The sun beat down on the private cove. Leo slathered sunscreen on his wife Chloe’s back, his eyes darting to the ripped dude on the next lounger. The guy had been staring for an hour. Leo’s gut churned. *He’s totally eye-fucking my wife.*

Chloe stretched, her bikini top straining. "Relax, babe. He’s probably just zoning out."

But as Leo stood to get a beer, he caught the stranger’s gaze—dark, intense—tracking *him*, not Chloe. It followed the sweat trickling down Leo’s abs, lingered on the bulge in his swim shorts. A jolt, hot and confusing, shot to Leo’s groin.

Later, under the guise of a walk, Leo found himself at the dunes. The stranger was there, leaning against a rock, his boardhorts clinging to a thick, unmistakable outline. "Figured you’d come," he said, voice a low rumble. "Name’s Marc."

Leo’s mouth went dry. "You were staring."

"At *you*," Marc confirmed, stepping closer. "Couldn’t stop imagining those hands on me instead of her." He reached out, calloused fingers brushing Leo’s nipple through his shirt. Leo gasped, his cock hardening instantly, pressing against his fly.

Marc’s other hand cupped Leo’s package, giving a firm, knowing squeeze. "Fuck, you’re packed," he growled, before dropping to his knees in the soft sand. He yanked Leo’s shorts down, freeing his thick, leaking dick. Without hesitation, Marc swallowed it whole, his throat