Here is a new one I hope you enjoy...
The Girl Who Drank the Sunsets
The air hung thick and sweet over the Bukit Peninsula like melted mango sticky rice, cloying and clinging to Lauren’s bare skin as she hauled her board down the weathered wooden stairs. It wasn't just the humidity; something else was buzzing in this pocket of Bali – a feral energy that prickled under the already taut stretch of her tanned thighs, making each breath a shallow gasp against the salt-laced wind.
The sun hadn’t quite crested the emerald green spine of Mount Agung yet, painting the sky with bruised purples and angry oranges, but even in this pre-dawn gloom, the cove throbbed with promise. A swell was building, fattening into monstrous turquoise rolls that spat white diamonds against the black coral reef like a lover's broken promises.
Her own body craved it as much as her board did. The ache in her twenty years of surfing-honed muscles sang with anticipation, each knot of corded tension begging for release in the liquid embrace of the barrel she could already taste on her tongue. This was *her* wave – the one that had whispered its secrets to her bare soles every sunrise for the last decade. A wave so perfect it held a name in hushed reverence amongst the locals:
The Devil’s Titty.
But even before the first spray drop kissed the sand, something about today felt off-key. The usual chorus of screeching roosters and chittering monkeys was muted, replaced by an almost unnatural stillness that tightened the hairs on Lauren's arms like a spiderweb spun in her blood. Then she saw *her*.
Zoey was slipping down the path towards the water with the sinuous grace of a jungle cat – but wearing the wrong scent: expensive sunscreen and chlorine. Indigo eyes, perpetually narrowed against some imagined insult, framed by hair bleached so pale it looked like spun moonlight on a beach littered with broken clamshells. The kind of face that made you want to punch someone's teeth just for looking at it.
Lauren’s fingers dug deeper into the slick grip of her board. Zoey was all sharp edges and polished surfaces – sponsored boards, designer bikinis, even those impossibly tanned calves honed from hours spent on a stationary bike in some sterile gym somewhere in California. A creature whose entire existence seemed to be a calculated display of unattainable perfection. And she’d invaded Lauren’s secret garden like a goddamn peacock strutting into a sacred monkey sanctuary.
“What the hell are you doing here, kid?” Lauren called out, her voice rough as sea-worn granite.
Zoey didn't bother to answer; she just flicked one perfectly manicured fingernail at the tip of her board fin, sending a spray of sand skittering like startled cockroaches. The way she moved was almost obscene – predatory and practiced, like every twitch of that lean blonde body was calibrated to attract some unseen predator with its impossible angles and too-tight bikini bottom riding impossibly high on hips that were probably padded anyway.
“Bali ain’t your playground, sweetheart,” Lauren muttered as she walked the last few feet down to the waterline. Every muscle in her body – every scar tissue map etched across her back, each knotted line tracing a battle won with the ocean – tensed against this intrusion.
Zoey was already dropping her board and sliding into the shallows, leaving two perfectly sculpted lines of glistening tan flesh exposed where wet lycra strained over her hips. Each ripple in the water from beneath her thighs was as deliberate and controlled as a viper’s strike. The wave wasn't even up yet, and she was already playing with it, teasing the lip and testing its mood like some goddess offering sacrifice to a fickle god.
But Lauren knew better than to believe in gods who didn't bleed salt water. And Zoey wouldn’t last long worshipping at this altar anyway.
The Devil’s Titty wasn’t about tricks and manufactured thrills – it was about surrender, about becoming one with the raw fury of a primal heartbeat pulsing beneath the turquoise skin of the world.
It was Lauren's goddamn right to worship there alone.
The first wave curled over the reef like an obsidian cobra unfurling its hood, spitting white venom into the maw of the cove. It wasn’t even a proper set yet, more of a nervous twitch in the ocean’s vast limbic system. Still, Zoey was already paddling with that frantic efficiency Lauren loathed – all flailing limbs and straining muscles like she was trying to outrun the tide itself.
Lauren watched her from the shallows, leaning back against a black basalt boulder slicked smooth by years of salt-laced spray. Even in this half-light, Zoey’s pale skin glistened with the sheen of cheap self-tanner, and that ridiculous blonde braid hung down like a dripping rattail caught between two chipped shark teeth on the horizon. The girl was trying too hard, pushing for something she wouldn’t understand even if it smacked her right in the perfect little porcelain face.
The Devil’s Titty didn't give you what you wanted; it took what it pleased and spat it back at you with a ferocity that could crack a man's skull open like an egg. Zoey, all sharp angles and preened aggression, wouldn’t last long under its tutelage. She was built for the manufactured peaks of some Malibu resort wave pool where everything came packaged neatly and predictably in five-foot increments. Not this – this raw, throbbing vein pulsing with secrets older than her goddamn sponsors.
