaned into her skin, the sound animal. He was hard, painfully so, his cock straining against his linen trousers. This was it. The one thing he'd chased for decades in a haze of used, willing flesh.

Dan watched, his own girl still grinding absently in his lap. He took a long pull on his cigar, the ember glowing bright. "Struck gold, Wayne?"

Wayne didn't answer. He was burying his face between her cheeks now, eating her out with a frantic, desperate hunger. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to leave marks. The girl made a small, choked sound, her fingers clawing at the leather.

On the terrace, Eva felt Tom's attention split. His hands were on her, but his gaze flicked to the Swedish girls, then toward the villa. "You're distracted," she said, raising her voice over the drop of the track.

"Business," Tom said, his mouth close to her ear. His hand slid from her waist down to the hem of her short dress, his fingers brushing the bare skin of her thigh. A promise. A distraction. "Always business."

Inside, Wayne finally pulled back, his mouth wet. He looked drunk on it. He fumbled with his belt, his fingers clumsy. "Turn over," he commanded, his voice thick. "Look at me."

The girl obeyed, rolling onto her back on the sofa. Her eyes were wide, dark pools of fear and something else—awe. Wayne stood over her, freeing his cock. It was thick, impressively long, and already leaking at the tip. He stroked himself once, his eyes locked on hers. "You tell anyone I was your first, I'll know. And I'll find you."

It wasn't a threat. It was a vow. He pushed her knees apart, settling between them. The head of his cock pressed against her entrance. He watched her face. "This is going to hurt."

He pushed. Not slowly. One relentless, deep thrust.

The girl cried out, a sharp, pained sound that was swallowed by the distant music. Wayne froze, buried inside her to the hilt. His own breath hissed out through his teeth. The heat. The impossible tightness. The feel of her virgin cunt clamping around him, fluttering in shock and pain. It was better than he'd dreamed. He dropped his forehead to hers, his body trembling with the effort of holding still. "There," he whispered, his voice cracking. "It's done."

Dan stubbed out his cigar. He lifted the girl off his lap, patting her ass. "Go get a drink, darling." His eyes were on Wayne, on the raw, naked possession on his friend's face. It was a look Dan rarely saw. It wasn't about pleasure. It was about conquest. About filling a hole that wasn't physical.

Wayne began to move. Short, deep strokes at first, then longer, harder thrusts. He was fucking her with a focused intensity, every drive of his hips seeking to imprint himself, to overwrite her purity with his mark. The girl's cries softened into whimpers, then into something else—a low, broken moan. Her hands came up, tangling in his shirt.

Dan walked to the bar, poured three fingers of whiskey, and knocked it back. He watched the scene without expression. The virgin myth. He'd never understood it. But watching Wayne, he saw it wasn't about the girl. It was about the man. About proving something had been kept from you, and now you'd taken it.

On the terrace, the track ended. The crowd roared. Tom raised Eva's hand in his, a champion with his prize. The Swedish girls finally turned away, seeking easier targets. Eva leaned into him, her lips brushing his neck. "You're mine tonight," she whispered, the words a command.

Tom looked down at her, a slow smile spreading across his face. It didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah," he said. But his gaze drifted again, past her, through the glass doors of the lounge. He saw Wayne, pounding into the girl on the sofa. He saw the look on Wayne's face. A strange, cold curiosity flickered in Tom's own eyes. What did that feel like? To want something that specific? To finally get it?

He pulled Eva closer, his hand slipping under her dress, his fingers finding the wet heat between her legs. He claimed her mouth in a hard, possessive kiss, trying to drown out the question. But it was there, hanging in the scented, bass-heavy air. A new kind of hunger. And Tom Zanetti hated wanting anything he didn't already have.

Tom's hand on her hip tightened, his fingers digging into the soft skin above her thigh. He broke the kiss, his eyes holding hers. The question from the lounge—the cold, specific hunger—was still there, a splinter in his mind. He needed an answer. He needed to erase it. "Right here," he said, his voice low and rough against her lips.

He turned her, bending her over the low wall of the terrace. The infinity pool glowed below them, the sea a dark expanse beyond. The crowd was a blur of faces and raised phones behind the DJ booth. He pushed her dress up around her waist, exposing her to the warm, salt-tinged air. His palm came down on her ass, once, sharp. The sound cracked through the music. A few heads turned. Eva gasped, her knuckles white where she gripped the wall.

He didn't bother with his shorts, just yanked the fabric aside. His cock sprang free, thick and already painfully hard. He pressed the broad head against her, feeling her slick heat. She was wet for him. Always wet for him. He leaned over her, his chest against her back, his mouth at her ear. "You see them watching?"

