What the Dive Guide Proposed to Us That Night
The morning light slipped through the slats of the blinds and hit her eyes with an insistence that ended in a headache. Marisol lay there, staring at the hotel room ceiling in Cancún, trying to sort through the pieces of the night before in her head. Andrés’s salty taste still lingered in her throat, mixed with the metallic aftertaste of guilt and an electric tingle that was pure remembered arousal.
She rolled onto her side. Paula’s and Carmen’s bed was rumpled and empty. She sat on the edge of the mattress, bare feet searching for the cold floor. What exactly have I done? Daniel had given her “carte blanche” before they left Spain, but was that a gift or a trap? A test to see whether she could hold the loose leash without biting? Or worse: indifference disguised as generosity? The idea churned her stomach.
She went to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. A tanned woman, her eyes a little red, but with a tired smile that hadn’t been there the day they got on the plane. She washed her face and went out to find the others.
The main terrace was already thick with Caribbean heat by nine. Paula and Carmen were drinking orange juice behind huge sunglasses that covered half their faces.
—Well, look at the sleepyhead! —Carmen exclaimed, setting aside a magazine—. We thought you’d been killed in action.
Marisol poured herself some coffee from the pot and sank into a wicker lounger.
—Yesterday was… intense —she murmured.
Paula looked at her over her sunglasses with a knowing smile that needed no words.
—Intense is putting it mildly, Mari. We saw you leave with that guy. The dark one. Andrés, right? —Carmen laughed, crossing her legs—. Watch out for the men here; they don’t stop until they’ve drained your battery.
—Don’t exaggerate —Lorena laughed, arriving at that moment with a towel over her shoulder—. Though you may have a point. Yesterday I saw things at the pool that, back in my town, would get you excommunicated.
—It’s just that they’re insanely hot —Paula insisted, leaning back—. They’ve got that mix of rough and sweet, you know? And the bodies… my God.
The comment sent Marisol back to the sand of the previous night, to Andrés’s hands gripping her hips as he took her from behind. She took a sip of coffee and burned her tongue.
—Yes, they’re… very passionate —she said, searching for the least compromising word.
—Relax, Mari —Lorena cut in, touching her arm—. We’re on vacation. You haven’t done anything.
“You haven’t done anything.” The phrase kept turning over in her head. Is that what I am now? A hungry diner in a restaurant where everything is allowed?
—Today is for taking it easy —she said, changing the subject—. I was thinking we could go diving. They say the reefs at Isla Mujeres are amazing.
—I’m in —Lorena replied—. I need to put my head underwater and forget about work and the kids.
—I’m out —Carmen said, turning on a vape—. Water and I don’t get along. Sun and a book.
—And I have an appointment with a masseur at two —Paula added—. They say his hands are magical.
—Then it’s Lorena and me —Marisol concluded, with unexpected relief. A while alone with her friend, away from the noise, would help clear her head.
***
There were no reservations until two days later. On the third day, the sun was already high when they reached the small dock. The sea was still, a deep turquoise that promised secrets beneath the surface. It smelled of salt and of the fuel from the fishing boats. Marisol breathed deeply and, for a moment, guilt seemed to dissolve into the vastness of the ocean, as if remorse had only been a shadow brought by the night and taken away by the day.
At the end of the dock, beside a large inflatable boat, a man was waiting for them. He wore a short wetsuit that left his tanned, well-worked arms bare, and blond hair bleached by the sun. When he saw them, he took off his aviator sunglasses and smiled with white, perfect teeth.
—Mrs. Marisol and Lorena? —he asked, with a relaxed, hoarse American accent.
—Yes, us —Marisol replied, and felt a tug in her stomach. The guy was stunning. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a smooth chest hinted at beneath the neoprene.
—I’m Brandon. Your guide today. Welcome to paradise —he extended a large, weathered hand with a climber’s calluses.
Marisol shook it. The grip was firm, warm, and lasted a second longer than necessary. Brandon looked her in the eye, a pale blue that seemed to read her darkest thoughts.
—Nice to meet you —she said, looking away.
