Cottage Getaway Pt. 2

The cottage was pure luxury—no rustic charm, no creaky wooden floors, just sleek modern design disguised as a lakeside retreat. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the endless stretch of water beyond the deck, and the furniture was all neutral tones and expensive fabrics that practically whispered money. The whole place reeked of wealth, but not the kind that needed to show off. This was rich-man discretion. Private. Exclusive. The kind of spot where people did things they wanted the world to forget.

And now, you were part of it.

Unpacking had been quick, mostly because you wanted to get out of that damn room as soon as possible. Sharing a bed with Richard was awkward as hell—not because you weren’t used to him, but because sleeping with him was going to be an expectation, not a casual transaction like in his car or some hotel room. At night. In the morning. You could already feel the way his hand would probably be on your hip before you even woke up.

You hadn't changed out of your outfit, deciding it was fine enough for the relaxed, expensive weekend ahead. The cropped long-sleeve top you wore was fitted and black, clinging to your curves while cutting off just above your waist, exposing a teasing strip of your toned stomach. Underneath, a black lace bra offered just enough lift to make the silhouette even more enticing. You paired it with sleek, high-waisted charcoal gray cigarette pants that hugged your hips and legs, polished yet still sexy. The outfit was casual enough not to feel overdressed, but still sharp—an effortless balance between allure and sophistication. Beneath it all, a matching black lace thong sat low on your hips, completing the set in a way only you knew.

Now, you were sprawled out on a plush outdoor couch on the deck, a chilled glass of something expensive in hand, surrounded by the easy, indulgent atmosphere of the weekend. The sun was sinking low, painting the sky in soft golds and pinks, reflecting against the lake like a damn postcard. Around you, the group was settling into the rhythm of the night—drinking, laughing, talking about the kind of stupid shit that happened when rich men gathered in private with beautiful women on their arms.

There were ten of you in total. Five men, five women.

Damian Kane & Vanessa Monroe – The man himself. Damian, in his usual cold, untouchable presence, leaned against the railing with a drink in hand, engaged in a low conversation with one of the guys. His date, Vanessa, was a striking blonde with icy blue eyes and the kind of face that screamed old money elegance. You doubted she was just here for fun—she carried herself like someone who had stakes in this, whatever this was. Maybe a socialite, maybe a business connection, but definitely not just some fling.

Richard Solano & You – No introductions needed. Richard was stretched out on one of the lounge chairs, his posture relaxed but his attention flickering toward you more often than not. You didn’t want to think about what that meant for later.

Ethan Cross & Bianca Torres – Ethan was a Wall Street type, sharp suit swapped out for an expensive sweater and tailored joggers that somehow still looked more expensive than most people’s entire wardrobes. His date, Bianca, was a bombshell—long dark hair, sun-kissed skin, and curves that filled out her emerald green jumpsuit with ease. She was a stripper, no question. Maybe an escort. Either way, she was here for the paycheck, and she didn’t seem bothered by that one bit.

Julian Hart & Sienna DeLuca – Julian had the vibe of someone who had been born into money and never had to work a day in his life, but still played businessman when it suited him. He was lounging lazily, looking amused at whatever conversation was happening. Sienna, his date, was tall and effortlessly sultry, all dark wavy hair and tanned olive skin, wearing a silky champagne-colored wrap top that barely stayed tied over her chest and a matching skirt with a slit up to there. Unlike Bianca, she wasn’t here for cash—she was here because she wanted to be, though whether that was for Julian himself or the lifestyle, you couldn’t tell.

Leo Mercer & Madison Reed – Leo was the youngest of the group, but still absurdly rich in that "my father owns half of downtown" kind of way. He was a bit rougher around the edges compared to the others, his tattoos peeking out from the sleeves of his white button-up as he nursed his drink. His date, Madison, was another blonde, though unlike Vanessa, she was pure Instagram model chic—long wavy extensions, a tight little crop top and mini skirt combo, and lips that looked freshly filled. She was probably an influencer, or at least someone who really wanted to be.

The conversation around the deck was light—stocks, travel, bullshit stories about high-end parties none of you were really listening to. The men leaned into their drinks, the women laughed at the right moments, the air thick with that nothing matters but tonight kind of energy.

And then, inevitably, Damian’s gaze slid to you.

You felt it before you saw it—the slow drag of his attention, measuring, assessing. It sent a slow coil of heat down your spine, not entirely unwelcome. You met his stare, a flicker of something unreadable passing between you before he looked away, as if dismissing the moment entirely.

