The ocean was glitter and my gloss was pink. My bossy brunette bestie had one mission: beach sex. We staked our towels by the volleyball court and she spotted him instantly—a tall, confident ripped beach guy with a sun-warm smile and sandy blonde hair.

“Target acquired, he’s the one” she whispered, bumping my ankle. “Go be adorable. I’ll wingwoman.”

I waded to the foam line like it wasn’t staged. He laughed at my splash; I liked his laugh. Flirty banter snapped into place—travel, tacos, playlists. From the towels, my friend pantomimed coaching: posture, spin, smile. Subtle? Never. Effective? Always.

We shared cold watermelon and sunscreen. “Sunset beach date or beach party?” she quizzed. “Sunset conversations,” he said—good answer. She shooed us back towards the umbrella. **Summer romance sex, sunset chemistry—check and check.**

“Rules?” he asked, soft-voiced. “Playful, patient, and Public,” I said. “We keep the sparks on the sand.” “Deal.”

We started kissing, our hot bodies laid up against each other as our hands moved up and down exploring each other. Before I knew it Brittney was on the other side of him, with her hand gently grasping the thick part of my ass.

She pulled me on top of him sliding my swimsuit bottoms down and positioning my legs to warp around his torso. I tried to fight it, but she just leaned in and kissed me as her hand wrestled around in his pants freeing his cock and guiding it towards my wet slit. She guided my pumps until I was breathless as she gently slid my body to the side. She got on top of him to ride him.

It wasn’t up to me, I gave in to her will, and Control