Caribbean Moon
He chased a dream to the Caribbean—and found the woman who’d been haunting his mornings.
He didn’t fly south to celebrate; he came to test whether fate was real.
⚠️ Content Warning: This story contains adult themes, explicit sexual content, strong language, and kink elements (light hand-on-throat play) between consenting adults, as well as unprotected sex. 18+ only. Reader discretion advised.
The bar was made of driftwood and stories, the citrus burn of fresh limes riding the air. Bottles glowed like tiny lighthouses behind the bartender, and a ceiling fan whispered over the clink of ice. Jordan had learned to wear a suit like armor, but tonight he wore linen and salt on his skin, the new weight of a future loosening in his shoulders. He was supposed to be celebrating—law school finished, the bar passed, the job locked in—but the real reason he had flown south tugged at him like a tide.
She walked in on that tide.
Moon-burnished skin. Wet-dark hair loose at her shoulders. A black dress that caught the light like water. She didn’t just enter the room—she shifted his reality. Don’t wake up. When she asked for a rum punch, the bartender smiled like he’d been waiting for that order all day.
Jordan didn’t overthink it; the moment arrived like a ruling read aloud. Every dawn he’d woken with her fading from his pillow arranged itself into a single, blinding throughline—fate, not coincidence. It felt less like attraction and more like a summons, stamped and time‑stamped by the universe. Destiny had finally called his case, and he had exactly one appearance to make it real. If he hesitated, the court of chance would dismiss it with prejudice.
He pushed back from the bar, not brave so much as certain, and crossed the floor on that certainty.
Don’t blow this. “Hey,” he managed, voice catching. “This… is going to sound insane. If you laugh me out of here, I’ll understand.” He put his palms up like he was making a case before a jury. “But I’ve been dreaming about you my whole life. I never knew your name. I always knew your face.”
She blinked. A quick flare of surprise, then amusement, curved her mouth. “That’s a strong opener.”
“It’s not a line,” he said, trying to sound harmless despite the dead seriousness in his tone. “It’s one of those moments—when the universe lets you in on its design and you have no choice but to see it through. I’ve dreamed you.”
She gave him a look that was half are you serious right now and half I might need to call security.
“I know it sounds crazy,” he said, breathless. “Just hear me out. Give me this moment, and if I still give you the ick, I’ll never bother you again.” He paused, reading her face. No alarms, no flinch. “I see you right before sunrise—a thousand times. I wake up and try to fall back asleep just to find you again.”
The ice in her glass chimed. “So you flew to the islands to chase a dream?”
He nodded. “I graduated last week. Everyone asked how I’d celebrate. This is it.”
She considered him like a puzzle she actually wanted to solve.
From where she stood, Kamari took him in like a quick appraisal: tall and dark, broad through the shoulders, the kind of body that had clearly logged as many hours as his law degree. The linen shirt couldn’t quite hide the work—flat stomach, strong forearms, a quiet readiness in the way he held himself. And then the eyes—startling green, a contrast that caught her off guard and kept her there. Handsome, yes, but more than that: focused, present, sincere. “And what am I like in your dreams?”
“What are you like? You’re everything—all that I could ever want and more. The way you look for the moon before you look for me. What else would my dream woman be?” He tried to smile, a little helpless. “I didn’t even know your name,” he admitted. “Only that it belonged to the moon—moonlight, something like that.”
She weighed him for another beat, then offered her hand, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “I’m Kamari.” She turned the glass by its stem, condensation slick beneath her fingers; her chin dipped, a small breath catching.
Something in her expression shifted—surprise thinning into a tender shock. “And it does,” she said softly. “It means moonlight. My grandmother named me for the moon.” She let out a breathy laugh, almost disbelieving. “That’s a wild thing to guess right.”
He laughed once, stunned and relieved all at once. “Of course you are.”
“I’m not running away,” she said, taking a sip. “Yet.”
They moved to a corner table where the surf thudded softly beneath the music, tree frogs ticking in the hedges and a distant steel pan keeping time. She kicked off her sandals under the chair, an easy act that felt like a door opening. Jordan told her about Newark winters and the grinding intensity of torts and contracts, about a grandmother who’d put the first law book in his hands. Kamari told him she was here on her own, stealing a week from a job that paid well but never slept, that she’d always felt pulled by the moon like it had her name on it.
