AN: Here you go another chapter. MORE POWERSTONES>
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Caroline froze.
Her arms were still wrapped around Alex. He was still deep inside her. His breathing was heavy, his cock twitching. Max was still on the floor, glistening and recovering from her own personal floodgate incident.
And yet, Caroline's mind had already left the yacht, the ocean, and her afterglow… and catapulted straight into existential crisis mode.
Alex pulled back a little, brushing her hair from her face with a lazy smile. "You okay? You look like you just saw the ghost of your high school math teacher."
Caroline blinked. Then cleared her throat.
"Yeah, so, about that thing where I said... y'know, come inside me…"
Max, still lying like a post-orgasmic mermaid draped across the sun deck, lifted her head. "Oh boy. Here we go. Someone's about to drop a plot twist."
Caroline licked her lips nervously. "Sooo… slight issue. Tiny. Barely a blip. I… might not be on birth control."
Alex blinked. "You what?"
"Wait, might not?" Max sat up, suddenly invested. "Girl, did you take a vow of chaos when you left the house today?"
Caroline groaned, dragging her hands down her face. "I meant to pick up a new pack last week. I was going to. But then I got distracted by that home décor sale and then there was a flash mob at the farmer's market, don't ask, and then I just… forgot."
Alex's eyes widened. "You're telling me you've been walking around with this... this magic vagina and no defense system?"
"It's not like I was planning on getting railed on a yacht by Captain Virile over here!"
Max raised her beer. "To be fair, nobody really plans for spontaneous ocean sex. That's why they call it spontaneous ocean sex."
Caroline sat up fully now, eyes darting to the gentle waves beyond the railing. "We're in the middle of the sea. There are no pharmacies. No Plan B. No exit strategy. And I can feel your baby batter dripping out of me like melted candle wax."
Alex sat up, alarmed. "Wait, wait, wait... Are you ovulating? Are we in the danger zone?"
"I DON'T KNOW!" Caroline threw her hands up. "My period tracker app has a stupid animation of a dancing avocado instead of real data! I trusted an avocado!"
Max burst out laughing. "Okay, okay, drama queen. First of all, deep breath. You've got 72 hours to take emergency contraception. Second…" she glanced down at Caroline's thighs, "...judging by the volume of what's leaking out of you, he probably came enough to populate a small country, so yeah, fair concern."
Alex groaned, rubbing his temples. "Jesus. I didn't think I'd be starting a family in international waters."
Max crawled toward them, still looking like a goddess who just came out of a hurricane of orgasms and sass. She sat cross-legged next to Alex and Caroline, casually wiping her hand on a nearby towel.
"Well, that escalated fast," she said, peering between Caroline's legs. "Yep, that's at least six swimming squads worth of sperm trying to file an immigration form into your uterus."
Caroline threw a towel over herself and glared. "This is not helping."
"Oh, I'm not here to help. I'm here to mock and observe. Maybe live-tweet it later. #YachtBaby."
Alex was sitting upright now, running his hands through his hair like a man who just watched his entire 'fun, sexy day on the water' morph into a potential episode of Maury.
"I can't believe this," he muttered. "I came inside someone, on a boat, next to another woman who literally squirted like a busted faucet, and now we might have a sea baby."
Caroline covered her face. "Sea baby. Jesus. That's gonna be the nickname now, isn't it?"
Max nodded solemnly. "Until the day it's born. Maybe even after. I'll embroider it on a bib."
Alex turned to Caroline. "Look, if anything happens… if the worst-case scenario comes true…"
"Don't say it," she said, wide-eyed.
"I mean it," he continued. "If you get pregnant, I'll take full responsibility. We'll figure it out together."
There was a long pause.
Caroline blinked at him.
"Wow," she said. "That's actually... weirdly comforting. Like, it doesn't fix anything, but you said it with such sincerity I almost forgot we were both covered in sweat and regret."
Max wiped her eye like she was fake crying. "Aww. Look at you two. Just a wholesome maybe-baby couple with an erotic horror movie as their origin story."
Then she stood up, went inside, and came back after a minute or so with a black pill case. She waved it in the air dramatically like she was revealing a sword from a sheath.
"Anyway, plot twist, losers. Nobody's getting pregnant today."
Caroline stared at it like it was the holy grail. "Wait... you brought emergency contraception?"