She nodded, a quick, frantic motion. Her breath hitched.

"Good." He pushed inside. One deep, claiming stroke that buried him to the root. She cried out, the sound swallowed by a synth drop. He held there, feeling her clench around him, the perfect, familiar fit. This was his. This was the answer. Not some untouched girl. This—a woman claimed, marked, permanently his. He began to move.

His thrusts were hard, deliberate, each one driving her against the wall. It was a performance and a purge. He fucked her with a focused intensity, his eyes open, staring at the glass doors of the lounge. Let Wayne see. Let him understand what real possession looked like. It wasn't about breaking something new. It was about owning something that knew exactly who owned it.

Eva's moans were muffled against her arm. Her body shook with each impact. One of her heels slipped on the tile. He hooked an arm around her waist, holding her up, holding her in place. "Tell me," he grunted, his rhythm never breaking.

"Yours," she gasped. "I'm yours."

"Louder."

"I'm yours!" Her voice broke on the words, carrying over the thump of the bass.

Inside, Dan watched from the bar. He swirled his whiskey, his gaze detached. Tom's public display was a message, but Dan wasn't sure who it was for. The women? Wayne? Himself? He glanced back at the sofa. Wayne was still moving over the girl, his own pace slowed now, deep and grinding. His face was buried in her neck. He looked spent. Hollow, even in conquest.

On the terrace, Tom felt the heat coiling at the base of his spine. He drove into Eva, the wet slap of their skin a counter-rhythm to the track. Her inner muscles fluttered around him, tightening. She was close. He slid a hand around her hip, his fingers finding her clit. He rubbed hard, rough circles. "Come on my cock," he ordered, his voice gritted. "Now."

Her body locked. A silent scream tore through her as she came, her cunt milking him in fierce, rhythmic pulses. The sensation ripped his own control away. He shoved deep and held, a raw groan tearing from his throat as he emptied into her, pulse after hot pulse, marking his territory in the most primal way he knew.

He stayed inside her, both of them panting, slick with sweat. The music pounded on. Slowly, he pulled out. He tucked himself away, then smoothed her dress down over her trembling thighs. He turned her to face him. Her makeup was smudged, her eyes glazed. He kissed her, softly this time. A seal. "Mine," he whispered against her mouth.

He kept an arm around her, leading her away from the wall, back toward the booth. The crowd parted. He ignored them. His eyes found Wayne, who was now standing by the lounge doors, watching him. Wayne's shirt was untucked, his face slack. The girl was curled on the sofa behind him, a discarded towel over her legs.

Tom gave Wayne a slow, deliberate nod. It wasn't camaraderie. It was a statement. See? I don't need to hunt for what you hunt for. I have everything I want right here.

But as he settled back behind the decks, Eva leaning against his legs, the cold curiosity didn't vanish. It had just changed shape. It wasn't about the virginity. It was about the hunger itself. Wayne's hunger had been a pure, single-minded thing. Tom looked at Eva's blissful, claimed face, and wondered why his own hunger felt so much more complicated, and so much more empty.

Dan appeared at his elbow, handing him a bottle of water. "Quite the show."

Tom took it, drank. "Needed to be clear."

"Oh, it was clear." Dan lit a fresh cigar, the smoke a fragrant cloud. He looked past Tom, toward the lounge. "He's in the shower. Won't come out. The girl's gone. Cried the whole time he finished." Dan took a long pull. "He got his dream. Looks like it gave him indigestion."

Tom didn't answer. He cued the next track, the beat dropping like a hammer. He felt Eva's hand slide up his thigh, possessively. He covered it with his own. He had his answer. It was supposed to be enough. He watched the sea, dark and endless, and for the first time all night, he felt tired.

Tom’s thumb hovered over his phone screen. The track was on autopilot. He typed a message to Eva, who was now sitting on a low sofa near the booth, watching him. *Need air. Away from this.*

Her reply was instant. *Meet you at the side gate. Walk?*

He nodded at her across the space. He clapped Dan on the shoulder. “You’ve got the decks. Don’t fuck it up.”

Dan didn’t look away from the crowd, taking a long drag of his cigar. “Just don’t be long. The vultures are circling.”

Tom pushed through the crowd, the heat of bodies giving way to the cooler air of the villa’s interior hallway. Eva was already at the wrought-iron gate, her hand on the latch.

