A Sea Change
Kristina Wright

Mara tipped the champagne bottle to her mouth and felt the cold liquid turned to fire in her throat. She nestled the bottle into the damp sand and looked out toward the ocean. There wasn't much to see. Clouds hung low in the sky, dark ominous things that reached down to the water, obscuring the crescent moon. The only clue that there was an ocean in the inky blackness before her was the steady sound of the waves washing against the beach.

The wind whipped her hair across her face and peppered her face with damp sand. She shivered and pulled her knees up to her chest, pressing her hands to her hot, tear–stained cheeks.

It should have been a happy night. A big promotion for Jack, a beautiful new beach house, friends and family gathering to celebrate their twentieth wedding anniversary. Everyone adored the happy Bennetts. What no one knew, what she wouldn't let anyone know, was that it was all a sham.

Jack had been a ladies' man long before she'd met him. But she had been so head over heels in love, so flattered that he'd even noticed her—her, the mousy, quiet girl who spent her lunch hour in the library—that she'd ignored his proclivities and pretended not to notice. For twenty years Jack had collected pretty, young executive assistants with the same gusto he used to collect fine wine and expensive electronics.

Mara rocked herself in the sand, releasing two decades of pent–up emotion. Never had she felt more alone than she did at this moment. She should have seen it coming, of course. It was only a matter of time before Jack's running around caught up with him and she—not Jack—paid the price. His twenty–two–year–old girlfriend was pregnant with his child and he fancied himself in love with her. And tonight, while fifty of their closest friends were on their way to celebrate Jack and Mara's anniversary, Jack had asked for a divorce. Tonight, of all nights.

Flinging herself back on the sand, she stared at the storm–clouded sky and imagined how different her life might have been. Her entire existence had been about pleasing others. First her family, then Jack; always compromising, giving in, never feeling like she belonged anywhere and desperately needing to belong. To someone, something. She felt like the biggest fool on the planet.

A voice in the darkness asked, "Are you all right?"

She bolted upright, startled that her solitude had been disturbed. The darkness masked the man's features, but she was sure he wasn't someone she knew. Even from her vantage point on the ground, she could tell he was tall. He was also half–naked, wearing nothing more than a pair of faded trousers with ragged hems.

Her pulse accelerated. Jack was constantly nagging the local police about drifters sleeping on their private beach. She should give in to her flight urge, but some small measure of rebellion made her stay. It would be ironic if the one time she stood up for herself, it got her killed.

"No, I'm fine. I live here," she said, mustering an authority she didn't feel. She didn't belong in the house up on the hill any more than this man did.

Rather than walk away, he sat next to her. He smelled of the ocean, a rich, sea–salt smell...and something else. Something decidedly masculine and raw. His hair was as light as his pants—white or blond, she couldn't be sure in the darkness. He had a handsome face with a strong, aquiline nose, though it was impossible to judge his age as shadows played across his angular features.

The stranger smiled, white teeth flashing in the darkness. "I'm Dylan."

"If you don't mind—" She stopped mid–sentence as his gaze met hers. She couldn't tell what color his eyes were, but he stared at her—through her—with such intensity, she couldn't finish her thought.

"I heard you crying."

The sympathy and concern in his voice angered rather than comforted her. "This is a private beach, you know," she said, fueled by too much champagne.

He smiled again. "Do you want me to go?" he asked softly. "I'll go if you want me to."

She wanted to be alone, but suddenly it didn't seem to matter whether the stranger stayed or left. She'd always felt alone even in a crowded room, even with Jack. Her shoulders slumped as she rested her chin in her hands and looked out toward the sea.

"It doesn't matter," she said flatly.

"Doesn't it?"

She refused to acknowledge that he'd spoken. Soon enough, he'd get tired of this game—if that's what it was—and move on. But he didn't. Minutes passed as she counted the waves that rolled softly toward her. Occasionally, she could make out the white foamy caps, but mostly she saw only blackness and was reminded of the black hole that was her heart.

"It hurts," he said a long time later. "And yet, it doesn't."