A surge of heat prickled Lauren’s nipples through the thin cotton of her bra, a counterpoint to the chill that had settled in the pit of her stomach like a shark-smelling blood in the shallows. It wasn't just Zoey’s intrusion; it was something primal stirring beneath the surface – the old gods stirring in the gut-wrenching swell, a hungry echo humming along Lauren’s taut sinews.
The next wave came thicker than its predecessor, rolling in with the oily sheen of a freshly oiled python poised to strike. This one held promise. Even from here, she could feel it writhing underfoot – a tremor that vibrated through the sand and into her bones like a tuning fork struck against an exposed nerve ending. This wave was for claiming, not for some dainty show pony who thought all she had to do was point herself at the ocean and demand a goddamn highlight reel out of it.
Zoey was paddling, of course – too fucking late already – but Lauren saw how her hand fumbled on the rail just once before catching itself. Her back muscles tensed as though bracing for some unseen blow, and that perfect blonde braid went slack around her shoulder like a forgotten doll’s hair. The girl wasn’t used to waves that didn't yield to her will and weren't already programmed into her arrogant little algorithm of conquest.
This one was going to break her. And Lauren wouldn’t be watching.
She slid off the rock and onto the wet sand with a practiced grace honed from years of barefoot ambles on this beach. Each muscle in her lean body stretched taut against the grain of salt-crusted skin, all sinew and sharp angles carved by wind and wave. Even at forty-five, enough feral cat was still coiled inside her to make even the bravest surfer pause before challenging her claim on any swell.
She picked up a fistful of sand from just below the waterline – grit that felt cool against the back of her hand despite the already scorching heat of the day. Lauren tossed it into the churning green maw where Zoey was now bobbing, useless and exposed like a goddamn inflatable flamingo caught in the riptide of its hubris.
The wave rose around them, turquoise flesh laced with frothing white teeth. This wasn’t just water; the ocean’s tongue was licking to taste her audacity. Lauren grinned as it swelled past Zoey’s outstretched hand – a predator savoring the scent of prey already running slow blood and tasting surrender in its wake.
She let herself be drawn back into the shallows, letting the retreating foam slap at her ankles like a lover’s hesitant touch. It was going to be fun watching this one drown.
The Devil's Titty rarely disappointed those who knew how to pray correctly.
The wave spat Zoey out like a mouthful of bad clams, leaving her gasping and spluttering in a maelstrom of foamy indignation. Her blonde braid was now a sodden rope tangled with seaweed, clinging to her head as though trying to hold on for dear life, mirroring her desperate grip on that ridiculous little smile plastered across her face. It didn't even reach her eyes.
"Nice try," she choked out, spitting brine and sand like some feral thing that’d been startled from its burrow. The way she coughed was too theatrical – a tiny bird choking on a bead of glue rather than the primal, raw expulsion Lauren would’ve expected after being slammed by a wave half her size. "Thought I'd see you actually *swim* for once, old lady."
Zoey struggled to adjust her bikini top, which clung to her like overstuffed sausages. Designed more for Instagram admiration than practicality, it drew attention even as she fought to maintain her composure. Clutching her board like a lifeline, her unease was evident, even from a distance.
"I wouldn't waste my good skin," Lauren said back, sliding a hand down to her hips and digging into the scarred flesh of a hip bone chipped clean by a reef in its youth. It wasn’t like this girl hadn’t seen scars before – probably had a whole collection of self-inflicted ones from all those pointless falls on some manicured wave where even the water was manufactured to be nice. "And what do you call *that*? A paddle?"
Zoey wiped a smear of salt water off her cheek with the back of her hand, making sure it glistened like a tear against her skin’s pale, porcelain surface. Lauren knew the gesture wasn't about pain – not yet, anyway. It was a calculated bit of self-pity meant to worm its way into Lauren’s goddamn head.
“Maybe you just need your eyes checked, huh?” Zoey purred, pushing herself back upright on that slick board like she hadn’t been tossed around like an unwanted rag doll moments before. "Or maybe," and she leaned forward so the salt spray beaded across her perfect white teeth in a grotesque parody of some feral grin, “maybe you're just jealous I can actually *see* what I'm doing out here.”
She gestured at Lauren’s arm with a flick of that manicured hand, sending a spray of water cascading down like some grotesque showerhead. "All that ink? Looks like someone got lost in a tattoo parlor and decided to make the whole damn thing a goddamn mess."
Lauren leaned back against her boulder again, letting the ocean lick at the base of her spine. She hadn’t bothered to cover her ink with sunscreen this morning – hadn’t bothered to do much of anything except get here early enough to feel the sting of the salt on exposed skin and smell the tide rolling in like a promise whispered into a shell held up against an ear that didn’t want to hear. She let Zoey’s words wash over her, tasting them for their sourness, knowing better than even to consider getting worked up about something so fucking childish.
But watching this little creature squirm with self-importance – all of it so calculated and manufactured as the plastic waves she probably surfed in California – well… It was a kind of pathetic beauty. It was a fragile thing built on cheap sand that Lauren wouldn’t have minded kicking into dust if not for how those eyes narrowed like some predator finally smelling real blood instead of its own carefully cultivated musk.