She tapped the rim of her glass. “It’s always been the moon with me.”
He nodded. “It fits.”
“You really dreamed me?” she asked after a while, head tilted, eyes studying his.
“I don’t know how else to say it—I don’t talk like this,” he answered. “I can cross‑examine a hostile witness, but this? You? There’s no precedent.”
Her laugh landed in his chest. “And what happens in the dream?”
He hesitated, heat climbing his neck. “We meet. We go to the beach. It’s night. The water is warm, and I… don’t want to ruin it by saying more.”
“Because saying it makes it ordinary?” she said.
“Because saying it makes it a script,” he said. “I don’t want to force anything.”
She sat back, considering. Down the bar, a couple argued softly over the last conch fritter. Outside, the moon raised itself cleanly over the horizon like a verdict.
“Come on,” Kamari said, standing. “Let’s see if your dream has good directions.”
They walked the resort path past hibiscus and the sleeping blue of the pool, past discreet hedges and tiki torches reduced to glowing coals. The night smelled like lime and salt. The security gate to the private beach clicked open to the key card; sand cooled underfoot and squeaked faintly. Far off, a radio from a fisherman’s skiff bled a love song to the dark.
The beach wasn’t empty—nothing truly is—but it felt as if the night itself had vouched for them. Palms leaned in for privacy. The moon hung fat and whole above the water, and the sea answered in hammered silver.
Kamari slipped the straps of her dress off her shoulders and let it pool around her ankles. The black of her swimsuit caught the moon the way his breath caught.
“What?” she said, smiling.
“Nothing,” he said, helpless. “Everything.”
She stepped closer, eyes lifted to his. “Jordan,” she asked softly, “you good with this?”
He nodded, but made himself speak. “Every time I close my eyes, I have. Are you?”
“I’m warming up to it,” she said, tipping her chin toward the water, a corner smile. “A lot of pressure being someone’s dream woman.”
“Just be who you are. I’m sure it’ll be more than I ever imagined.”
“Then come on, counselor,” she said, and ran into the water.
He followed, stumbling at first, then finding the rhythm. The sea hugged his calves, his thighs, then his waist; warm as bathwater, briny on his lips when a wave licked high. Kamari turned, hair slicked back, droplets jeweled on her shoulders. The moon cut a trail across the water, a runway just for them.
They swam lazily beyond the frill of the break, floating where the water lifted and lowered them like breathing. With each swell, their bodies brushed—knee against thigh, forearm to ribs—and each time a small jolt ticked through him, bright and electric. They spoke in pauses: about first jobs and secret fears, about a younger Jordan who used to stand on the roof of his building to watch airplanes and promise himself he’d be on one someday; about a younger Kamari who learned the names of constellations and felt less alone.
A wave nudged them together. She put her hands on his shoulders, light, testing. He slid his palms to her waist, the heat of her startling in the warm sea. She inhaled, slow.
“Still everything you imagined?” she asked.
“Better,” he murmured.
The kiss arrived like proof—everything he’d sworn under oath to believe. Salt on her mouth, rum on his, the steady hush of water around them. When they pulled apart, both were smiling—the kind of dazed grin you wear when something finally lines up with the shape of a wish.
“Show me your beach,” she said.
They waded back through the trembling silver, water drawing lines down their skin. Sand kissed their ankles, then their calves, clinging in a constellation of tiny stars. On shore, the wind lifted and set her hair. He shook out the towel he’d slung over his shoulder—the towel he’d snagged from the rack by the bar door as they left—and laid it near the shadow of a palm. The night was stitched with tree frogs. The resort lights were far enough away to feel like another country.
Kamari leaned into him. He cupped her jaw with one hand, touched the back of her neck with the other, and kissed her again, deeper this time, a tide pulling them both. Her fingers slid under the open collar of his shirt, found the quick beat at his throat. He guided them down to the towel, their knees sinking into the sand, the fabric a small island between their bodies and the granular heat of the shore.
