It was hidden in the dunes—an exclusive wellness retreat with silk robes, cold-pressed juices, and the kind of stillness that made everything feel slower. Talia and Rowan had come for rest, to reconnect. But the heat of the desert stirred something else entirely.
They met Suri at the hammam.
She moved through the steam like she belonged to it—tattooed arms, honey-gold skin, eyes lined in kohl. She was a therapist, technically. But her hands did more than soothe.
Their session started with silence. Aromatics. A slow pour of warm oil over Talia’s back. Rowan sat nearby, watching, breath shallow as Suri’s touch grew more intimate—up Talia’s thighs, across the curve of her hips.
“She’s very responsive,” Suri murmured to Rowan.
“Would you like to help me?”
Talia turned her head, flushed and wanting. “Yes,” she breathed.
Suri guided Rowan’s hands—over Talia’s skin, between her thighs, coaching him until Talia was shaking beneath them. Then Suri knelt behind Talia, her mouth hot and slow, while Rowan kissed her deeply, whispering her name again and again.
When Talia came, the echo filled the marble walls.
But they weren’t done.
Suri turned, crawling into Rowan’s lap, sliding himself inside her with a hiss of pleasure. Talia lay beside them, stroking herself, kissing Suri’s shoulder as Rowan took her hard and deep, their bodies slick with oil and sweat.
They moved like waves, in threes—touching, tasting, teasing. Rowan between both women. Suri’s fingers inside Talia while Talia rode Rowan. Moans bouncing off stone, soaked towels forgotten on the floor.
By the end, they collapsed in a heap—limbs tangled, skin glowing, hearts racing.
Suri smiled, eyes half-lidded.
“Next session,” she said, “is sunrise yoga. If you’re able to walk.”