Mara looked over and saw that he had mimicked her posture. Legs crossed, chin resting on his laced fingers. She felt curiosity tugging at her but dismissed it. Whoever he was, whatever he was doing on this isolated stretch of beach, it didn't matter. And yet, his words echoed inside her. It did hurt, losing everything she'd always had, facing the god–awful truth that had gnawed at her for twenty years. And yet there was an acceptance, a quiet understanding that somehow, someway, she was starting anew. If she could find the courage. If she could stop being what everyone else wanted her to be and figure out who she was.

"It takes time."

Mara couldn't decide if his one–sided dialogue came before or after her own thoughts. She glanced at him. He was studying her face as if he were memorizing every detail. Finally, he paused at her lips, his gaze lingering over her mouth for so long her lips felt warm.

She knew, although she couldn't say how she knew, he was going to kiss her. She knew it just as she knew she was going to let him. She waited, holding her breath, almost afraid of what was to come. When he didn't move, she felt ridiculously disappointed.

She closed her eyes to absorb her disappointment and then it happened, his mouth was on hers. His lips were damp and cool, firm and strong. He kissed her with the same quiet intensity he had in his stare. Tentative at first, but gradually turning bolder, learning every inch of her mouth in slow, deep kisses.

After the first touch, she kissed him back, giving as good as she was getting. For long, precious minutes they made love with only their mouths, their bodies close but not quite touching, their hands buried in the sand.

Finally, Mara pulled away, gasping for much–needed air. She wanted to speak, but no words would come. What she had just done wasn't like her, but it was impossible to ignore the tiny thrill of excitement that slid up her spine.

"Kiss me again," he said, leaning closer so that their shoulders brushed. "Kiss me and stop thinking."

She didn't hesitate. She leaned toward him and pressed her open mouth to his. There was nothing tentative about the way they kissed this time. His hands came up to hold her face as he tasted her mouth. When she finally pulled away so she could catch her breath, he didn't need to ask again. She came back for more, kissing him, devouring his taste and absorbing his touch.

His skin felt damp. Not clammy exactly, but moist. As if he'd just gotten out of the shower and hadn't had a chance to towel himself off yet. She ran her fingertips over his muscular shoulders and a soft, guttural moan slipped from his lips at her gentle caress. He mirrored her actions, using his hands to smooth the thin silk straps of her dress over her shoulders. She shivered, wanting to both pull him closer and push him away at the same time.

"I—I shouldn't do this," she murmured even while her fingers discovered the soft mat of hair on his chest.

"Don't tell me what you should do," he said, his voice as ethereal as the sound of the ocean. "Tell me what you want to do."

I want to throw you back on the sand and fuck you senseless, she thought and was startled to see him smile.

"Then do it," he answered, though the words had never passed her lips.

"How—" she gasped, but he then he was pulling her onto his lap and smothering her mouth with his.

She felt like she was drowning, but it wasn't an unpleasant sensation. His erection pressed insistently against her bottom and she wiggled, wanting him. She'd never been with another man besides Jack, but suddenly, impossibly, she wanted this man. Now.

"Sit still, sweet Mara," he gasped as she rotated her ass on him. "There is time."

Arousal surged within her at his words. They had time. Time. She melted against him, feeling as if every breath she took came from him. She kissed her way across his strong jaw line, his skin as cool and smooth as a bit of sea glass. She continued her exploration down his neck, pausing to nibble the strong, steady pulse that thrummed there.

He spread his legs and she snuggled against him, running her tongue across his collar bone, down to a pebbled nipple. He groaned when she sucked the tender flesh into her mouth. Her own arousal built as she alternated between his nipples, licking and sucking them. He tangled his hands in her long hair and moaned her name.

A sense of urgency was growing between them as she slid down a bit further and swirled her tongue against his muscular belly. He released her hair and lay back in the sand, his magnificent form stretched out before her like the finest of banquets. She stared at the shaft straining against his thin cotton pants. Even clothed he looked enormous. Her breath caught in her throat as she thought about what she wanted.

"Whatever you want, take it," he murmured. Unlike before, she wasn't startled that he could read her mind now. It felt right.

