The villa was perfect.
Perched above a private cove, it had everything Tyler wanted: white stone walls, gauzy curtains that fluttered in the ocean breeze, an infinity pool that looked like it poured into the sea, and a long, winding beach where no one would hear a thing—no matter how loud he moaned or how hard Logan made him beg.
They’d only been married two days, and Tyler was already testing limits.
He’d gotten up that morning and wandered outside in nothing but a sarong—Logan’s, to be precise. He’d stolen it after breakfast, leaving Logan with nothing to wear but a towel when the concierge came to drop off champagne. Tyler greeted her, all smiles, making sure to lean over the railing just enough to flash some bare thigh and red paddle-marks from the night before.
She blushed. Logan didn’t.
Logan waited until she left. Then he locked the villa door.
“Strip,” he said.
Tyler grinned. “It’s hot out.”
“Not as hot as your backside’s about to be.”
Tyler made a break for it—laughing, sprinting barefoot across the veranda, down the stairs, and onto the sand. But Logan followed, calm and relentless, like a tide that always knew where it was going.
Tyler ran until he hit the edge of the surf, then turned. “You wouldn’t spank me out here.”
Logan stepped onto the beach, holding the slim, travel-sized leather paddle Tyler had oh so thoughtfully packed in their luggage.
“I absolutely would.”
The wind caught Tyler’s hair. His chest was heaving. His eyes glittered with mischief. And just like that, he dropped to his knees in the sand and murmured, “Then take me, sir.”
Logan pulled him to his feet, dusted sand off his thighs, and led him to a weathered driftwood log under the palms. He sat down and guided Tyler across his lap, angling him so that his ass was arched high, the sound of waves crashing just feet away.
“Since we’re married now,” Logan said, resting the paddle on his skin, “I suppose I should warn you…”
Tyler wiggled his hips. “Too late for cold feet.”
“No,” Logan chuckled. “Just that bratting has a lifetime contract. And I intend to collect.”
The first swat landed with a crack that scattered a few seabirds. Tyler gasped, his legs kicking up slightly as Logan settled into a rhythm. The paddle wasn’t large, but it stung, and each strike was followed by a pause—enough to let the ocean breeze cool the burn just before it flared again.
Tyler groaned, sand sticking to his knees, his cock hard and dripping onto Logan’s thigh. “What’s this one for?” he asked breathlessly after a particularly sharp swat.
“Stealing my sarong.”
“And this?”
“Flirting with the concierge.”
“And this?”
Logan smacked him hard. “Running.”
By the time it was over, Tyler’s cheeks were a bright, beautiful red. Logan rubbed them gently, admiring the contrast against sun-kissed skin.
He helped Tyler stand. Kissed his shoulder. Then dropped to his knees in the sand and kissed lower, soothing the fire he’d set with the heat of his mouth.
Later, tangled together on a blanket under the shade of a palm, Tyler whispered, “Best honeymoon ever.”
Logan smiled against his neck. “We’ve got two weeks left. And I’m just getting started.”
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