—The pleasure’s mine —he replied, before turning to greet Lorena. Marisol saw her friend straighten a little, offering him her best angle.
The ride out to the reef was short. The engine roared and splashed salty water over their legs. Brandon talked nonstop, going over safety rules, but his attention was divided. Marisol could feel him right behind her, at the helm seat, and every time the boat bounced over a wave, a knee or shoulder brushed against her body. It was an accidental touch, but she was aware of every centimeter of skin that met his.
—The water’s crystal clear today —he shouted in her ear over the engine—. Perfect for seeing what the bottom is hiding.
His breath made the back of her neck prickle. Marisol could only nod. She felt like a teenager again, nervous and ridiculous.
Underwater, the world changed. The engine’s noise disappeared, replaced by the bubbles from the regulators and the solemn silence of the sea. Marisol followed Brandon, who swam ahead with feline agility. Through her mask she could see his muscles tightening and relaxing with each stroke: a hypnotic sight of strength and balance.
They stopped beside a huge brain coral. Brandon pointed to an octopus hidden in a crevice. Marisol floated, watching it, then turned toward Lorena. Her friend wasn’t looking at the octopus. She was looking at Brandon’s legs, the way his fins cut through the water. Marisol felt an absurd stab of jealousy. Why is she looking at him like that? Why do I feel like I own a man I’ve just met?
They surfaced after an hour, exhausted and happy. Brandon helped them climb back aboard, his strong hands gripping their forearms to pull them up.
—How was it? —he asked, shaking his hair like a dog coming out of the water.
—Incredible —Lorena said—. I had no idea it was this beautiful.
—Best place in the world —Brandon replied, looking at Marisol—. At least for losing your mind.
Heat rose up her neck. His gaze was direct, charged with intention; this wasn’t the canned line of a tour guide.
—Do you have plans this afternoon? —he asked as he gathered the gear. His voice had gone lower, more private.
—No, nothing specific —Marisol cut in before Lorena could answer.
—I know a place. A hidden bar in the old part of town. Only locals know it. Good drinks, better music… and very little clothing —he smiled, with a wicked wink—. Want me to take you there?
—Sounds dangerous —Lorena said, though her smile betrayed her.
—Dangerous is what makes life worth living —he replied, stepping closer to Marisol. They were standing on the dock, under the blazing sun. Brandon planted himself in front of her, invading her space, blocking the light with his body.
Marisol stood still, trapped between him and the railing. He smelled of sea, sun, and something masculine and coppery.
—What do you say, Mari? —he whispered, using the short name only her close friends used—. Are you brave enough?
She looked at Lorena over Brandon’s shoulder. Her friend was watching the scene with her arms crossed and an unreadable expression. Marisol felt a spark of defiance. If Daniel wanted me to be free, then I’m going to be. Completely.
—Dare me —she said, looking him in the eye.
Brandon smiled, the smile of a satisfied predator.
—Perfect. I’ll pick you up at eight. And don’t be on time: punctuality is boring.
***
Back at the hotel, the tension in the room was almost tangible. Marisol showered, trying to wash off the salt and sand, but also the anticipation. Lorena was sitting on the bed, watching her with an uncomfortable intensity.
—What’s wrong? —Marisol asked, rinsing the soap away.
—Nothing —Lorena said, though her tone said otherwise—. It’s just that guy is a wolf. And you’re the little lamb offering yourself up.
—I’m not any little lamb —she shot back, drying herself hard—. And if he’s a wolf, maybe I feel like playing with him.
—And Daniel? —Lorena blurted, dropping the bomb.
Marisol froze. The towel covered her body, but she felt naked.
—Daniel gave me permission, I already told you.
—Permission to sleep with someone, yes. But permission to lose your mind? Because that one doesn’t look like a “once and that’s it” kind of guy.
Marisol didn’t answer. She looked at herself in the mirror. Lorena was right. There was something about Brandon, an arrogant certainty that promised more than quick sex. It promised a surrender she wasn’t sure she could control.
At exactly eight, the room phone rang.
—Come down —he said, and hung up.