“You think you’re better than me?” Zoey whined, her voice wavering with a desperate attempt to sound threatening. “Just because you got knocked down by a wave? You’re ancient history, babe.” She gripped her board tightly like it was a lifeline. Leaning in with a tremor in her voice that hinted at fear, she tried to assert herself, but it only came out loud and clumsy.
"I bet you haven't even touched your board in years." Zoey jabbed at something invisible with the tip of her nose, then let out that breathy, high-pitched laugh like a goddamn dying bird trying to whistle its epitaph. "Too busy worshipping your little rock and whispering sweet nothings to your old man’s ghost.”
It was so goddamn easy to see how desperate this girl was, how the ocean had already begun to peel back those layers of manufactured confidence like cheap wallpaper in a hurricane. It made her almost want to slap that ridiculous grin off Zoey's face with a wet palm and leave a mark as permanent and ugly as the tide line across Lauren’s weathered skin.
Almost.
But she wouldn’t give Zoey the satisfaction of knowing how much she was already getting under her skin.
"You want to make this interesting?" Lauren finally asked, tilting her chin towards the horizon where a new wave was already starting its long, lazy glide from the open sea. "How about you prove it? Next one's on me." She held Zoey’s gaze for a beat too long – just until that perfect little face started to wrinkle with confused aggression beneath those carefully applied eyebrows – and then she turned back towards the water, letting her own board slide down the slope of the beach like some dark, sleek reptile. "And don't think I won't be watching."
The Devil’s Titty wasn’t a place for games played on sand; it was a school where waves broke bones and ambition choked on saltwater. This wave wouldn't be about who could paddle fastest or hold their breath longest.
It would be about who could let go. And Lauren, her skin slicked with sweat and the promise of coming bloodlust, had already stopped caring which one of them drowned first.
The water hissed back from Lauren’s board like a startled dog, dragging sand into feathery patterns of disturbed clay that she felt rather than saw in her peripheral vision. Zoey was already paddling out again – too goddamn eager for this little dance now, even with the way that stupid blonde braid had flopped across her face and plastered itself to one cheekbone like a greasy insect wing.
That frantic energy Lauren’d seen before – how she overcompensated for every twitch of self-doubt with an excess of bravado – was back tenfold. It was pathetic. Like watching some skittish little thing try to puff up its chest against a goddamn lioness who already smelled blood on her teeth.
Zoey had paddled maybe ten strokes when the first wave reared like a furious sea serpent just beyond the breakers. It hit the shallows with a roar, drowning out the pounding of Lauren’s pulse, which echoed against her ribs after too many fights with bigger waves. The spray obscured Zoey for a moment before crashing into nothingness, leaving her bobbing like a plastic bottle cap tossed around by the last tremors of its momentum.
Lauren didn’t bother with another paddle stroke herself. She let the wave wash over her ankles and thighs, feeling the cold salt sting into the delicate web of scar tissue that laced itself across her calves like some unholy lacework. She could have stood out here forever watching Zoey struggle – this girl hadn’t even begun to understand how much space it took to hold an ocean in your bones.
But she wasn't going to give the little bitch that satisfaction either.
When Zoey finally scrambled upright again, spitting and snarling like some goddamn drowned dog, Lauren had already started to walk. Not towards her board, not towards the waterline where those waves were beginning to pulse with their restless energy again – no, she was moving inland, straight up this damn beach and onto that hard-packed sand that wasn’t going to give way under a pair of too-expensive sandals or a desperate scramble for purchase.
The girl yelled something as the next wave rolled her over like a discarded rag doll. Something about waiting for her, about coming back from whatever deathly abyss she thought she was plunging into. Lauren didn't bother turning around to listen. She knew precisely what Zoey was trying to do: bait her into some stupid little competition that would play out with the ocean as its judge and jury.
It wasn’t going to work.
Instead, she kept walking until she was maybe fifty feet inland – far enough from the waterline that even if those waves decided to get nasty about this whole thing, they couldn’t claw their way up here with their stupid frothy teeth and swallow her whole. Two palm trees were flanking a rough stone wall that probably used to be part of some abandoned villa before the sea swallowed half of it years ago. Lauren leaned against the nearest one – a gnarled, twisted thing with bark-like blackened fingernails scraping against the sky.
The heat radiating off the sand beneath her bare feet made her feel like she was standing inside an oven that hadn’t been cleaned since some forgotten solstice celebration. It wasn't even noon yet – and this part of Bali had already baked its goddamn hellfire into the very air itself by eleven in the morning.
Zoey stumbled out of the water, her face twisted in fear, reminiscent of the terror Lauren witnessed when Zoey first saw the reef beneath the surface. Her blonde braid was tangled around her neck, and one strap of her bikini top had come undone after multiple near-misses with the waves. She tugged at it with frantic fingers as if trying to restore the bikini’s decency through sheer willpower, reminiscent of a dog awkwardly trying to reassemble itself after an accident.