Max gave a nod. "I bring this everywhere. Like a condom fairy, but hotter and with better skincare. You never know when you're gonna need to keep the stork away."
Alex looked stunned. "You've had that this whole time?"
"Yup," she said. "Was planning to mess with you. Maybe let you sweat a little, freak out, imagine baby names like Yachtson or Ocean Jr. But nooo, Miss Spontaneous Uterus over here had to beat me to the pregnancy panic."
Caroline reached for the pill. "Give me that."
Max pulled it back an inch. "Say please."
"Max," she warned.
"Fine, fine." Max handed it over and watched her swallow it with the last sip of her beer. "There. One crisis averted."
Alex let out a deep breath, leaning back. "Thank God."
Max flopped down beside him, resting her head on his stomach. "See, Moneybags? This is why you don't raw dog without a strategy."
Caroline curled up on the other side of him, groaning. "Can we please not use the term raw dog when my cervix is still recovering?"
Alex nodded slowly. "Agreed. From now on, it's called 'high-risk treasure diving.'"
Max giggled. "Or 'uninsured spelunking.'"
Caroline rolled her eyes. "I hate both of you."
"Love you too," Max said, tossing a towel at her.
"Next time we do this," Caroline said, "we bring charts. Calendars. A spreadsheet, maybe."
"And a lifeguard," Alex added.
Max sighed. "And maybe a priest. Just in case we accidentally summon a baby demon next time."
Caroline groaned again and buried her face in Alex's chest.
The wind blew gently over the deck, the ocean was calm and peaceful as if it hadn't just hosted a near-pregnancy meltdown.
Max raised her bottle in the air.
"To chaos, condoms, and contraceptives."
Caroline sighed in relief. "And to no baby being named Yachtson."
Alex closed his eyes. "I still like Ocean Jr."
"Shut up, Alex," both girls said in unison.
And peace, for the moment, was restored. Sort of.
...
[Some times later...]
Caroline showered, cleaned up, took her heroic little emergency pill, and stepped out of the bathroom feeling twenty percent less panicked and at least sixty percent cleaner. Bikini back on, hair tied up in a lazy bun, she padded barefoot onto the deck with the cautious swagger of someone who just dodged an international scandal via pill and prayer.
Meanwhile, Alex was at the grill station on the upper deck like some sort of nude Gordon Ramsay in exile. The only thing covering him was a black apron with the words "Kiss the Cook… or Else" printed in bold letters across the front. Max's idea, of course. He was flipping shrimp with the precision of a Michelin-starred chef and the confidence of a man who'd already emptied the tank multiple times and was now making lunch like it was the most normal part of the day.
Max didn't say a word. She just sat on a lounger behind him with her chin resting in her palm, sunglasses perched low on her nose like she was trying to burn holes through his ass using only the power of concentration and horniness.
Her foot bobbed in the air lazily as she chewed on a piece of pineapple and openly stared.
Caroline walked up beside her and followed her gaze. Then paused. "Are you... just watching him like it's pay-per-view?"
Max didn't blink. "I've stopped blinking. I don't want to miss any butt flexes."
Caroline shook her head, sat down, and grabbed a coconut drink. "You're hopeless."
"No. I'm focused," Max replied. "Like a hawk. A very horny hawk with excellent taste in aprons."
Alex, oblivious to the peanut gallery commentary, flipped a crab onto a sizzling pan. It hissed, the shell crisping golden, and he gave it a quick shake of seasoning like he'd been born on a Food Network yacht.
Max tilted her head. "Look at him. That's not cooking. That's seduction with shellfish."
"He's literally grilling seafood," Caroline said, sipping her drink.
"Exactly," Max said, not looking away. "You think a normal man can look that good in nothing but an apron while steaming lobster? I don't think so. He's like Poseidon's hotter cousin who went to culinary school."
"Isn't Poseidon already hot in mythology?"
"Okay, then he's Poseidon after a makeover montage."
Alex turned slightly and looked over his shoulder. "You two good over there?"
Max beamed. "We're thriving. Don't mind us. We're just admiring your... technique."
Caroline added, "Yeah, you've got great grill form. Very... firm."
Alex rolled his eyes and muttered something about regretting all his life choices while trying not to smile. He moved to baste the shrimp with butter, the apron fluttering slightly in the breeze. Max's sunglasses slid further down her nose as she leaned forward.