Lorena had put on a red silk dress, cut high on the thigh, and heels. Marisol chose a tight black strapless dress that left her back bare. They went down to the lobby. Brandon was waiting, leaning against a column, wearing white linen trousers and a shirt open to the navel, like a surf god who had decided to walk among mortals. His gaze traveled over Marisol from head to toe with insulting, exciting slowness.
—Ready —he said, offering an arm to each of them. But when they reached the door he stopped. —Listen, I’ve had an idea. The bar is too crowded for my taste tonight. Why don’t we go to my place? I have an aged rum that’s practically begging to be opened.
The two women looked at each other. It was a blunt proposal: a stranger’s house.
—Are you sure? —Marisol asked, though she already knew the answer.
—Never been more sure —he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her a little away from Lorena—. Come on. Stop thinking so much.
***
The apartment was in a modern building facing the sea, with huge windows. Minimalist, clean, smelling of incense. Brandon poured three glasses of rum and sat on a white leather sofa, indicating they should flank him. Marisol on his right, Lorena on his left. The air was thick.
—I knew I’d like you the moment I saw you on the dock —he told Marisol in a low voice—. You’ve got that look of a woman who needs someone to take control so she can let go.
A shiver ran down her spine. Am I that transparent?
—And you —he said, turning to Lorena— have the look of the one who watches. The one who waits her turn to see what she learns.
Lorena blushed and took a nervous sip.
Brandon stood and held out his hand to Marisol. She took it. He led her to the center of the room.
—Dance with me.
There was no music, only the sound of the waves and their own breathing. He put his hands on her waist, possessive, and pressed her to his body. Marisol felt the hardness of his muscles and the heat of his crotch against her belly.
—You’re terribly sexy —he whispered in her ear, biting her lobe—. And you’re going to be mine tonight.
She closed her eyes. Brandon’s hands slid down to her ass, squeezing it, hitching up her skirt. Marisol moaned softly, feeling the wetness soaking her underwear.
Suddenly he pulled away.
—But first we need to get rid of the dead weight —he said, looking at Lorena.
Lorena stiffened on the sofa.
—Me?
—You —Brandon replied, walking toward her with ferocious confidence—. You’re here watching, judging, wanting what I’m giving her. Or am I wrong?
Lorena said nothing, but her breathing had quickened. He crouched in front of her, put his hands on her knees, and slowly spread them apart.
—If you stay, you stay to play. In my house there are no free spectators —he said, looking her in the eyes—. Are you leaving or staying?
Lorena looked to Marisol for help. Marisol was paralyzed, excited and terrified at the same time. She wanted her friend to leave, she wanted Brandon all to herself; she felt an animal jealousy she had never known. But a dark, perverse part of her wanted to see what would happen. She wanted to see whether Lorena would dare.
Lorena stood up slowly.
—I’m staying —she whispered.
Brandon smiled, victorious.
—Then come here.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him, kissing her with a brusqueness that tore an audible moan from Marisol. It was a hungry kiss, all teeth and tongue, all dominance. Lorena resisted for an instant, her hands pushing at that chest, but then she gave in and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her fingers in his blond hair.
Marisol watched, a mix of burning jealousy and arousal that soaked her thighs. She had never seen Lorena kiss anyone, much less like that. It was obscene, real.
Brandon broke away, leaving her panting, lips swollen.
—Good —he said, turning back to Marisol—. Where were we?
She rushed toward him, unable to hold back, and kissed him with the same fury, biting his lip, sucking his tongue. Brandon lifted her effortlessly as if she weighed nothing and she wrapped her legs around his waist.
—To the bed —he ordered.
***
The bedroom was spacious, with a huge bed dressed in black sheets. Brandon dropped her onto the mattress and climbed on top of her, kissing her neck, her collarbone, moving down toward her breasts. Marisol arched her back, searching for his mouth.
—Take off the dress —he said, sitting up to unbutton his shirt.
With trembling fingers, she pulled down the zipper and let the fabric fall. She was left in black lace, breasts bare, nipples hard. Brandon licked his lips, took one breast in his hand and squeezed hard while his mouth captured the other nipple and bit it until he tore a cry from her that was part pain, part pleasure.