"You gonna stand there all day?" Zoey yelled out from somewhere near the waterline, spitting more sand and brine than any human should be able to produce in such a short period. “Or will you let this whole beach go to hell while you watch? You old—” She stopped herself abruptly mid-sentence, her chest heaving like she’d been dragged up through mud instead of water. Even from here, Lauren could hear the ragged rasping breaths trying to fill those goddamn lungs that were probably so used to sucking in air filtered through some fancy city smog machine they couldn't handle anything raw and unfiltered.
But Zoey didn't have time for that kind of self-pity. Not now. She had already started clambering up the beach, her feet finding purchase on the sand with a frantic scrambling urgency. And then she was there – at the bottom of Lauren’s rock wall, panting like some goddamn beast caught in a snare and just as desperate to escape it.
She hadn't even taken two steps towards Lauren before that little white bikini top decided it had seen enough. One last pathetic tug from those pale fingers sent both straps flying away over Zoey's head with the grace of a couple of dying moths, leaving her standing there in nothing but a wet black triangle and a pair of stringy things that barely qualified as underwear.
The sight was almost enough to make Lauren laugh – except it wasn’t even funny in any absolute sense. It was just… pitiful. It was like watching some pathetic little animal trying too hard to shed its skin before it had learned how to survive naked yet somehow still expecting the world to bow down and worship its awkwardness.
"You call that a surf?" Lauren finally asked, tilting her chin towards Zoey’s face in that slow, deliberate way that never failed to make some people think they were getting all the power just by keeping their eyes locked on hers. “Didn’t think so.”
Zoey took a step closer – it wasn't even a whole step. It’s more like a skittering sideways dog shuffle when it thinks you’re about to hit it. She was all frantic edges and trembling limbs, looking like the kind of goddamn mantis shrimp that could snap a human finger with its claws just before it decided to throw itself at you out of some primal fear it couldn't quite understand.
"So what?" she choked out, her voice still trying too hard – strained and thin and wavering around the edges like it was afraid it wouldn’t make it back to whatever tiny human soul had decided to occupy this vacant shell of a body in the first place. "You wanna do something about it?”
That was the stupidest thing she'd said all day, but Lauren didn’t need her to mean it. This was never going to be about words. It wasn’t going to be about who could paddle further or hold their breath longer or even – for god’s sake – whether they had enough ink on their skin to make them look like a goddamn pirate queen in some cheap fantasy novel.
This was going to be about something else entirely. Something that simmered beneath all those carefully constructed layers of fake tan and Botox-laced smiles, something that lurked behind the eyes that were already starting to dilate with that desperate kind of animal panic that came when you knew you were finally on the wrong side of whatever primal shitstorm had been brewing between them for too goddamn long.
The first touch was Lauren’s hand coming down hard across Zoey's cheekbone – not a slap, not yet anyway – but more like something you’d do to knock the stupid grin off a dog who thought it could eat your shoes if it got close enough. The contact sent that girl stumbling back a goddamn step, and even then, she didn’t fall over entirely because of the way her legs were already starting to churn with some frantic need to get away before Lauren did something worse.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” Zoey choked out, but it came out more like a whimper than a threat. She was still looking at Lauren – those stupid blue eyes wide and desperate, like they expected some answer that wouldn't come. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Lauren didn’t say anything back because she couldn’t hear herself think over the way her own heart was starting to pound against the inside of her ribs. The goddamn palm tree creaked above them, and a couple of fat lizards scrambled out of the branches and skittered away into the scrub behind it like they were trying to get as far away from this whole scene as possible.
But Lauren wasn’t going anywhere. Her hand was still clenched around Zoey’s cheekbone – not so tightly that she couldn't see the girl’s stupid, pathetic little face crumpling up beneath it, but enough to make her feel those brittle bones grinding under the pressure of Lauren’s calloused knuckles.
It wasn’t just anger anymore. Not entirely. Somewhere down in the pit where everything went quiet and hot before a fight broke loose – somewhere past the fear that had started to claw at the edges of her throat like a starved dog trying to gnaw its way out of a cage – something else was stirring. Something raw and primal, and it smelled a little bit like salt and blood and old, buried secrets that Zoey hadn’t even known about herself until this goddamn moment.
It wasn't just anger anymore; it was hunger. And the kind of hunger you didn’t try to quiet down with words or some pathetic little apology. It was the kind you answered by leaning closer and pulling your teeth from their sockets before they could think about running away.
Zoey flinched, but she didn’t pull away. She just kept staring at Lauren like she expected her to do something else – some grand gesture of violence or apology that wouldn’t ever come. Instead, the only thing Lauren gave her was that slow, deliberate push down on that delicate cheekbone with the inside of her thumb – just enough to make Zoey's jaw snap open and let out a little strangled gasp that sounded like something dying in the throat.
