12. Beach
Chapter twelve
Beach
(Kiah)
N ico has been different since his spanking.
He’s more docile, more present.
When he’s not being an infuriating brat, he’s actually quite intelligent, amusing me with weird, useless facts about everything and nothing.
That haunted look never leaves his eyes though.
Considering his familial background, I can’t say I’m surprised.
Who knows what demons he hides?
Demons like killing his own father , I remind myself.
Don’t get too attached, Kiah .
You know how this ends.
Men like Nico are the reason I got out of the business in the first place. They’re narcissistic cunts with no moral compass who treat women like objects at best.
He can’t be trusted.
That’s why I have to keep my guard up.
But with every passing day, that gets harder to do.
The fucker is actually quite helpful and, sometimes, outright sweet—which is unexpected.
But I’m not fooled; I know Nico is a terrible person like the rest of them.
I’m playing with fire, but I’m not ready to stop—not when I finally feel something other than the crushing weight of life's banality.
For half a decade, I’ve been hiding on this island, trying to convince myself that this is the life I’ve always wanted. Calm, peaceful, away from the excitement— this is where I will grow old.
But deep down, I know that I’m bored as fuck.
I miss the danger, the challenge; I miss being good at something—being the best.
My old life was equal parts danger and delectable luxury.
As much as I try to tell myself that I was born for the simple life, I know it’s just an excuse.
I’m hiding. Just like Nico.
Something inside me dies with every Christmas party that rolls around. The same decor, the same entitled guests with different faces, the same loneliness when they leave; it’s all the same.
But this year is different…
My eyes return to the naked mafia prince in the lobby, concentration knitting his brow.
“Motherfucker!” Nico curses loudly, ripping the red tinsel from the tree and chucking it on the ground.
He’s cute when he’s frustrated with his chest all puffed up, nostrils flaring.
“Everything okay there?” I ask my naked helper as he wrestles with the Christmas decorations.
“The stupid thing doesn’t want to sit right,” he complains, baring his teeth as he throws his hands up dramatically.
Such a little spoiled brat.
Who knew chores would be his undoing?
“It doesn’t have to be perfect. It’s decorations; they just need to be up,” I reassure him, picking up another piece of tinsel and draping it around the reception desk.
“Why can’t I do anything right?” Nico’s grinding his teeth as he does when he gets upset with himself—which is almost as often as he gets upset with me.
“This is supposed to be fun ,” I tell him, hanging an ornament on the large tree we’ve dragged from the storage. It’s the same tree I use every year—synthetic and tacky. But that’s what people expect around here.
“Your idea of fun is fucked,” Nico says simply, picking up the discarded tinsel and trying again.
I can’t help but feel proud. He actually picked it up instead of storming off or ripping it to shreds. That has to be some kind of progress .
For the next hour, we work in silence, covering the common spaces in disgustingly festive decorations until my cotton shirt is soaked through with sweat.
The suffocating tropical air clings to my skin, even with the ceiling fans lazily circling above us. It’s not raining but the air is thick with moisture. My hair sticks to my forehead as I try to brush it away.
Nico doesn’t look any less sweaty either, despite his usual lack of clothes. We’ll have to do something about that habit when the staff arrive next week.
I’m trying very hard not to think about the future.
I know I’m running out of time to make a decision.
But that’s next week’s problem.
“Enough for now; I need a swim,” I declare, the ocean calling me. Anything to shut up this gnawing doubt in my head.
“Yeah, right,” Nico scoffs, gesturing at his collar. “I doubt your technology is waterproof.”
“You make a good point. I guess you can just watch me swim then. The keys are 100% waterproof.”
Nico whines for dramatic effect but follows me outside, nevertheless.
I chuck a towel at him, and he wraps it around his waist to cover himself.
The collar, I’m not worried about. It looks like any collar a sub would wear. Sure, it will probably be embarrassing for him should anyone see us, but that’s his problem, not mine.
Besides, if I’ve learned anything about this psycho, it’s that he seems to get off on humiliation. Which is great for me because I find humiliating him cathartic. It’s nice having the power, for once, to not be the victim but rather the one dolling out the flushed cheeks.
The beach should be mostly deserted either way. Unlike the buzzing main beach that’s lit up like a carnival at night, this little slice of paradise is a private one, shared by only three of the inns. It’s just us and the soft lull of the waves out there.
I’ve taken Nico outside a few times. The poor boy can’t stay inside forever. But he seemed indifferent to nature.
Even the nearly full moon blossoming in the sky doesn’t impress him, and he just grunts something unintelligible as he follows me to the beach.
It’s a beautifully clear night, the first one in ages, and it revitalizes me despite the sticky heat plugging up my pores.
In silence, we follow the wooden walkway to the sand, where I spread one of the towels for us.
“Sit,” I command, and Nico does so without resistance.
I give him the usual speech, just to make sure he doesn’t take any chances. “You can run all you want, boy. But you’ll always be within range of the detonator. So, I wouldn’t risk it if I were you.”
“I’m not going to run, Kiah.” Nico sighs, running his hand through his sweaty hair.
He doesn’t often use my name. But every time he does, I freeze. There is something in the way he says it, something that makes my heart skip its usual pattern.
Usually, I cringe when men say my name, but not Nico. I’m overly aware of this seemingly useless fact.
