The water was warm, glassy under the late afternoon sun, and the lake stretched around you like a secret no one else could touch. You waded in slowly, letting the current lap against your naked skin, the bikini long forgotten in the cabin.

Every brush of the water sent shivers down your spine, and a thrill ran through you knowing the cove was completely yours… and his.

Rafe stood on the deck, leaning casually against the railing, a small handheld camera in his hands. He didn’t need anyone else, he knew how to run the yacht, and now he had the perfect view.

His eyes weren’t on the water; they were on you. Every curve, every shiver, every laugh that slipped from your lips, he wanted it all captured.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, voice low and teasing. “God… my movie star.”

You turned toward him, water dripping from your hair, and he grinned like he’d just caught the best shot of his life. “Stop smiling at me like that,” you said, laughing, though your voice carried across the cove. He didn’t stop. He never did.

“I can’t help it,” he said, tilting the camera slightly to follow you as you swam closer to the yacht. “This… all of this? Just for us. Our private little movie. Wedding night, we’re watching every second, remembering exactly how good it feels.”

Your chest rose and fell with the water’s rhythm, and you realized how completely at ease you felt with him, no one else, no judgment, just the two of you in this perfect bubble he’d created.

He filmed with care, with obsession, but also with a reverent tenderness, capturing not just your body but the joy and freedom radiating from it.

“You look unreal,” he whispered, moving closer to the railing. “I can’t believe this is mine… that you’re mine.”