The other hand came up then – not fast or sudden, but smooth as one of those goddamn snakes Lauren had seen slithering through the undergrowth down here when she wasn’t supposed to be watching them – and it settled itself right across Zoey’s mouth before the girl could even think about trying to scream. The air around their faces went still as the sun hammered down on that sand, making the heat rise in waves like some goddamn mirage. Even the lizards had vanished.
There was something feral in the way Lauren held her captive there – not enough pressure to hurt her yet, but enough to make Zoey's eyes water and that stupid blonde hair at her temples start to stick out from under her hand like some pathetic halo. Her thumb went back down into that wet space between the girl’s mouth and her cheekbone, twisting her head up a little further – just enough to see those wide, panicked blue eyes trying to find purchase on something solid in the world after Lauren had pulled it all away from them.
"You think you can handle this?" Lauren asked, but the question wasn't directed at Zoey anymore. Not really. It was more like something she needed to say out loud just for herself before she decided what else she wanted to do with the girl who’d come looking for trouble and found it waiting on a goddamn beach in Bali.
The answer to that question had already been written across Lauren's face. The ocean was still screaming somewhere behind them, but all Zoey heard was the sound of her blood thundering in her ears as some doomed metronome counting down the last seconds of something she hadn’t even known had begun until now.
The kiss came next – a slow press of teeth and tongue that wasn't gentle yet anyway. It started somewhere around Zoey's lips and then snaked its way up across her jawbone, tasting salt and cheap perfume and something else Lauren couldn't quite name that smelled like the desperate kind of fear you didn’t want to admit you were already drowning in.
Zoey whimpered – a choked little sound swallowed by the heat rising off the sand. The way she flinched into that touch was precisely what Lauren needed, but it wasn't enough yet, either. Not even close.
She wanted more of that fight in her – something to claw onto, to push back against while Lauren kept dragging her deeper into this goddamn mess they both knew couldn’t end well for anyone involved.
"Don't," Zoey choked out between the ragged breaths she was trying so hard to keep from turning into full-blown panic attacks.
The word hitched somewhere in that damp space between Lauren's teeth and her skin as if a goddamn desert had swallowed it, but the girl's eyes were still wide enough for Lauren to see what little bit of defiance she was trying to scrape up out of all those terrified blue depths. It wasn’t much – not even close enough to make this whole thing worth anything – but there it was. A flicker of something feral, maybe just barely recognizable under that layer of white-blond hair and overpriced sunscreen.
It wasn't a damn apology. Not even a goddamn plea for mercy. But it was something else entirely. Something that tasted like fear mixed with defiance. It tasted good.
Lauren leaned down then – closer still – until the space between them had shrunk to hot, humid air and the stench of salt spray and maybe just a hint of coconut oil from that stupid little bottle Zoey thought would somehow make her more than what she was. Her thumb traced a path across that bruised cheekbone again, pushing up hard enough to make Zoey’s teeth clatter against Lauren's goddamn gums.
“Good girl,” Lauren breathed out – the sound rough and husky in the way it shouldn't be coming from anyone who wasn't already halfway gone. "Now shut your goddamn mouth."
She didn’t wait for another answer after that. Not this time, anyway. She just pushed on down into Zoey’s open mouth with that same slow, deliberate hunger she’d been using to push the world away ever since she was old enough to know what a fight looked like and how it tasted in the back of your throat.
The first few teeth made contact somewhere around those stupid little canines – just hard enough to make Zoey gag and twist her head back against the palm tree trunk behind them. It wasn’t a goddamn kiss anymore, not even close. It was something else entirely. Something that felt like ripping through skin and bone and sinew until you found what tasted like blood and maybe some desperate need for forgiveness.
And it smelled like hellfire.
Zoey’s gag turned into a strangled shriek that faded in Lauren’s mouth, a sound devoid of defiance—just a trapped animal fighting for escape. Both were locked inside now, the scent of salt and coconut oil swirling with fear and desperation. The floral notes Zoey hoped would mask everything only intensified Lauren’s primal hunger.
Pulling back was almost more complicated than going deeper – a conscious decision made against the grain of that raw need that had her knuckles white on Zoey’s jawbone and teeth scraping over the sensitive skin just below her bottom lip like she was trying to carve something into it with a goddamn rusty knife. But there wasn’t enough space between them for anything but that greedy, desperate kiss-fight.
Zoey flinched against Lauren's hand, feigning resistance while her fingers lashed out, catching Lauren's collarbone in a jarring grip. It was more pathetic than pleasurable, yet the manicured nails digging in, almost desperate to leave a mark, stirred something primal deep within Lauren—something buried beneath layers of self-loathing even she barely recalled.
The palm tree creaked again – a dry, brittle sound like a thousand old bones settling in the goddamn sand at last – as if it was watching them both go to hell with some morbid fascination. Or maybe just waiting for one of them to knock down its stupid roots and finish things properly.
