Chapter 15: Oasis Unraveled

The desert night was alive, the air cool and crisp, the stars a reckless spill across the sky. Zara stood on the resort's terrace, her breath fogging faintly in the chill, her camera bag slung over her shoulder. She'd spent the day restless—Rylan's warmth from last night, his arm around her on the couch, his quiet night, Zara echoing in her skull. The unsent letter had peeled him open, and she'd let it peel her too, their scars laid bare in that tender, fragile space. But tenderness wasn't enough anymore—the heat between them had been simmering too long, and she felt it boiling now, a need she couldn't dodge.

She'd seen him in the lobby earlier, fixing a light, his shirt clinging to his back, and the look he'd shot her—dark, hungry—had lit her up like a flare. No words, just a promise, and she'd known then: tonight, they'd cross the line. She'd grabbed her camera, an excuse to move, and headed for the oasis, needing air, needing him to follow. The path was familiar now, the palms rustling overhead, the sand crunching under her boots, and she felt him before she heard him—his presence a steady pull at her back.

"Zara," he called, voice rough, and she turned, the oasis shimmering behind her, its water catching the starlight. He stood a few paces away, hands in his pockets, his eyes locked on hers—gold flecks burning, jaw tight with the same want she felt.

"Thought you'd find me," she said, setting her camera on a rock, her voice steady despite the thud of her pulse. "Took you long enough."

"Had to finish up." He stepped closer, the breeze tugging at his shirt, and she saw the tension in him—the restraint he'd been clinging to, fraying at the edges. "You running off again?"

"Not running." She tilted her head, a challenge. "Waiting."

He exhaled, sharp and shaky, and closed the gap, stopping just short, his heat brushing her skin. "For what?"

"You know what," she said, low and sure, and that was it—the spark caught. His hand shot out, cupping her face, and she surged into him, their lips crashing together in a kiss that was all fire, no hesitation. It was the kitchen, the hallway, every almost rolled into one—hot, desperate, tasting of salt and him. She fisted his shirt, pulling him closer, and he groaned, deep and raw, his other hand sliding to her waist, gripping hard.

"Zara," he rasped, breaking the kiss just enough to breathe, his forehead against hers, and she felt the tremble in him, the edge he was teetering on. "Tell me to stop."

"Don't you dare," she whispered, nipping his lip, and he growled, lifting her off her feet, her legs wrapping around his hips as he carried her to the oasis's edge. The sand was cool under them as he knelt, laying her down, his body hovering over hers, a shadow against the stars. Her hands roamed—his shoulders, his chest, tugging at his shirt—and he yanked it off, tossing it aside, baring tanned skin and muscle she'd only felt through fabric before.

Her breath hitched, and she traced the lines of him—hard planes, faint scars, a map of his life—and he shuddered, catching her wrists, pinning them beside her head. "Slow down," he murmured, but his voice was wrecked, his lips brushing hers, teasing, and she arched up, pressing herself against him.

"No," she said, defiant, and freed a hand, sliding it to his jeans, popping the button. He groaned again, louder, and kissed her hard, his tongue sweeping in, claiming her as his hands moved—her tank top, up and off, her shorts unbuttoned, peeled down with a roughness that made her gasp. The air hit her skin, cool against the heat of him, and she kicked the shorts free, pulling him down, needing his weight, his warmth.

"God, Zara," he breathed, his mouth trailing to her neck, her collarbone, teeth grazing as his hands found her bra, unhooking it with a flick. It joined the pile, and his lips closed over her, hot and wet, drawing a moan from her throat—sharp, unguarded. Her fingers tangled in his hair, urging him on, and he obliged, his tongue circling, his hand sliding lower, slipping beneath her underwear.

She bucked against him, the touch electric, and he pulled back, eyes dark with want, watching her as he tugged the last barrier off. "Beautiful," he muttered, almost to himself, and she laughed, breathless, reaching for his jeans, shoving them down with his help. He kicked them off, and then it was just them—skin to skin, sand beneath, stars above, the oasis a quiet witness to their unraveling.

He settled between her thighs, his hardness pressing against her, and she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer, her nails digging into his back. "Rylan," she said, his name a plea, and he kissed her again, slow and deep, as he shifted, guiding himself, entering her with a thrust that stole her breath. She gasped, clinging to him, and he stilled, letting her adjust, his forehead pressed to hers, his breath ragged.

"You okay?" he asked, voice strained, and she nodded, rocking her hips, urging him on.

"Move," she whispered, and he did—slow at first, then harder, deeper, each thrust building a rhythm that matched the pound of her heart. The sand shifted under her, gritty against her back, but she didn't care, lost in him—the heat of his skin, the low groans he couldn't hold back, the way he filled her, stretched her, claimed her. Her hands roamed—his arms, his hips, urging him faster—and he obliged, his pace quickening, a desperate edge to every move.

"Zara," he rasped, his lips finding hers, messy and fierce, and she felt it building—the heat, the pressure, coiling tight. She arched, meeting him thrust for thrust, and he slid a hand between them, finding her, stroking with a precision that shattered her control. She broke, crying out, her body clenching around him, waves of pleasure crashing through her, sharp and blinding.

He followed, a guttural sound tearing from his throat as he thrust once, twice, then stilled, spilling into her, his arms trembling as he held himself above her. They stayed like that, locked together, breathing hard, the desert night wrapping around them like a blanket. He kissed her, softer now, lingering, and rolled to his side, pulling her with him, their legs tangled, sand clinging to their sweat-slick skin.

"Damn," he muttered, voice wrecked, and she laughed, shaky and raw, curling into his chest.

"Yeah," she agreed, her hand resting on his heart, feeling it slow. The stars spun above, the oasis water lapping gently nearby, and she traced a scar on his shoulder, grounding herself in the afterglow.

"Worth the wait?" he asked, his grin crooked, and she smirked, kissing his jaw.

"Ask me again tomorrow," she teased, and he chuckled, pulling her closer, his arm a steady weight around her.

They lay there, the night stretching on, and she knew this was it—the line crossed, the fire lit, and no going back. The desert had claimed them, and she didn't mind one bit.