She reached for his zipper with a trembling hand. Only, there were buttons instead of a zipper. She fumbled with them until he helped her. Together, they made quick work of the obstacles in her way. The gap in his pants widened as each button was released until she felt hard flesh brush against her skin. She freed his cock, gently, reverently, mesmerized by the column of flesh that rose from a tangle of blond hair at his groin.

"You're so beautiful," she murmured, not even aware she'd spoken until the words echoed in her ears.

He moaned softly in response. A wave of tenderness so pure it brought tears to her eyes washed over her. She caressed him gently, feeling his flesh pulse and twitch against her. His penis was beautiful, long and thick, the head large and dark like a ripe plum. Unable to wait a moment longer, she ran her tongue over the spongy tip. It was the softest, smoothest thing she'd ever felt in her life. And she wanted more. So much more.

"Oh, Mara," he gasped. When she looked up at him, she saw his head thrown back, the muscles of his neck flexed. "Please, love, take me in your mouth. I need you."

His pleas inflamed her. Mara lowered her head once more and sucked him between her lips. He fit so perfectly, cradled on the hollow of her tongue. Some primal, basic part of her soul knew she had tasted him this way before. She used her tongue to wet his cock until it glided smoothly in and out of her mouth. Once more she felt his hands in her hair, not pushing, never forcing, simply holding her, stroking her.

Mara concentrated on the feel of him between her lips. She stroked and sucked him, worshiping him, kneeling between his legs and coaxing long, low moans from him. All rational thought vanished, all worries and concerns fled her mind. There was only her and this man and the hard flesh in her mouth.

She could feel the need building in him as if she were the one being pleasured. Every muscle in his body drew taut, and he almost hummed with the intensity of his desire. She knew what was to come, and she felt herself grow hot and moist at the thought.

He gasped as he flooded her mouth, and she welcomed the salty taste of his arousal. She rubbed her pussy against his leg, painting his hair–roughened thigh with her wetness as she gently sucked his softening cock. Finally, when she had taken all he could give, she released him. She had devoured him—not just his semen, but his very essence—and it made her feel strong.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her against his chest as his breathing returned to normal. His hands stroked her body, pausing occasionally to caress the mole on her bare shoulder or stroke her hardened nipples through the silk of her dress until she moaned. With gentle hands he stripped her, sliding her dress over her head, unclasping her bra and releasing her breasts, skimming her moist panties down her legs.

When she was naked, he cupped her breasts in his big hands before trailing his fingers down her ribs and over her stomach. His fingers slipped lower to her mound and squeezed her pussy in the palm of his hand until she gasped and pressed against him.

She nuzzled his neck, nipping at corded muscle. She felt the steady beat of his pulse against her lips and heard the matching rhythm of the waves against the beach. Her hand trailed low over his flat belly to fondle his still–damp cock. Much to her delight, he began to swell beneath her touch.

"Wet," he murmured, his fingers caressing the delicate folds of her pussy so gently she thought she would scream. "I knew you would be, for me. As wet as the sea. Taste yourself, Mara."

Before she could refuse, his finger slid between her parted lips and she tasted her own desire. She moaned low in her throat, reckless with her need as she palmed his heavy erection in her hand. Even here, where he should be hot, he was cool. She stroked the velvety soft tip of him, swirling a teardrop of arousal around the velvety head until he captured her hand and dragged it away.

"I want you inside me," she whispered, so softly she wasn't sure he heard her.

"I know, Mara, I know." He pulled her onto his lap and she wrapped her legs around his waist, his erection nudging the cleft of her pussy.

"I want, I want," she gasped, unable to voice her need, unsure even what it was she needed.

"You will have what you want," he said, laying back on the sand and pulling her with him. "As much as you want. Take it."

Their bodies pressed together, shoulder to hip, and she had only to shift her weight and he was inside her. She looked down into his magnificent face, rugged and strong, as he guided into her so swiftly and smoothly it was as if he'd always been there.

No moment in her life had prepared her for this utter sense of completion. Every sad thought, every bad memory melted away as she rocked her pelvis against the thickness of his erection. She was in control, and the rest was all an illusion.