Lauren took that chance, though. That little tug on her collarbone had been enough. She knew the sound of those nails scrabbling at her skin – she could practically taste the way they’d shredded a goddamn cheap cotton t-shirt or some other kind of flimsy fabric someone thought would do when you needed to get through life without getting too much sand in your goddamn bra straps. That kind of pathetic desperation made it all worthwhile, not for Zoey – never for her – but for Lauren.
She shoved her hand into that mess of blonde hair, twisting hard enough to make Zoey’s head jerk back against the trunk. The other hand came up then and grabbed her wrist above the bony little joint where those stupid manicured nails had tried their damn luck. She didn't try to pull away – not even after Lauren twisted it back towards her shoulder so that the palm of her hand was pressed hard against Zoey’s chest, just under that stupid pale triangle of bikini top she’d left hanging on for dear life as if some goddamn decency could hold onto this beach or anything else worth giving a damn about.
That thin skin stretched over bone – maybe it had been ripped in half already by all the waves they both thought were so fucking important to them - and Lauren pressed her thumb into that soft flesh with enough force to make Zoey’s teeth scrape against those goddamn front ones again. There was a choked whimper buried somewhere under the scraping noise of their breath and some wet, guttural sound that Lauren knew had less to do with pain than it did with something else entirely.
It wasn't a sob or a cry – not even close to the kind of thing you heard from people who’d never been hurt enough to know how to make noise in their goddamn bodies anymore. It was something closer to a growl, and it came out right before Lauren pressed her knee into Zoey’s stomach hard enough to make that air inside her scream its way out in a choked gasp that sounded like a goddamn dying bird.
The bikini top rode up on the girl's shoulder blade – too much fabric left flapping there now for a good, tight fist around something else. Lauren didn’t need anything but that damn triangle of flesh and bone to know how easily it was going to break apart with another hard push-in. It wasn’t even about breaking bones any more; she just wanted to make Zoey feel the same way Lauren felt when some dumb prick had put his goddamn hand on her back at a party once, all slick and greasy like he thought that kind of touch gave him the right to do anything else after that.
It didn't matter what she did next – not really. Not while Zoey kept looking at her with those big, stupid blue eyes still wide enough to be trying to see into something beyond the goddamn beach. Lauren could smell fear there, too – how it stank like cheap perfume and wet sand after a long day of drowning. But there was something else in that look now – something more challenging to place. Maybe it was just defiance again or something that had been there all along and needed enough space to bloom.
She didn’t let Zoey get a goddamn chance to think about it, though. One hand came up hard under the chin – forcing her head back against Lauren's shoulder as if they were some broken-winged birds trying to find purchase in the same damn nest – and then she shoved that fist down into those big, dumb eyes and went looking for the part of Zoey’s mouth that wasn’t already stained with blood.
The teeth caught there before Lauren could even think about pulling back – scraping against her tongue like some goddamn rusty latch on a rotten door. It made Zoey spit out something wet and sour, and the sound was almost enough to make Lauren lose her grip entirely. But she didn’t let go. Instead, she shoved that fist deeper into Zoey's face until it felt like she was pushing against bone.
There were teeth, too, sharp as broken glass against Lauren’s knuckles – but not nearly sharp enough. Not even close to how she’d been feeling inside for weeks now. They didn’t try to bite back at her; they just pressed in hard enough to make those goddamn gums bleed and taste like something raw and desperate that had nothing to do with coconut oil and everything to do with the kind of hunger you couldn't ever get rid of.
Lauren knew Zoey was trying to find a way out – even if it wasn’t for anything more than just breathing again before she passed the hell out on this stupid beach in front of some goddamn palm tree that wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about either one of them. She could feel her fingers getting slick with sweat and blood and hear that ragged, rasping breath coming from somewhere deep inside Zoey's chest like a trapped animal trying to claw its way out of a cage made of sand and bone.
But Lauren wasn't giving her any space for that kind of goddamn peace. Not yet, anyway.
Something about how those eyes kept looking at her – that stupid, desperate blue – felt like some challenge she couldn’t refuse even if she wanted to. It had been too fucking long since someone had made her feel this way – less like a goddamn shark and more like something closer to prey herself. She hadn't realized how much she craved it until Zoey brought it on like a storm surge, crashing over the sand with all that desperate need to be seen, broken, and finally devoured.
She didn’t know what would happen next – not really. She didn’t even want to think about it too hard while her teeth were still sunk into Zoey’s bottom lip like a goddamn anchor dragging through bone and salt water. This wasn't about winning anymore. Not any more than any fight she’d ever been in was about anything more than the way it made the world shrink down until there was nothing left but the feel of skin and blood against her own, ragged breaths mingling with the taste of something bitter and sweet that had her teeth aching and goddamn hungry at the same time.
This wasn't some dumb contest for alpha bitch – not anymore. These were just two women drowning in different ways long enough to start seeing salvation in each other’s pain.