“Jordan,” she whispered, as if saying his name confirmed he was real. “If this is a dream, don’t wake up yet.”
He couldn’t help a soft laugh. “I’ve been trying to stay asleep for years.”
Her hand slid down, exploring, discovering, stroking. “Well, someone is awake.”
The waves came and went, the long heartbeat of the earth. Somewhere behind them a palm rattled, gossiping with the breeze. She lay back on the towel, hair fanned, eyes open to him and the moon beyond. He bent to kiss the hollow of her throat, the salt‑sweet curve of her neck, and her hand found his, fingers threading, a quiet, certain yes.
The moon bore witness.
And then the dream, at last, crossed the inch into reality.
Kamari shifted, sliding to her side.
Her back settled against his chest, a warm, supple curve fitting perfectly into the contours of his body. The sand shifted beneath the towel, a soft, granular cradle. Jordan’s arm draped over her waist, his hand splaying across the smooth plane of her stomach, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breath. His other hand, hesitant at first, began a slow exploration.
His fingertips traced the silken skin of her arm, from the delicate slope of her shoulder down to the sensitive inside of her wrist. Every inch was a discovery, a confirmation of a thousand nebulous dreams. He could feel the fine, almost imperceptible hairs on her arm rise under his touch. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the intoxicating cocktail of saltwater, night blossoms, and her own unique scent. God, you smell like the ocean and everything I’ve ever wanted.
“Jordan,” she whispered, her voice a husky vibration against his lips.
He didn’t need any more encouragement. One hand, still resting on her stomach, the other slid downward with purpose, his fingers tracing the curve of her hip before dipping beneath the edge of her swimsuit bottoms. Her breath hitched as his fingertips brushed the soft thatch of hair, and he could feel the heat radiating from her core. Gently, he hooked his fingers into the fabric and tugged it aside, exposing her slick, glistening folds to the warm night air.
“Kamari,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Why are you so fucking wet.”
“It’s the ocean.” She countered, lusty playfulness in her voice.
His middle finger found her entrance, teasing the sensitive flesh before slipping inside. She gasped, her hips arching into his touch, her body hungry for more. He added a second finger, stretching her gently, savoring the way her inner walls clenched around him in desperate pulses. His thumb circled her clit, his touch firm but controlled, and she let out a low, drawn-out moan that sent a shiver down his spine.
“Right there,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t. His fingers moved with a rhythm that matched the waves crashing nearby—steady, relentless, building. Her body responded in kind, her hips rolling against his hand, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. He could feel her tightening around his fingers, her pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until she was teetering on the edge.
“I’m close,” she warned, her voice barely a whisper now. “So close.”
He curled his fingers just slightly, hitting that perfect spot inside her, and she came undone. Her back arched, her head thrown back as a sharp cry tore from her throat. Her walls clenched around his fingers in rhythmic waves, her climax rippling through her body like a storm breaking over the ocean. He held her through it, his touch steady and sure, until she finally collapsed back against him, trembling and spent.
“I’m here, Kamari,” he whispered against her ear, his lips brushing her skin.
Her hand tightened around his other hand where it now rested over the peak of her breast, and he felt her smile as she turned her face into the crook of his neck, her breathing erratic. For a moment, they simply existed together, their bodies connected, their hearts beating in unison beneath the watchful gaze of the moon.
She guided, her fingers intertwining with his where they rested on her chest. She guided his touch, not down, but up, lifting his palm to rest against the base of her throat. It was an act of profound trust, offering the vulnerable column of her neck. He could feel the steady, strong rhythm of her pulse beating against his hand, a frantic drum echoing his own. His thumb stroked the delicate hollow there, a slow, mesmerizing circle.
Jordan ground against her, pressing his urgent, thick need against her ass. She pressed back, a sultry roll of her own hips.
He pressed a kiss just below her ear, his tongue darting out to taste the salt on her skin. You taste like fucking heaven. She arched back into him, a soft, wanting sound escaping her lips that was swallowed by the shushing waves.
Then, with a sudden, fluid motion that stole his breath, she turned. The world pivoted. In an instant, she was above him, her knees sinking into the towel on either side of his hips, her black swimsuit a stark contrast against the pale linen of his trousers. The moon was a brilliant corona behind her, outlining her form in silver, turning her into a breathtaking eclipse. He could only stare, his hands instinctively finding the delicious curve of her waist.