Inside the lounge, Wayne emerged from the shower, his hair wet, a towel around his waist. The room was empty except for Dan, who was now leaning against the bar, staring at his phone. “The girl,” Wayne said, his voice rough. “The one from the sofa. Where’d she go?”

Dan didn’t look up. “No idea, mate. Cried, wrapped herself in a towel, and left. Didn’t get a name.”

Wayne stood there for a moment, water dripping onto the marble floor. Then he turned and walked out, the towel dropping as he pulled on a pair of linen trousers from a heap by the door. He didn’t bother with a shirt.

Dan finished his cigar, crushing the stub in a crystal ashtray. The lounge doors opened. A girl peered in, her eyes wide. She was maybe twenty-two, with curves poured into a scarlet silk dress that plunged at the front and stopped high on her thighs. “I’m so sorry,” she said, a French accent coloring her words. “I am looking for Tom Zanetti? For a photograph?”

Dan smiled, the easy, welcoming smile of a salesman. “Tom’s stepped out. I’m Dan. Come in. I’ll make sure you get that selfie.”

She hesitated, then stepped inside, the door swinging shut behind her. Dan’s eyes traveled the length of her. “What’s your name?”

“Chloé,” she said, her gaze drifting to the expensive bottles behind the bar.

“Thirsty, Chloé?” Dan moved to the bar, pouring two fingers of amber whiskey. He held it out. As she took it, his other hand settled on the small of her back, bare where the dress dipped. Her skin was warm. She didn’t pull away.

On the beach path, Tom walked beside Eva, the roar of the villa fading to a dull throb. The moon painted a silver highway on the water. “It felt like a performance,” he said finally, the words torn from him. “With you. Against the wall. It was supposed to fix something. It just felt loud.”

Eva laced her fingers with his. “You’re trying to prove something to a man who just found out his dream tastes like nothing. What did you expect to feel?”

Back in the lounge, Dan took the whiskey glass from Chloé’s hand and set it down. He turned her to face him. “You came for a photo. But you stayed.” His hands slid down to her hips, gripping the soft silk. He bent his head, his mouth finding the pulse in her throat. She sighed, her head tilting back.

His hands pushed the straps of her dress down her shoulders. It pooled at her feet. She stood in only a black thong, her breasts full and heavy in the low light. Dan kissed her, his tongue in her mouth, one hand cupping her breast, his thumb rubbing over her nipple until it was a hard peak. He broke the kiss, sinking to his knees. He hooked his fingers in the sides of her thong and pulled it down. The scent of her, musky and sweet, hit him. He buried his face between her legs.

His tongue was flat and firm against her pussy. He licked a slow, broad stripe from her entrance to her clit. She gasped, her hands tangling in his hair. He did it again, and again, until she was wet and slick against his mouth. He focused on her clit, sucking it gently, then flicking it with the tip of his tongue. Her thighs began to tremble.

He pulled back, his chin glistening. “Turn around,” he said, his voice husky. She turned, bracing her hands on the bar. Dan looked at the perfect, round curves of her ass. He leaned in, his nose nudging between her cheeks. He inhaled deeply. The scent was richer here, earthy and intimate. He licked a stripe over her hole.

She jolted. “Oh.”

Dan’s tongue pressed against her tight ring, wetting it, circling it. He spat, the moisture dripping down. He used his thumb to press gently, just the tip, as his tongue went back to her pussy from behind. He was opening her, preparing her, his movements methodical and patient. He could feel her resistance melting into acceptance, then into a slow, rolling push back against his mouth.

He stood, unzipping his trousers. His cock, thick and hard, sprang free. He rubbed the head through her slick folds, then positioned himself at her entrance. He pushed in with one smooth, deep thrust. She cried out, her back arching. He set a punishing rhythm immediately, his hips slapping against her ass, the sound wet and sharp in the quiet room.

He fucked her like that for long minutes, one hand gripping her hip, the other tangled in her hair. He could feel his own climax building, a tight coil in his gut. He pulled out, his cock dripping. He spat into his palm, slicking himself, and pressed the head against her other hole. “Relax,” he murmured, and pushed.

The tight, hot ring of muscle resisted, then gave way with a soft, yielding pop. He groaned, sinking in to the hilt. The sensation was unbelievable, a vice-like, searing heat. He held still for a moment, letting her adjust, feeling her inner muscles flutter around him. Then he began to move, shallow thrusts at first, then deeper, each one a raw, claiming friction.

On the beach, Tom stopped walking. He faced Eva, the sea wind whipping her hair. “I don’t know how to want something quietly,” he admitted.