And somewhere between those ragged gasps, Lauren thought maybe she'd finally found a way to drown them together.
The sand gives under Lauren’s knee, sending Zoey tumbling backward with a choked cry that ends up swallowed by her frantic hand clamped over a split lip. For a second, there's nothing but that spatter of wet red on pale skin, the scent of salt and ozone, and how the wind whips through those stupid blonde strands hanging down Zoey’s face like a pathetic halo. At the same time, she scrambles to get back up again – all tangled limbs and frantic breaths trying to find purchase in a world that suddenly felt too goddamn big for her.
Lauren doesn't give her the chance. Her other hand comes out from under that messy tangle of hair with Zoey’s goddamn t-shirt clutched tight in it, fisting up hard enough to make the cheap cotton bunch and tear across those pathetic little breasts like some kind of goddamn sacrifice she didn’t even want to fucking offer. It's all raw muscle and sinews now – no more careful hunting or waiting for the right moment to pounce. This is just a goddamn brawl, and Lauren hasn't lost one in years. Not on land, anyway.
She hauls Zoey back up against that trunk with a grunt halfway between a laugh and some feral growl she can’t quite name. It doesn't make any damn difference what the tree thinks – not when it's got its roots digging into something as solid as this beach, holding onto the world just like Zoey is trying to hold onto Lauren now with both those skinny hands scrabbling at the back of her goddamn neck and shoulder blades. But she's still got enough goddamn fight left in her to claw, even if it's just for another taste.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” Lauren breathes out – more like a rasping promise than anything else – into that messy mess of damp hair smelling like salt and something cheap and floral, trying to mask it all. She pushes down hard enough to make Zoey’s head tilt back, jaw slack against the goddamn palm tree behind her. It’s not even about seeing those eyes anymore; she’s got a better feel for what they’re doing now than any damn sight could give her anyway.
“So fucking pretty,” Lauren repeats – and then comes the bite again. This time, it doesn't miss. Those canines find purchase somewhere around Zoey’s shoulder, tearing through that flimsy cotton and the goddamn skin under it like some kind of goddamn paper doll. It makes the girl gasp out loud – not a choked sob or anything close to a plea for mercy – but something deeper down where the sound almost feels like an apology itself.
It's enough.
Lauren leans forward then – into that damp tangle of blonde hair and the heat rising off Zoey’s skin, pushing against the goddamn tree trunk until they’re practically wedged together like some fucked-up sundial casting shadows on nothing but sand. The taste in her mouth is a mess of salt and blood and something else she doesn't even want to try to name because it just feels too goddamn good.
There isn’t any more fighting left for either one of them. Not any more than there ever really was. It never was about winning – not when it felt this close to drowning.
Instead, Lauren lets her fingers dig into that slickness of Zoey’s skin under the armpit – twisting hard enough to make the girl flinch back against the tree and then suck in that goddamn breath again like she’d just been punched in the goddamn gut. It doesn’t matter if it was even worth the fucking pain anymore, not when her chest is heaving with some desperate need to feel Zoey’s body pressed against hers like they were two pieces of driftwood finally finding purchase after being tossed around in a goddamn storm.
One hand comes up then – slow and deliberate as hell – tracing that line from the corner of Zoey’s mouth down across her jawbone, feeling for those damned broken bones beneath the soft flesh of her cheek. It’s not enough to feel like it's working its way into something worth breaking anymore; Lauren needs to see what she’s got underneath all this stupid blonde hair and that goddamn bikini top with its flimsy straps already busted open at the shoulder.
Her thumb goes hard against Zoey’s bottom lip again – just enough pressure to make her teeth scrape against those goddamn front ones. There’s still blood there, but it's mixed now with something else entirely – maybe a little bit of saliva, perhaps some kind of desperate spit-soaked desperation that comes from trying to hold onto something even though you know damn well it’s already slipping through your fingers. It tastes like surrender and something closer to consent than Lauren should be fucking entitled to feel at this goddamn point.
The other hand reaches up then – past Zoey’s messy blonde hair and the damp curve of her neck, finding purchase in that shoulder blade where the cheap fabric had ripped open with a jagged tear that probably wasn't even going to look clean after all the goddamn blood got washed out later. She doesn’t need to ask what Zoey wants; she can feel it down there somewhere between the broken bones and the heat radiating off those damn skinny shoulders – some desperate plea for something rougher, harder, closer than this goddamn beach sand.
It's not even about winning anymore. It never was. Not really. These two women have been drowning in different ways long enough to start seeing salvation in each other’s pain. And somewhere between those ragged gasps and the way Zoey keeps trying to bite down hard on her lip, Lauren thinks maybe she’s finally found a way to drown them both together.
She pulls Zoey closer – close enough to feel the tremor in those goddamn ribs against the back of her palm. It doesn’t matter if they bleed out here or not. It doesn't even matter where this ends up taking them as long as it takes them somewhere together. The victory isn't about dominance; it's about possession – of a body, a scent, a desperate gasp that sounds almost like an apology.
