I bite my tongue, arousal dimming a bit when I think about what he means. She was a virgin when she and Dane first fucked. And we’re going to be here for another week—he’s right. We have already fucked twice since coming over here. I need to give her a second to breathe.
The last thing I want is to burn her out.
“I’ll make dinner,” I say, hands already itching for a task, a chance to redirect all this energy into something productive. Plus, I like the idea of watching Lucy eat what I cook.
Twenty minutes later, Lucy appears in a pair of sweatpants and a tight t-shirt, her damp hair falling down her back.
God, she always looks good enough to fucking eat.
All three of us stare at her from our seats in the living room. A sense of possibility hovers in the air, and it’s dizzying.
“Let’s go to the big cottage,” she says, a smile stretching over her face. “Someone mentioned a pool?”
“Fuck, yes,” I stand and pump a fist in the air. Dane and Cole move quickly, one of them turning off the fireplace and pulling the drapes, the other grabbing her suitcase from its place by the door.
Together, we walk along the path to the main house. Night fell long ago, and the atmosphere is heavy, sticky with the island's familiar humidity.
Once inside, Dane takes Lucy’s suitcase to the primary bedroom, the one he typically occupies, and which I imagine we’ll all be sharing over the coming weeks. Cole usually stays in a bedroom near the front of the house, so when the sun rises, it doesn’t stream directly into his room. He’s up later than us.
I like the room on the ground floor, near the back of the house, where I can wake up and walk right down to the beach, burying my feet in the sand and thinking of mornings staring at the sunrise over the Santa Monica pier.
Now, I don’t care where I sleep, as long as it’s with Lucy.
While I’m in the kitchen, prepping my signature meal—fish tacos with quick-pickled purple cabbage and homemade sauce—the other three head out to the pool.
As I chop and cook, I can make them out through the massive back windows, see their bodies glimmering off the top of the pool. Lucy squeals and cannonballs from the diving board. Cole rises from the water and shakes it from his hair like a dog. Dane and Lucy have competitions to swim to the bottom for weighted toys.
She almost,almostbeats him.
When the food is ready, and the tacos are plated on fancy holders I insisted the house be stocked with, I bring it out ontrays. I watch as Lucy pulls herself hungrily from the water, which cascades off her like diamonds.
“Oh,god,” she says, through her first mouthful of a taco, and I know I’m not the only one staring at her as she takes several too-big bites. “This is so good, Nico.”
I may not be the only one of us staring at her, those moans landing somewhere other than my ears, but I think I’m the one getting the most enjoyment from it.
Cooking has been a passion of mine for a long time. It’s my way of building something. Using my hands to construct something real.
I like the impermanence of it, creating something just for it to be consumed. Even a picture doesn’t capture the way something tastes. It’s temporary, and never exactly the same. That cabbage will never exist again, so this dish will never exist again.
We devour the tacos and, at Lucy’s request, go back to swimming. We stay in the pool until our skin wrinkles, until the moon shines high over the water, shimmering like a smooth disco ball over our party. We stay until Lucy crawls out of the water, lying exhausted on a lounge chair, curling into Dane’s chest when he picks her up and carries her to bed.
Quietly, collectively, we shower once more in the massive rain shower. Shampoo and condition her hair, run soap over her body, then dry her off, pull a fine pair of silk pajamas on, and crawl into the massive bed together.
I’d thought it would be difficult to find a way to sleep together, but it’s not. Dane lies in the middle, Lucy draped over his chest, and Cole and I bracket him. Cole on his side, his hand on Lucy’s back, me on my stomach, her hand on mine.
I’m pretty sure we won’t be able to stay this way all night, but that’s okay. We’re here now, and that’s what matters.
Admittedly, this is our least productive retreat so far. Who needs productivity when there’s amazing sex to be had?
Lucy wakes first most mornings, since even Dane has been sleeping later. Some mornings I wake to her lips, her hands on me. Other mornings, it’s to the low sounds of pleasure from Cole or Dane, her lips and hands on them. It never takes long for all of us to wake, sleepily entangling ourselves with her until we’re all spent and satisfied.
She likes to swim in the mornings, challenging Dane to endless diving competitions. After a shower, we eat breakfast—sometimes just fruit, yogurt, and granola. Sometimes, I make omelets, eggs Benedict, chicken sausage burritos, or French toast.
In the afternoons, we nap or go for walks around the island. Sometimes, Cole and Lucy play video games together while Dane and I watch, mostly confused about what’s happening unless it’s something to do with Mario.
One night, we play Trivial Pursuit.
“This issonot fair,” Lucy laughs, tears running down her face after the fifth card with a name she has “never heard in her entire life,”and which Cole, Dane, or I are able to answer instantly. “This game issoold.”