Eva reached up, her palm against his cheek. “Then stop trying.” She pulled his face down to hers. The kiss wasn’t soft. It was hungry, a clash of teeth and tongue, a silent answer to all the noise. He backed her against the rough trunk of a palm tree, his hands under her dress, his body pressing hers into the bark.

Wayne found her by the pool, sitting alone on the steps, her feet in the water. She’d put her dress back on. She looked up, her eyes red-rimmed. “You,” she whispered.

“Name,” Wayne said, not a question but a demand.

“Isla.”

He held out his hand. She stared at it. After a long moment, she took it. He pulled her to her feet and led her, wordlessly, back through the villa. He pushed open the lounge door.

Inside, Dan had Chloé bent over the back of the sofa, his body pounding into her from behind. He didn’t pause or look over. His eyes were closed, his face a mask of concentrated pleasure. Wayne guided Isla to the opposite side of the large room, near the floor-to-ceiling windows. He turned her to face him, his hands on her shoulders. He looked into her tired, young face, then he kissed her. It was deep, searching, his tongue exploring her mouth as if trying to find a trace of the dream that had already evaporated.

Wayne broke the kiss, his hands still framing Isla's face. "There's something different about you."

Isla's laugh was a hollow, tired sound. "Lots of girls have probably heard that from you."

"I never look for the girl after," he said, the words rough. "Not once. I'm looking at you now."

She searched his eyes, finding no mockery, only a stark, unsettling focus. "What do you want?"

"Be my main rotation girl. The one I come back to."

She hesitated, her gaze flicking to where Dan was relentlessly fucking Chloé over the sofa. The wet slap of skin filled the pause. "Yes," she whispered.

Wayne kissed her again, a seal on the deal, then turned her gently to face the windows. His hands slid down her back, over the curve of her dress. He lifted the hem, baring her to the waist. He bent, his nose grazing the small of her back, and inhaled. Salt, pool water, her own unique musk, and beneath it all, the faint, clean scent of innocence not yet fully erased. He groaned into her skin.

Across the room, Dan felt his climax coiling. He pulled out of Chloé, his cock glistening. "Turn around," he breathed. She obeyed, sinking to her knees on the plush rug. She took him into her mouth without hesitation, her tongue flattening against the thick vein underneath. She worked him with a slow, torturous rhythm, one hand cupping his balls, the other stroking the base. Dan's head fell back, his cigar forgotten in an ashtray, smoke curling up to the ceiling. "Fuck, just like that," he muttered, his fingers tangling in her hair.

On the moonlit beach, Eva sank to her knees in the cool sand. She looked up at Tom, the party's distant pulse a faint echo. Her hands worked his belt, then his zipper. She freed his cock, already fully hard. She didn't tease. She took him deep, her throat opening for him on the first stroke.

Tom gasped, his hands flying to her head. The heat, the wet suction, the visual of her between his legs under the stars—it was too much, too perfect. He tried to hold back, to prolong it, but the tension from the night, the performance on the terrace, this raw quiet intimacy, shattered his control. "Eva, I'm—" he warned, but it was too late. His hips jerked forward. He came with a choked groan, pulsing into her mouth.

She took it all, swallowing steadily, until he was soft and spent. She cleaned him with her tongue, tenderly, then tucked him back into his trousers. She stood, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Chilled now?" she asked, a faint smile on her lips.

He pulled her to him, crushing her in a silent embrace. "Yeah," he said into her hair. "Let's go back."

They found Dan in the main lounge, shirtless, leaning against the bar. A brunette was on her knees before him, her mouth working his semi-hard cock with diligent enthusiasm. Dan spotted Tom and grinned, nodding down at the girl. "Hey, Tom. She wants a selfie with the legend. After she's done here, obviously."

Wayne emerged from a corridor, Isla trailing slightly behind him, her hand in his. He caught Dan's scene and barked a laugh. "Getting the full service, mate?"

Tom watched them, his arm tight around Eva's waist. The noise, the decadence, it all felt suddenly thin. A backdrop. He cleared his throat. "I've got an announcement."

Dan gently pushed the girl's head away, his expression shifting to curiosity. Wayne's smirk faded, his eyes narrowing.

"I'm marrying her," Tom said, his voice cutting through the music. He looked at Eva, then back at his friends. "Eva. We're getting married."

The room seemed to freeze. Dan slowly zipped his trousers, his face unreadable. Wayne's grip on Isla's hand tightened. He stared at Tom, then at Eva, his gaze a mix of disbelief and a dawning, cold calculation.

"You're what?" Dan finally said the words flat.

"You heard me," Tom said, and the finality in his tone left no room for debate.