Lauren’s been craving this all along: the taste of surrender on her lips and the knowledge that, for once, she wasn't just sinking - she was dragging someone else down with her.
“Don’t leave,” she murmurs, tasting like salt, blood, and a desperate need that Lauren can’t quite name.
"You want this," Lauren breathes out back – knowing damn well it doesn’t even matter what Zoey wants anymore. “You want it bad enough to bleed for it.” Her thumb ghosts across the torn fabric of Zoey’s bikini top, pushing aside the damp strands clinging to her shoulder blade like seaweed caught in a riptide.
The girl shivers beneath that touch, not the kind of shudder from cold or fear – something more profound, more coiled and hot as if Lauren was running some goddamn wire straight into the middle of Zoey’s spine and twisting it tight enough to make the whole goddamn circuit hum. It leaves Lauren with a taste on her tongue that’s sourer than any blood could be but sharper, too.
“It’s not what you think,” Zoey rasps – those big blue eyes still wide and wet-bright even in the way they never blinked anymore when she looked at Lauren like this. Like some goddamn goldfish stuck in a bowl that was already cracked from the bottom but somehow kept filling up anyway, no matter how much spilled out over the edge.
“Doesn’t have to be,” Lauren says back – because it doesn’t matter if Zoey ever gets to figure out what this is. It never has been with any of them before. Not when they were down here on their goddamn knees together, sand slick under both of them and the smell of salt water like some lousy cologne clinging to the back of her throat.
She pushes those hands away from Zoey's own – letting them fall limp against that ripped-open flesh as if she was tired of trying to claw at anything anymore. Maybe it’s true what they used to say about how all you had to do was take something like this seriously enough, and then the goddamn ocean would swallow you whole anyway.
But Lauren doesn’t want to be swallowed here – not tonight. Not when the sky’s still half-lit with that angry orange glow even though the damn sun’s already gone down hours ago. She wants to be the one doing all the taking, slow and deliberate as hell. She wants Zoey to see the way she's got those goddamn knees sunk in deep enough to leave two perfect bloody prints right there in the sand like some kind of goddamn calling card.
“Don’t worry about what you want,” Lauren says then – leaning down close enough for that scent of cheap coconut oil and something else, darker and wetter underneath it all, to hit her straight in the goddamn face. “I know what you need.”
She doesn't give Zoey any more time to answer because she never liked those answers. Not when a mouth full of salt water was waiting to be spat out and teeth that felt sharp enough to sink into something more profound than this cheap flesh. Instead, she comes up on her goddamn toes – pressing the tip of her nose against Zoey's wet skin just above that busted lip and then down again, dragging it slowly across those cracked bones until they’re slick with heat and a kind of a goddamn shame that makes those big blue eyes roll back in their sockets like some broken toy.
"Don't worry," she breathes out again - the sound of it rough against Zoey's damp skin, close enough to feel like some kind of goddamn curse being laid on her already. "I'm not gonna hurt you too badly.”
The lie hangs there between them, thick and sweet as blood and something else Lauren can’t even name – a promise that tastes worse than any truth ever could on this goddamn beach.
She knows what she wants to do next - knows the way Zoey’s whole body tightens up against her palm, just like some kind of goddamn prey caught in a trap, waiting for the jaws to close. But for now, Lauren lets herself linger there instead – savoring that tremor running through Zoey's ribs beneath her hand, feeling those damp curves rising and falling against the heat radiating off the sand, smelling that mixture of salt water and something else slicker, sweeter, blooming between them like a goddamn bruise opening up. She presses her lips to the broken skin above that busted lip again – this time just hard enough to taste it, feel those damn teeth scrape across the raw edges while Zoey makes some strangled noise in the back of her throat that’s half-whimper and half-prayer.
"Don't worry," she whispers again, tasting blood and coconut oil and something else blooming like a goddamn rose between them – poisonous and beautiful at the same time. “There’ll be plenty of hurting later.”
And then Lauren finally lets her hand fall away from that tangled mess of bones beneath it. The sand feels cold against the back of her palm for a second before she moves on up again, pushing Zoey's chin down with the tip of her finger and finding purchase in those wide blue eyes staring back at her like some kind of goddamn drowning ghost.
“What else are we gonna do out here anyway?”
She leans down close enough for their breaths to tangle together over that broken flesh – a mess of heat and salt water and something else slicker, darker blooming between them now - smelling like surrender and the sting of blood and maybe even something like goddamn hope. The kind that only comes when you’ve already been half-swallowed whole.
The sunset burns behind them, turning everything around them into a bloody smear of orange and purple. And for the first time tonight, Lauren feels something close to satisfied – not because she’s won or lost, but because somewhere out here between this goddamn ocean and these bleached bones under the dying light, they’ve both found a new kind of hunger. Something raw enough to eat them both alive.
