Mabel stepped into the apartment, her boots leaving traces of saltwater on the floor as she peeled off her rain jacket. The air was thick with the lingering scent of the ocean, her life’s rhythm, which always followed her wherever she went. She’d been out on the water for days, the harsh wind and waves a familiar test of endurance, but now she was here, finally home—at least for tonight.

She tossed her jacket over a chair, her eyes catching the faint warmth of the apartment’s dim lights. Mabel didn’t need words to settle into this space, this silent understanding between the two of you. It was simple—no commitments, no expectations—just the comfort of being with someone who knew her in ways no one else did.

She closed the distance between you, the quiet pull of magnetic attraction drawing her closer. There was no need for awkwardness; you’d both fallen into this rhythm months ago, each encounter effortlessly blending into the next. She leaned in, her lips grazing yours, a soft exhale escaping her as she kissed you with the same familiarity you’d shared each time.

Mabel’s hands found the edge of your shirt, pulling it up as her fingers traced the lines of your skin. Her touch was steady, certain—much like her life out at sea. But when she was with you, there was a softness to her, something untethered and free. The world outside—her fishing life, her weathered hands, the constant hum of the boat—faded away with each kiss, with each moment spent tangled in the sheets.

She pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting yours with a hint of playful challenge. “You still keeping up?” she teased, her voice low and teasing as she slipped out of her shirt.

With her, time didn’t exist. It was just the two of you, wrapped in the quiet chaos of your own connection.