Tides, Tan Lines, and Taking Control

Darren never liked how often I took long weekends. After every trip, he’d give me the cold shoulder—icy and deliberate. Never said a word about it, but the message was there. Eventually, I got tired of the tension, the pettiness, the silent judgment.

I handed him my resignation without fanfare; quiet, professional. After doing so, I called the clients individually that I brought in to Darren’s company that I was leaving.

Within twenty-four hours of launching my own website and opening my office, the same clients followed me. Darren's numbers took a nosedive. In just a few weeks, half his staff were let go. They didn’t stay unemployed for long—I hired them.

My office ran on clarity and respect. My policies were simple: if my staff had Wi-Fi and phone signal, they could work from anywhere in te world. If they needed a mental health day, they could take it. Sick days were fine, too. But if someone used fifteen in a forty-five-day period, I’d ask for a note from their medical provider. I provided medical, dental, vision, and a 401(k), and my team signed on without hesitation.

Five weeks later, Vince was stirring pasta sauce at my place when I told him everything.

He looked up, brow raised. "You really quit and started your own business without telling me?"

"Yeah. It just... needed to happen. I didn’t want to drag you into the stress."

He studied me for a moment. "Is that why you were tossing and turning all night for a week?"

"That obvious?"

"You barely slept. I figured something was eating at you."

I leaned against the counter. "It was. But I feel good now."

He smiled and kissed my cheek. "Then pack a bag. I’m taking you to Acapulco. Three weeks. Sun, water, no responsibilities. Bring your birth control."

Before the flight, I sent an email to my thirty employees: I was going to be away for three weeks. They could email anytime, and I’d respond as I could. I had my laptop, and I’d take calls if absolutely necessary. Clients were informed I was unreachable, but my staff had it covered.

Acapulco was color and heat and saltwater air. Vince and I tanned every day, our skin slowly shifting from fair to golden. We floated in the warm surf, let the tide carry us. We drank cold margaritas on the beach all day.

Every night, after we showered the sand off our skin, Vince would smooth aloe lotion over my shoulders, down my back, around my hips. His hands lingered over my breasts, thumbs brushing across my nipples until I leaned into him with a soft gasp. We fucked loud and unrestrained—bodies crashing together like the waves outside our room. He buried his face between my thighs often, made me arch and beg with his mouth. I returned the favor, dragging my tongue along the length of him until he groaned and cursed into the sheets.

On the third day, while we were stretched out under a beach umbrella, I said quietly, "Tomorrow, I'm not taking my birth control."

He set his drink down and turned to look at me. His expression was unreadable for a moment—then he reached for my hand.

"Are you sure?"

"I am."

He nodded, brushing his thumb over my wrist. "Then tomorrow, we stop thinking and just feel."

We went out every night—sometimes barefoot, sometimes dressed to the nines. One night I wore a gauzy white dress that clung to my damp skin, Vince in a loose button-down and linen pants. We dined at Zibu, high above the cliffs, candlelight catching in his eyes. Another night, we laughed through an outdoor dinner at Pitiona del Mar, our fingers brushing under the table, a bottle of mezcal between us.

After dinner, we danced. Sometimes at a tucked-away rooftop bar where a saxophone crooned into the humid night, sometimes on the sand itself, music spilling from beachside clubs. Vince held me close, lips brushing my ear, his hand firm at the small of my back.

While I was away, I arranged for nearby restaurants to cater lunch for my staff a few times a week. I checked emails from the new hires, answered each one carefully no matter how small the question. Only one hiccup: a disgruntled former employee of Darren’s tried to break into the office. I fired them without hesitation, grateful for the security footage I’d installed long ago.

At night, Vince and I would crash into each other all over again. My skin, still warm from the sun, tingled under his touch. He teased and licked, sucked at my nipples until I whimpered, until I tangled my fingers in his hair and begged him deeper. We fucked wildly, sometimes half-dressed, sometimes tangled in damp sheets with the balcony doors wide open. We thought no one could hear us. And even if they could, we didn't care.

In Acapulco, everything felt lighter. Raw. Real. And Vince—he was everywhere: between my legs, in my hair, on my tongue, inside me. The days bled into one another in the best possible way. And when it came time to pack up, I felt like I was finally stepping back into the world on my own terms.