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“Take me out,” he tells me, his hand returning to the breast he’d neglected for a moment.

He turns me gently to the right but keeps me facing the wall. I slide my hand into his boxers, wrapping my fingers around his cock, my mouth watering at the sight of him already leaking at the tip.

“Do you want a taste, Selene?” he asks, pinching both of my nipples firmly.

“Yes, please.”

I wet my lips, leaning back and taking him deep into my throat, a loud moan vibrating around him.

Both of his hands tangle in my hair as he guides my head up and down his length for several slow thrusts before pulling me back.

“You taste so good,” I whisper breathlessly.

“Eyes forward,” he orders quietly. “Keep striking my cock.”

I turn back, facing the window, and tighten my hand around him, pumping slowly.

“We can’t use the toys in here,” he whispers hoarsely, “so you’ll have to settle for my hand.”

Then he lowers one hand between my legs, keeping it over my panties at first. But when his fingers brush my clit, even more wetness soaks through the white fabric, ruining it.

“Your hand was all I wanted anyway,” I tell him, already trembling.

“Just my hand?”

“And absolutely every other part of your body,” I correct myself immediately.

He laughs at the impatience in my voice, thrusting harder into my hand.

“That includes my cock?”

“Definitely your cock,” I answer, squeezing him.

“Let’s see how badly this pussy wants me then,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss me.

At the same time, he pushes my panties aside and drags his fingers teasingly around my entrance, over my clit, finally sliding them inside me.

I moan uncontrollably into his mouth, still stroking him in the same rhythm as his fingers move inside me.

“So ready.” He tugs lightly on my bottom lip, tracing it with his tongue afterward. “Does that feel good, or do you need more?”

“More,” I demand shamelessly.

Straightening, he turns my face to the glass again, and that’s when I notice something that steals my breath for several long seconds.

A couple on one of the balconies of the neighboring hotel.

“Zayn…” I whisper-yell, suddenly nervous.

They’re stretched out on a lounge chair, the woman sitting between the man’s legs with her back pressed against his chest, her thighs spread apart. His hand moves between her legs as her head falls back onto his shoulder, her entire body visibly lost in pleasure.

But what unsettles me isn’t what they’re doing.

It’s the fact that the man is staring directly at us, and a second later the woman follows his gaze.

“They can only see shadows, babe,” Zayn says softly. “So they definitely know what we’re doing, but they can’t see who’s in here.”

I swallow hard, my eyes drifting helplessly back to the movement of that man’s hand between the woman’s thighs.