"Good," I say, just to say something.
I turn my back on Nico, my hand hovering at the hem of my shorts. A familiar wave of shame washes over me. The scar on my stomach feels like a brand, a constant reminder of my past failures.
But then I catch a glimpse of the moonlit waves, and something stirs inside me. I remember the woman I used to be, unapologetic and free. The woman who reveled in skinny-dipping, before the world tried to break her.
I take a deep breath.
Maybe that woman isn't gone after all.
With a surge of defiance, I wiggle out of my sticky shorts. The relief is instant, both physical and emotional. I haven't felt this alive in years.
I pause, my heart racing. Nico's presence behind me is palpable, but strangely, it doesn't feel judgmental. Like I could turn around right now, battle scars and all, and he'd still look at me the same way.
The realization is both unsettling and liberating.
Before the old doubts can creep in, I strip down completely. The cool night air caresses my bare skin, and I feel a flicker of my old confidence.
Without looking back, I sprint towards the water.
The sand shifts beneath my feet, and I plunge into the waves without hesitation, letting the ocean wash away my troubles.
I lose myself in the rhythm of the swim.
Dive. Glide. Surface. Breathe.
Invigorating doesn't begin to describe it.
Each time I break the surface, my eyes seek out Nico. He's a dark silhouette against the moonlit sky, motionless on the blanket. Still there. Still waiting. (Much to my relief.)
Despite my threats, I don’t actually want to be forced to blow up the pretty brat with the moody eyes. I’ve gotten used to having him around, to who I am when he’s around. I like this version of myself.
Salt clings to my skin as I make my way back to shore with slow, deliberate strokes.
I can’t see Nico’s eyes in the dark as I approach, but I know they are glued to me, to my naked body, my muscular legs, my wide hips…probably my breasts.
But I feel no shame, no insecurity as I imagine his eyes on me. Instead, I straighten out my shoulders and walk proudly, decked out in nothing but salty water and semi-darkness.
Nico says nothing when I reach him; he just hands me the extra towel to dry myself.
“Thank you.” I smile, flopping down beside him with the towel around my hair.
Nico’s eyes are glued to my chest, just as I’ve predicted. He doesn’t even notice my scars, and if he does, he doesn’t let it show.
The poor man is virtually drooling. His hands are clenching and unclenching at his sides, his knees clamped firmly shut. I’m pretty sure he’s hard as fuck again.
Like a dormant volcano awakening, I feel power stirring deep within me with every second of Nico's attention. Each reaction from him sends the magma rising, heating my core and fueling my confidence.
“You didn’t run,” I remark, daringly seeking his gaze as I bask in the moonlight, digging my toes into the sand.
“I said I wouldn’t,” Nico says simply, not meeting my eyes.
“Well, good behavior needs to be rewarded too.” Much to both our surprise, I take the chain off my neck and push Nico’s knees apart slowly, his flimsily-tied towel flailing open.
His sharp intake of breath is loud as his skin instantly dots in shivers under my touch.
What are you doing, Kiah?
He’s my captive, I shouldn’t be seducing him.
This is highly unethical and incredibly stupid.
But I do it anyway.
Because I want to.
I want him.
So badly.
And out here, in the dark, with us both already virtually-naked, that need seems less insurmountable than inside the controlled environment of the inn.
“You’re unlocking me?” Nico asks in disbelief as I do just that, slipping the little key into the lock to wriggle the cage apart.
As I work, I don’t spare a single thought for us being in public. It’s the kind of island where people fuck in the dunes all the time, so who cares who sees what.
Nico’s cock instantly springs free, thick and hard, as his entire body slumps into a relieved sigh. He’s way too hard for me to bother trying to get the ring part of the cage off too, so I leave it.
“Oh, fanculo ,” he swears under his breath as I take his cock in my palm, finally uncaged.
When I run my fingers over the bells of his piercing, I swear both of us shiver.
Lust coats my veins and I know I’m wet—not just from the swim.
I’ve thought about this for over a month, wondering what his dick would feel like without its cage.
“Someone feeling a bit sensitive?” I tease, enjoying the way Nico squirms in my hand. Even the slightest movement makes his entire body dance to my touch, and it’s the most addictive power.
Nico’s normally neutral face is an open book as he moans softly, bucking his hips into my hand, desperate to be touched.
“Y-you have n-no idea,” he stutters, pre-cum leaking over my fingers already. His eyes are still glued to my chest, raking over my hard nipples.
“Do you want to suck on them?” I ask, a surge of need stronger than the ocean current tugging at my insides.
“ Dio mio ,” is all Nico says like a god has anything to do with his good fortune. There is no hesitation in his moves.
As he closes his eager lips around my sensitive nipple, pleasure erupts over my skin.
It’s my turn to moan softly as he suckles on my nipple, reaching out to hold my other breast, needily squeezing my flesh between his fingers.
It’s been more than five years since I’ve let anyone touch me, and the wanting flares up like an uncontrolled wildfire.
The stubble on his chin feels incredible against my body, scratching me just enough to feel something.
As I continue to stroke his cock, Nico whines against my skin, his breath warm, ragged.
“What is it?” I pant, not slowing down.
“I-I’m close.”
“Do it,” I whisper, speeding up my movements, “Come for me, baby.”