—More —she begged—. Please, more.
He slid one hand down her belly and under the lace. His fingers found her swollen clit. Marisol screamed, lifting her hips.
—You’re soaked —he whispered—. Do you like it when I touch you in front of your friend?
Marisol opened her eyes and saw Lorena standing beside the bed, in a red thong and lace bra, hands stroking her own breasts, gaze fixed on where Brandon’s hand disappeared inside her. The image was too much. The orgasm shot through her like a blow, making her tremble and scream his name while her thighs trapped his hand.
Brandon gave her no respite. He took off his trousers, freeing a thick, throbbing erection. Marisol stared at it hungrily.
—Suck me —he ordered.
She sat on the edge and took him in her hand. Hot, hard, smooth skin over firm flesh. She leaned in, licked the tip, tasting the salt. Brandon groaned and placed a hand on the back of her neck, setting the rhythm. Marisol opened her mouth and took as much of him as she could, licking with her tongue while her other hand caressed his testicles.
—Lorena —he growled, never taking his eyes off Marisol—. Come and sit on her face.
Marisol felt an electric shock. Lorena? Here?
Her friend didn’t hesitate. She climbed onto the bed, took off her thong and, on her knees, lowered her sex toward Marisol’s mouth. Marisol caught the sweet, sour scent of her arousal. She had never done anything like that, had never even imagined it, but in that instant it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. She lifted her head and stuck out her tongue, touching the folds. Lorena moaned and pressed herself harder against her, while Brandon, standing beside them both, shoved his cock into Lorena’s mouth.
The room filled with sounds: Marisol’s muffled moans, Lorena’s gasps, Brandon’s growls, and the wet smack of flesh. Three sweat-slick bodies tangled in the same desire.
Brandon pulled out of Lorena’s mouth with a wet sound.
—My turn —he said.
He pushed Lorena aside and positioned himself between Marisol’s legs, spread wide. He lined up the tip with her entrance and, with one thrust, sank all the way in. She screamed, feeling split in two, full, stretched to the limit. He didn’t wait: he started moving with deep, hard thrusts that slammed the bed against the wall.
Lorena, not content to watch, came closer and kissed Marisol, sharing the taste of her own sex, while her hands searched for her breasts and pinched her nipples.
—Yes, yes, yes —Marisol panted with each thrust, drowned in her friend’s mouth.
Brandon sped up, his hips pistoning, hair stuck to his forehead, eyes fixed on where their bodies met.
—I’m going to come inside you —he growled.
—Do it —she begged—. Give it all to me.
With a roar he drove in all the way and went rigid, trembling as he flooded her in waves. Marisol felt the heat spreading inside her, the certainty that a stranger had just marked his territory, and that drove her into another orgasm, screaming against Lorena’s neck.
Brandon collapsed on top of her, heavy, breathless. The three of them lay tangled in the black sheets, smelling of sex and sweat.
***
They spent a few minutes in silence, just the sound of their breathing getting back to normal. Brandon got up, went to the bathroom, and returned with a damp towel he tossed to them.
—Clean yourselves up —he said with a lazy smile—. The night is long, and we’re going for round two.
Marisol wiped herself while looking at Lorena. Her friend met her gaze, and for the first time on the trip there were no secrets between them. Only a new complicity, the awareness of having crossed a line neither of them wanted to step back over.
Lorena came closer and stroked her cheek.
—Did you know? —she asked softly.
—Know what?
—That I had permission too —Lorena said, with a sad smile—. My husband gave it to me a year ago. But I’d never had the courage to use it. Until today.
Marisol hugged her, feeling her friend’s naked body against hers.
—Well, it looks like today we broke every rule —she murmured.
Brandon returned to the bed, already hard again.
—What are you two talking about? —he asked, dropping down between them.
—That we’re ready for round two —Marisol replied, looking at him with a boldness she didn’t know she possessed.
—Perfect —he said, taking one by the waist and the other by the neck—. Because now we’re going to see who lasts longer.