John didn’t answer. He just moaned.

The next morning, a note was waiting on their breakfast tray.

“Moon Deck. Tonight. Just the four of us. Wear something daring. Leave your limits at the door.”

– Laila

—-

The Moon Deck wasn’t what John expected.

When they arrived just after dark, the path was lined with candles flickering in glass jars. A soft rhythm pulsed in the distance—something between lounge music and a heartbeat.

Claire walked slightly ahead of him, her back straight, her sheer black dress moving with the breeze. Underneath, he could see the outline of her thong. She hadn’t worn a bra.

“You okay?” she asked softly as they reached the final steps.

He nodded. “Just… butterflies.”

She smiled. “Me too.”

The Moon Deck sat above the water, built on stilts and open to the night air. Pillows and low tables were scattered everywhere, and in the center—Laila and Jason waited.

Laila was lounging like a cat, wearing a tiny silk wrap and nothing else. Jason, shirtless, leaned against a post with a glass in hand, watching them arrive with that same steady gaze.

“Look at you two,” Laila purred. “Exactly on time.”

Claire let out a nervous laugh. “We didn’t want to miss the mystery.”

“Come sit,” Laila said, patting the pillows next to her. “Tonight’s just about energy. Nothing expected. Just… whatever feels right.”

Jason didn’t speak. But he nodded once, and it felt like permission. Or a challenge.

John sat beside Claire, his thigh touching hers. Laila poured wine—deep red and smooth—and offered it with a wink.

They drank. Talked. Laughed.

At first, it was easy. They told stories—travel mishaps, bad dates, awkward first kisses. Jason remained quiet but attentive, his eyes always focused. He made you feel seen without saying a word.

But then the questions came.

“What’s something you’ve fantasized about,” Laila asked, “but never said out loud?”

Claire blinked, surprised. She looked at John.

“I’ll go first,” Laila offered, swirling her glass. “I once asked Jason to tie me up and invite two strangers to fuck me. I didn’t know their names. Still don’t.”

John coughed on his sip.

Laila grinned. “Your turn.”

Claire hesitated. Her voice dropped. “I’ve thought about… being watched.”

Jason’s gaze sharpened.

Laila leaned in. “And you, John?”

He felt the weight of three stares. His pulse thumped in his throat.

“I’ve… wondered,” he said, “what it would feel like. To see her… being taken. But not like… not like in porn. Real. Raw.”

Claire’s fingers tightened slightly around his.

Laila’s eyes gleamed. “That’s honest. I like honest.”

Then, slowly, she reached across the table—and took John’s hand.

His breath caught.

Her fingers were soft, slow, exploring. “Is it the idea of losing her? Or seeing her lose herself?”

He didn’t answer.

Laila looked at Claire. “Do you think he could handle it?”

Claire smiled nervously. “I think he’d try.”

Jason rose then, smooth and silent, and walked to where Claire sat. He didn’t touch her. Just stood behind her, close enough for his presence to be felt.

Claire glanced up at him, then looked at John.

“Okay?” she asked quietly.

John’s heart pounded.

“I think so,” he said.

Jason’s hands moved to her shoulders. Lightly. Just a massage. Nothing more.

But the way Claire leaned into it—the soft exhale, the arch of her neck—it made John’s blood rush.

Laila leaned closer to him. “You like seeing her touched.”

He didn’t deny it.

“You’re shaking,” she whispered.

“I’m not sure what I’m feeling.”

“That’s the best part.”

Jason’s hands were lower now, tracing the curve of Claire’s sides. She looked dazed, caught between guilt and need.

John couldn’t look away.

“Do you want him to stop?” Laila asked Claire gently.

She hesitated.

“No,” she said.

Laila took John’s hand and placed it over the front of his pants. “You’re hard,” she whispered. “Even if your mind’s unsure… your body’s already chosen.”

Claire’s head turned toward him, eyes wide.

“You’re okay?” she asked again.

He nodded. “Keep going.”

⸻

Back at their villa, it was quiet. Heavy with what had almost happened.

They sat at the edge of the bed, both breathing deeply.

“I feel… electric,” Claire whispered. “But also scared.”

John nodded. “Same.”

She looked at him. “Was it too far?”

“No,” he said. Then softer: “But it was close.”

“I didn’t expect to like being touched by someone else.”

John met her gaze. “Did it feel good?”

She paused.

“Yes,” she said. “But it also felt like… crossing something.”

“Do you want to keep going?”

“I don’t know yet.”

They lay in bed without sex. Just quiet breathing. Soft touches. Holding hands across a widening threshold.

A line had been crossed—and neither of them could forget it.