"Oh," she whispered. "That was almost a full side-butt reveal. I've never prayed for wind harder in my life."
Caroline groaned. "You need help."
Max sipped her coconut drink like it was wine at a fashion show. "No, I need a second apron and a GoPro."
Alex plated the grilled crab and turned back to them with a chef's flourish. "Ladies," he said, presenting it like a five-star meal, "may I interest you in some seafood, courtesy of your emotionally exhausted, possibly baby-bound host?"
Caroline raised her glass. "As long as the crab isn't also pregnant, I'm in."
Max stood and clapped. "Bravo, Chef Daddy. Now serve me that buttery shrimp and maybe bend down real slow so I can tip you in singles."
Alex narrowed his eyes. "You're lucky I like you."
Max grinned. "No, you're lucky I haven't pulled that apron off yet."
"Please don't. I'm holding tongs."
Caroline rolled her eyes again and dug into the crab. "God help us all."
And so lunch began on the deck of chaos, with buttery seafood, bikini sarcasm, and the ongoing challenge of trying not to ogle the man cooking lunch like he was auditioning for The Bachelor: Kitchen Edition.
...
After lunch, the crew of chaotic degenerates-turned-yacht royalty sat back in their chairs, sipping drinks and nursing a deeply satisfied silence. Plates were empty, crab legs were decimated, shrimp tails scattered like seafood confetti, and Alex—still apron-clad, still pants-free—looked like he'd run both a restaurant and a marathon.
He leaned back, sipping his beer, one eyebrow slightly raised. His leg bumped Max's under the table. She glanced at him, her expression unreadable behind her sunglasses.
He gave her a little side-smirk.
A nudge.
A subtle, "So... are we doing this or...?" look.
Max didn't flinch. No smirk. No foot creeping up his thigh. Just another sip of coconut drink and a lazy yawn.
Alex narrowed his eyes slightly.
Nothing.
Max was behaving.
Which was... suspicious.
He cleared his throat and leaned toward her. "So, uh. Not that I'm complaining, but... you're oddly calm today."
Max didn't even look at him. "Mhm."
"No foot stuff?"
"Nope."
"No sneaky under-the-table ambush?"
"Nope."
He paused. "Are you... okay?"
Max finally turned her head and looked him dead in the eye. "You came like a fire hydrant during a five-alarm emergency, Alex. I figured maybe your soul needed a snack break."
Caroline, halfway through licking lemon butter off her fingers, snorted into her mimosa.
Max continued, calmly. "I mean, you're already two-for-two. Technically three if we count the moment you melted all over me like an overpriced candle."
Alex flushed slightly, lifting his beer bottle. "Touché."
Max raised her glass. "I'm being merciful. You're welcome."
Caroline toasted to that. "God bless your restraint. May it last at least until dessert."
Max raised an eyebrow. "Who said anything about dessert being food?"
Caroline took a long, slow sip and muttered, "I hate that I knew you were going to say that."
[Later — Yacht Pool]
After the seafood feast and a healthy dose of mutual teasing, the trio made their way toward the small, sunken pool built into the rear deck. It wasn't massive, but it was luxurious and had crystal-clear water with glass sides, ocean views in every direction, and the kind of ambiance that said we commit crimes and moisturize.
Alex carried the chilled champagne bottle with three flutes. He'd finally tossed the apron, opting for actual swim shorts, to the heartbreak of at least one Max.
Max immediately slid into the pool with a dramatic sigh, stretching her arms along the edge like she was some washed-up movie star recovering from a scandal. "Ugh. Finally. Time to soak and erase all evidence of my sins."
Caroline waded in more gracefully, slipping into the water with a content sigh. "This feels so good."
Alex popped the champagne and poured a glass for each of them, handing one to Max and one to Caroline before pouring his own.
He raised his glass. "To no footjobs during lunch."
Max clinked his glass. "To temporary restraint."
Caroline added, "And to Plan B—literally."
They sipped, letting the ocean breeze do its magic.
The sun dipped a little lower. The waves rolled gently below them. And for the first time all day, things were quiet.
Until Max floated over to Alex, looked at his chest, and said, "So... hypothetically, how much champagne would it take to convince you to let me pour it on your abs and lick it off?"
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