Montego Bay Midnight

The riptide came out of nowhere. Kevin went under, swallowed salt, saw white.

Then strong arms. Breaking surface. Being dragged onto sand.

He coughed up half the Caribbean sea and looked up into dark eyes set in the most beautiful face he'd ever seen. Her body in that red swimsuit was beyond description—thick, powerful, curves that defied gravity.

"Yuh alright, tourist?"

"I am now."

Tamara checked him over with professional hands that lingered perhaps too long. "Yuh need rest. Mi shift done—come to mi quarters, I'll keep an eye on yuh."

"I don't want to trouble—"

"Hush. Is mi job." She helped him up. "Besides, yuh kinda cute when yuh half-drowned."

Her quarters were small, staff housing behind the resort. She sat him on the bed, brought him water, then rum.

"The rum is for shock," she explained with a wink.

"You're incredible. What you did out there..."

"Five years lifeguard. Yuh not mi first rescue." She sat beside him, that thick thigh against his. "But yuh might be mi favourite."

He kissed her. Couldn't help it. She tasted like coconut and salt and something electric.

"Mi probably shouldn't," she murmured against his lips.

"Probably not."

"But yuh almost dead today." She climbed into his lap, that thick body heavy and warm. "And life too short, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Tamara showed him exactly how a Jamaican goddess celebrates life. She rode him like she was still fighting currents—powerful, relentless, taking and giving in equal measure.

"Harder! Yes! Make mi feel alive too!"

Her thick thighs gripped him, her back arched, her moans mixed with the distant sound of waves.

They didn't leave her quarters for two days. Room service. Rum. Each other.

"Extend yuh trip," she said, tracing his chest. "I have days off coming."

"I've already called the airline."

She grinned and kissed him deep. "Good. Because I need to show yuh the real Jamaica. The bedroom kind."

Kevin had come to Montego Bay for the beach.

He stayed for Tamara.

Best near-death experience ever.