Mara lay across Dylan's body, pressing her engorged clitoris into his flat, muscular belly. She could see her desire mirrored in his expression, could feel his pulse in the flesh embedded inside her. And suddenly, like a flash of heat lightning that's gone almost as soon as it's seen, she felt his thoughts.

Come with me, Mara. Come with me.

She stared into his face, his breath coming in short, rasping pants that matched her own. She wanted to ask how, why, but then her physical need took over, straining toward the orgasm that trembled just beyond her reach. She shifted her weight, grinding against him, and that was all it took. She screamed her release even as he pulled her head down to him and kissed her.

She whimpered into his mouth, tasting him, tasting herself. Wetness, so much wetness. Her climax seemed never ending, spiraling higher and higher as he tensed beneath her. His gasps turned to moans in her open mouth. She swallowed his breath and clenched her body around his as he came.

They lay together in a warm, damp tangle of limbs, hearts beating in sync. She felt no shame or regret, only a strong sense of satisfaction and belonging. She closed her eyes and felt the gentle swell of his chest beneath her head keeping time with the waves.

"I have to go," he said, his voice heavy with regret. He gently released her and rolled away to button his pants.

She reached out, but before she touched him she let her hand fall to the sand. It was better this way. Better or safer? Her mind taunted her, but she ignored the crazy, impetuousness that had led her to make love to a stranger.

Dylan stood, looking down at her. "I must go."

She made no move to cover herself, basking in his approving gaze. "Thank you." The murmured words could hardly do her emotions justice, but it was all she could offer him. "Thank you."

He hesitated, raking his hand through his sandy, tousled hair. "If only..." His words trailed off and were carried away on the wind. "Trust your heart, Mara," he said softly, insistently. "Trust your heart."

Before she could speak, he turned and walked away. He followed the line of the shore for several yards, then veered off, toward the ocean. The tide was going out, leaving a dark, wet stain of sand behind each time the waves rolled back out. Dylan never paused as his feet splashed in the surf. He walked into the ocean, ankle deep, knee deep, chest deep.

Suddenly frightened, Mara stood and ran toward him. "Dylan! What are you doing?"

He never looked back.

Mara watched as he disappeared into the sea, his blond hair disappearing from view. She clutched her hands to her pounding heart. "Dylan," she whispered hoarsely.

She searched the dark void for some sign of him, but Dylan was gone. She turned, blindly looking for her clothes before realizing she'd run some distance away from where they'd been. She had to get dressed and back to the house, call 911, call the Coast Guard. Her mind raced but her body was frozen in place, staring at her footprints in the damp sand. Her footsteps. Only her footsteps.

Her mind tried to make sense of what had happened as she stared at the marks in the sand. Dylan had walked this same path, yet the only sign the sand had been disturbed was the footprints she had left. Even while she told herself the tide had washed his footprints away, she heard him call her.

Mara, trust your heart.

She looked frantically out to sea even though she knew it wasn't possible to have heard him. Even if he hadn't drowned, he was too far away for her to hear his voice.

Mara.

The thunderclouds finally kept their promise and opened up, releasing a torrent of rain. The ocean churned violently while rain coursed down her naked body. She crumpled to her knees and bowed her head, feeling as if she were losing her sanity. Sobs racked her body, but her tears were washed away in the rain. She hadn't told him her name. She'd never told him her name, and yet he knew.

Mara, come with me.

Suddenly, his words took on a different meaning. She raised her head, wet hair streaming down her back. "What do you want from me?" she screamed. "Who are you?"

No answer came, nothing but silence and the rain. She curled up on her side in the sand, her body aching, her soul dying. The rain felt hot and prickly on her skin, and she sobbed her fear and confusion into her chest, holding herself the way Dylan had held her only minutes earlier.

Mara, love. Please. I've waited so long for you.

She ignored the voice that penetrated into her conscious. She was losing her mind. There was no other possible answer.

Mara?

She opened her eyes, feeling the sting of tears and rain.

"What," she whispered hoarsely. "What do you want?"

