Page 43 of Below the Barrel

“Are you about to come, Maliah?” he asks, his lips brushing along my neck.

I whimper in response as his words tip me over the edge and I feel myself getting lost in the insatiable feeling. He pulls back so that he can watch me orgasm, a devilish smirk playing on his lips.

“I can feel your pussy trying to cut off circulation in my fingers,” he says with a satisfied smirk. “That’s it, baby, keep coming for me.”

My body begins to shake, my legs starting to feel like jelly, as he continues to work his fingers in me. Black dots start to fill my vision so he slows his movements until he can gently pull his fingers free.

He slides his wet fingers into my mouth, surprising me. “Taste how much you want me,” he says in a low voice, his eyes dark as he watches me close my mouth around his fingers and clean up my mess.

“Fuck,” he whispers, his gaze intense.

We both hear the final whistle echo in the distance, signalling the end of the game. Koa smirks before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.

“Right on time,” he says, retreating backwards towards the others, until he disappears in the darkness.

I’m rooted in place, trying to wrap my head around the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me. What just happened? I replay the moment in my mind, his lips brushing against my skin, his fingers working me to an orgasm, leaving me both exhilarated and confused. Warmth floods my cheeks as I start to walk towards the meetup spot, the moment on replay in my mind the whole time. How am I supposed to sleep next to him after what just happened?

FIFTEEN

KOA | RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL

Surfing Saquarema is an adrenaline rush.The beach break here is wild—powerful, unpredictable, and constantly shifting under my feet. Every second on my board feels like a battle between chaos and control.

The waves are peaking high, coming in strong and fast. I feel the energy in the air, the raw power of the ocean, and it has my blood pumping. Maliah is quiet, but I see the same determination on her face that she always has when we’re about to compete. It gets me going, seeing her like that—focused, eyes sharp, and completely in her element. There’s something about knowing we’re about to take on the same beast together that makes the whole experience electric.

We have enough time this competition to catch a few waves each. The first one I catch throws me into the barrel faster than I expect. The walls are thick, but I stay low, carving through the lip as it begins to close in. Not my best start, but enough to give us a solid base to work with. My next wave will be better.

I watch as Maliah takes on the next set with confidence. The wave is steep, but she handles it effortlessly, sliding into a perfect roundhouse cutback. I can’t take my eyes off her. Every time she takes a wave, it’s like she’s dancing with it—readingevery shift, every swell like it’s second nature. And she makes it look easy. She always does.

We spend the rest of the heat picking off waves, feeding off each other’s energy. The final waves are nothing short of perfect. I go for the most technical part of the wave, where it’s bigger, faster, and more unpredictable. I catch one of the biggest waves of the day, riding the lip before tucking into a clean barrel. The spray hits me in the face as I come out and I hear the crowd on the beach losing it.

When Maliah catches her final wave, she angles her board just right to carve through the section, hitting a sharp bottom turn that leaves a clean spray behind her. The way her body shifts and her eyes lock onto the next section of the wave is flawless. She even pulls off a cheeky cutback before heading to the shore, a signature move I’ve seen her do a hundred times, but it never fails to impress me.

The whistle blows and we paddle back to shore. I’m not surprised to learn we’ve managed to keep our spots in first place.

“That was insane,” Maliah says, breathless but smiling wide. “I can’t believe we nailed it.”

I smirk, pushing my hair back as I shake the water from my face. “You crushed it out there.”

She glances away, a modest shrug lifting her shoulder, but I can see the pride in her eyes. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”

We start walking to our rental van with the rest of the production crew, but I let myself fall back so that my gaze can wander over her as she walks ahead of me. My mind drifts back to Fiji—to the feel of her body against mine, the heat of that kiss, the way she had looked at me right before I?—

“Are you even listening?” the cameraman beside me asks, his voice breaking through my thoughts and snapping me back to reality.

“Huh?” I blink, realizing I’ve been zoned out, staring at Maliah’s ass. “Sorry, I missed what you were saying.”

Maliah looks over her shoulder at me, raising an eyebrow curiously. I shove my hand into the pocket of my wetsuit, trying to look casual.

“I was saying the production team is wrapping up early here so we can prepare for later tonight, we’ll catch a different car to our accommodations,” he repeats.

“Right,” I say, pulling my gaze away from Maliah and back to him. “Okay then, have a good night,” I say before rushing away from him toward the van.

We load our boards into the van and climb into the back of the car, our driver not bothering to wait for us to fasten our seatbelts before he starts to drive. I glance at Maliah out of the corner of my eye, wondering if she’s been thinking about what happened in Fiji too, or if she’s doing everything she can to forget it.

We never spoke about it again for the rest of our time there. Each night, she would slip under the sheets quickly, lying silently until her breathing slowed, signalling she’d finally fallen asleep.

My heart stutters when Maliah turns her head and catches me staring.

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