The villa sat high above the Amalfi coast—terracotta walls, endless sea, and quiet that made everything feel more intimate. Norah and James had rented it for the week: just them, sunshine, wine, and nothing on the agenda but each other.
Until Luca arrived.
He was the villa’s private masseur, booked for a single afternoon. Bronze skin, easy charm, and hands that looked like they could undo more than knots. He greeted them barefoot, with a slow smile and eyes that lingered.
“You can both stay,” he said softly, when Norah lay down first. “Some people like to watch.”
James pulled up a chair.
Luca began with Norah’s shoulders, slow and intentional, his touch more sensual than clinical. She sighed, body arching slightly as the towel slipped lower. James shifted in his seat, watching as Luca’s hands moved down—lower, firmer, more deliberate.
“Still comfortable?” Luca asked, fingers just brushing the edge of Norah’s thigh.
She opened her eyes. Looked at James.
“Yes,” she said. “But I think I want more.”
Luca smiled. “Tell me when to stop.”
He didn’t.
Soon the towel was gone, Norah gasping as his fingers slid between her thighs, stroking her to the edge while James stood and kissed her, his hand tangled in her hair. Luca watched them for a moment, then kissed her back—his mouth hungry, his body pressing into hers.
James guided Luca’s hand to his own cock, groaning when Luca touched him. Norah turned, kissing James deeply while Luca kissed down her spine, sliding into her slowly, her moan muffled by James’s mouth.
Then they switched.
James took Norah from behind, her hands tangled in Luca’s hair as she rode his face, hips shaking. The three of them moved like they’d done this before—fluid, open, no hesitation.
Hours passed. The sun dipped low.
When it was over, they lay tangled on the massage table, the sea humming outside.
“Tomorrow?” Norah whispered, breathless.
Luca smirked. “I never double-book… but for you? I’ll make an exception.”