“No script,” she murmured, her voice low and thick with promise. “Just us.”
Her hands went to the tie of his linen trousers, her fingers working with an assured deftness that made his dick twitch violently against the confines of the fabric. She freed him, the warm night air a shock against his feverish skin. Her eyes, dark and hungry, never left his as she positioned herself. The head of his cock pressed against her, and he could feel the incredible heat of her through the thin, damp material of her swimsuit bottom. Fuck, this is what I dreamed about. This moment, the heat off you right here.
With a slow, deliberate roll of her hips, she ground herself against his length, a moan tearing from both of them at the electric friction. She did it again, and again, building a rhythm that was pure, unadulterated torture. He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh, trying to guide her, to get that sweet, wet cunt right where he needed it.
“Kamari, please,” he begged, his voice ragged. “I need to be inside you. Now.”
A wicked smile played on her lips. She hooked her thumbs into the edge of her swimsuit bottoms and, with an agonizingly slow shift, pushed the fabric aside just enough. The sight of her, bare and glistening in the moonlight, made his vision swim. She was perfect, her flower bare and moist, her inner lips already swollen and begging from his touch, for his cock.
She reached down, her hand wrapping around his thick shaft, giving him a firm, slow stroke that made his toes curl in the sand. She guided him to her entrance, the tip pressing against her slick sex. Your pussy is so fucking perfect, I want this so bad.
And then she sank down.
It was an all-consuming, world-ending slide. She took him in one smooth, relentless motion until he was buried to the hilt inside her. The fit was unbearably tight, a silken, wet vice, a squeeze around his dick. Her head fell back, a raw, guttural gasp ripping from her throat as she stretched to accommodate him. His own groan was a broken thing, lost to the sound of the sea.
“Fuck, Jordan,” she panted, her inner muscles fluttering around him in a dizzying wave. “My God… you’re so deep.”
She began to move, lifting herself up until only the tip remained inside her, then slamming back down with a force that drove the air from his lungs. Her pace was ruthless, a ravaging. Each time she rose up, his cock glistened in the moonlight, covered in her arousal, and each time she fell, it was a perfect, wet, hot impalement. He could only watch, mesmerized, as her body consumed his, her tits bouncing with every powerful thrust, her face a mask of ecstatic concentration.
He met her rhythm, thrusting up into her welcoming depths, the slap of their skin joining the rhythm of the waves. I’m fucking you. I’m really fucking you. The thought was a lightning strike in his mind. He slid a hand between their sweating bodies, his thumb finding her clit. It was a hard, swollen pearl beneath his touch. He pressed down, making tight, rapid circles.
Her movements became frantic, erratic. “Right there, oh god, right there! Yes, Jordan!” Her words were a desperate chant.
The pressure in his groin was a deep seeded volcano, ready to erupt. Her cunt tightened around him, a series of violent, milking spasms that pulled a strangled shout from his chest. Her climax triggered his own; his release tore through him, a blinding, white-hot surge of pleasure as he emptied himself deep inside her, his hips bucking wildly against hers. The tide crested, the constellations sharpened overhead, and for a suspended moment, the entire shoreline seemed to shrink to just her and him.
Collapse was a slow, sweaty, boneless affair. She fell forward onto his chest, her hair a damp curtain over his face, their hearts hammering a frantic, synchronized beat against each other. The tree frogs, momentarily silenced, resumed their ticking chorus, louder than before.
After a long moment, she lifted her head. A lazy, sated smile graced her kiss-swollen lips. She glanced up at the moon, still hanging in its watchful silence. A soft laugh shook through her. “See?” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “She follows me.”
Jordan stared at the impossibility, that was Kamari, a woman from his dream that he prayed would remain real. He said the thing that he never could before his eyes found the morning light.
“I’d follow you—from this night to the next, to the end.”
She turned to him, locked his gaze with hers, and kissed him hard enough to make it real.
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He didn’t fly south to celebrate; he came to prove a moonlit dream could be real.
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