What do you want, Mara? She could hear his voice inside her, soothing her. What do you want?

"Love," she answered, feeling small and pathetic and alone. "Peace. Belonging. Everything I've never known."

Come with me, Mara. Let me show you how it can be.

It made no sense, but some small flicker of hope, a need to believe in something bigger and greater than herself, forced her to unfold from the sand and walk toward the ocean. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, fat drops splashing against her hot skin. She took one hesitant step toward the water. Then another.

Come with me.

"I'm afraid," she whispered, knowing no one could possibly hear her. "So afraid."

Don't be, love. I'm here. Always.

She wanted to believe. Truly she did. But rational thought told her it was the strain of the day and the champagne and exhaustion that was guiding her. She took a fumbling step backward, reason returning. This was crazy. Insane.

And then she saw him. He stood naked in the surf not ten feet in front of her, the foam of the ocean clinging to his chest, his hair slicked back, his skin glowing with a strange luminescence. Incredibly, impossibly, he was there. He hadn't left her.

"Dylan," she pleaded, not even sure what it was she was asking of him.

Come with me, Mara.

She wanted to. Oh, God, how she wanted to. She walked toward him, feeling the first chilly brush of water against her feet. Her skin felt fevered and the ocean felt so good, so right. A few more steps and the water was up to her knees. Her nipples tightened almost painfully, whether from arousal or cold she couldn't be sure. Excitement tinged with fear coursed through her. A few more steps and she was in front of him. Close enough to touch him, but holding back.

Go ahead, touch me.

This time, she knew he hadn't spoken aloud. She had known it all along, she realized, but here now was proof. "How?" she asked softly.

Don't speak. I know your thoughts just as you know mine.

She didn't know how it was possible, but it was true. I'm afraid, she thought. What's happening to me?

Don't you know? His thoughts teased her senses. Everything you always wanted. Love. Peace. Belonging. Take it, Mara. You deserve it all and so much more.

She didn't know what to believe, she only knew she felt a lightness in her soul she'd never felt before. When he put his arms around her, she melted against him. Buoyed by the water, the tide gently pulled them out to sea.

"Where are we going?" she asked aloud, a sense of peace settling over her even as the water rose to her chin.

"Home," Dylan answered, his voice sounding strange, almost foreign, after hearing him inside her head. His fingers, cool and strong, wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her closer.

She clung to him as they kissed, feeling his cock, his thick, exquisite cock, swell against her belly. "Dylan," she murmured against his mouth, ready for him. Needing him. He slid quickly and smoothly into her warm wetness as a wave rolled them higher.

She moaned.

Let go, Mara.

He undulated against her, their bodies wrapped around each other.

She looked past his shoulder toward the shore and was frightened by how far away it seemed. She could see the lights from her house twinkling against the horizon. As Dylan moved into her, she idly wondered how long it would be before they would miss her. Would they think she'd drowned herself? Would they find her clothes and think she'd been attacked? It didn't really matter. None of it seemed to matter anymore.

Cradled in Dylan's arms, she slipped beneath the water. The remnants of fear and uncertainty ebbing away as Dylan's body molded to hers and slipped deeper inside her. Her lungs swelled with her desire to moan, yet there was no overpowering need to breathe. A gentle, fluid feeling coursed through her veins as her skin was soothed by the cool touch of the sea. She felt her body changing, adapting to the new environment of the sea, could feel the same changes transpiring in Dylan's body as he embraced her.

You are so beautiful, Mara. You belong here. You know that you do. With me. Always.

Her hair made a cloud around her head as she arched her back and pressed her body against him. His words floated through her mind and laughter bubbled low in her belly. I hear you, she thought. I hear you!

At last, she'd found her home. She looked up through the water far above her and saw moonlight glimmering on the surface of the ocean. She looked at the man–creature she clung to, whose body felt as right and natural as her own, and smiled.

I'm home, Dylan. You've brought me home.

Where you belong.

As they drifted on the ocean's current, Mara let go of everything she thought she was, everything she had ever believed in. She let go of everything she knew and embraced the unknown.

She was home.