Erina and her guy were going at it like it was a full-contact sport. He was treating her like a personal playground, digging in and stirring the pot until she was seeing stars that weren’t even out yet. The guy was a total perv, no two ways about it, and she was his willing partner, her own personal welcome mat worn soft from constant use. He wasn’t just knocking at the front door; he was round the back, trying the old service entrance, and finding it wide open.
Not too far off, Shinobu and her fella were putting on their own exhibition. They were both lost in the sauce, a tangle of limbs and heavy breathing under the vast, indifferent blue sky. The whole damn beach was their witness. They were so far gone, their brains were practically on standby, just running on pure, animal instinct. It was the kind of bliss that made you forget your own name, a hazy, floaty feeling like you’re sinking into a warm bath.
Then, right in the middle of all this glorious chaos, as both couples were riding that wave straight to la-la land, a single sentence cut through the fog, clear as a bell.
Erina’s man, still catching his breath and looking like the cat who ate the canary and the whole damn aviary, looked over at Shinobu’s guy. A sly grin plastered itself on his face. “Hey, man,” he grunted, his voice rough. “When you gonna make an honest woman out of her and tie the knot already?”
For a second, everything stopped. The only sound was the gentle shush of the waves, suddenly sounding like polite applause. Shinobu’s man blinked, his goofy, blissed-out expression slowly morphing into one of pure, dumbfounded confusion. Erina just burst out laughing, a loud, bark of a sound that echoed off the dunes. In the middle of the most unholy ruckus, the dude had dropped the most domestic question possible. Now that’s what you call a mood killer with the soul of a grandmother.
