They arrived just after dusk, the hallway dimly lit, the soft thrum of music barely audible through the thick walls. The resort was discreet, hidden on the edge of the coast, where the nights were warm and the ocean smelled like secrets.
Clara’s heels clicked softly on the tile as she followed Mark toward Room Eleven. Her dress—silk, slate gray, open-backed—clung in all the right places. His hand was at the small of her back, steady, familiar, but tonight his touch lingered longer than usual… There was tension in it… Anticipation!
Inside, the lights were low, golden. Two glasses waited on the dresser, already filled. A bottle of wine rested in a bucket of melting ice. And by the balcony, silhouetted against the twilight, stood another couple.
Nico and Jess.
Introductions had happened earlier, at the welcome lounge. A few laughs, a slow dance, the kind of conversation where eyes say more than words. Clara had noticed the way Jess’s gaze moved—curious, open. The way Nico watched his partner with a kind of reverence, even as his fingers brushed Clara’s hand in passing.
Now, in the quiet hum of Room Eleven, Clara could feel her pulse rising. Jess walked over first, confident, barefoot, the hem of her black dress grazing her thighs. She touched Clara’s arm lightly, a silent question. Clara answered with a smile—small, but sure.
The first kiss was gentle. Not rushed. The kind you lean into, not out of hunger, but invitation. Mark and Nico watched, standing close. Then the space between all four of them folded in.
There were more touches after that—slow explorations, breath shared, fabric slipping, skin warming under fingertips. Nothing hurried. Nothing expected. Just the thrill of newness, the safety of being seen.
Later, as moonlight spilled over the sheets, Clara reached for Mark’s hand and found it already there.
No one spoke much. No one needed to.