But you knew better.

This weekend was just getting started.

The drinks kept flowing, the music pulsed in the background, and the warm buzz of expensive liquor settled deep into your veins. The cottage, with its sleek modern interior and dim golden lighting, transformed into something more than just a luxurious retreat—it became a private playground, an isolated world where inhibitions loosened, and rules barely existed.

Dinner had come and gone in a blur of fine dining, filet mignon, lobster tails, and wine that cost more per bottle than most people’s monthly rent. The laughter had been easy, the conversation laced with flirtation and teasing, a game that everyone was playing but no one was fully committing to. And now, the night had fully settled in, the atmosphere thick with something electric, something inevitable.

Out on the deck, the drinks kept coming, and the mingling blurred the lines of who belonged to whom. The whole setup was obvious: no man here was tied to any one woman, and every woman here knew it. Touches lingered a little longer, gazes smoldered a little hotter, and the lines of possession were completely nonexistent. It was all in good fun—rich people fun.

And if you wanted Damian Kane’s attention, you had to play the game.

It started subtle, as it always did. A touch here, a lingering glance there. Your body moved like you belonged in this world, like seduction was second nature, like you weren’t here for a purpose beyond pleasure. But beneath it all, you were hyper-aware of Damian Kane. His presence was a weight in the back of your mind, his sharp eyes a gravity that pulled at you, even when he wasn’t looking.

Julian was the first one to sidle up next to you. He had that lazy confidence, the kind only men born into wealth could pull off, his sharp suit ditched in favor of a linen button-down left half open, exposing a tanned chest that he clearly wanted people to notice. He wasn’t subtle about anything—the way he let his fingers skim the curve of your waist as he reached past you for a bottle, the way his breath tickled your ear when he murmured, “You’re far too stunning to be tied to just one man tonight.”

You laughed, tilting your head to look up at him through your lashes, letting your body shift just enough to press against him. “Who said I was tied to anyone at all?”

His smirk widened. “That’s exactly what I was hoping to hear.”

His hand stayed on your waist a little longer than necessary before he finally moved on, drifting toward Sienna, but you could feel his gaze still lingering. That was the kind of man Julian was—used to getting what he wanted, used to women melting at the slightest provocation.

You wouldn’t melt. But you would let him keep wanting.

The music had picked up, the deep bass thrumming through your veins, and somewhere along the way, Ethan and Bianca had found their way into your orbit. Bianca was draped over Ethan’s lap, her long nails tracing patterns on his chest as she sipped her drink. She had a sultry, knowing smirk, her dark eyes flicking to you as Ethan finally addressed you.

“You ever think about how money makes people more attractive?” he mused, his gaze flicking lazily over your form.

Bianca let out a low, knowing hum. “Oh, absolutely,” she purred. “But then again, some people just are attractive.”

You took a slow sip of your drink, leaning just enough into Ethan’s space to let your thigh brush against his. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” you teased, casting Bianca a glance. “Though I think you might have your hands full already.”

Ethan chuckled, swirling his glass. “Bianca and I like to… share, sometimes.”

You raised an eyebrow, more amused than anything. Bianca just gave you a slow, knowing smirk, fingers toying with the strap of her barely-there dress. “If you’re ever interested,” she murmured, voice dripping with suggestion.

You laughed, tipping your glass toward them before pulling away. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The invitation was clear, but you weren’t here for them. Still, letting Ethan think you were interested? That only added to the allure. Letting men want you without giving in was power.

Madison had disappeared somewhere inside, leaving Leo with an easy excuse to pull you onto the makeshift dance floor that had formed on the deck. The music was deep, slow, sensual, and Leo had his hands on your hips before you could even say a word. He was smoother than you expected, his tattoos and sharp jawline giving him a rugged edge that contrasted with the silkiness of his movements.

“You know,” he murmured, lips close to your ear, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Richard keep a girl around this long.”

You let out a breathy laugh, rolling your hips against him just enough to tease. “Maybe I’m just unforgettable.”

“Oh, definitely,” he said, his grip tightening.

It would’ve been so easy to lean into him fully, to let his hands slide lower, to tilt your head and let him kiss you like he so clearly wanted to. But instead, you pulled back just enough, a teasing little smile on your lips as you dragged your nails lightly down his chest before slipping away completely.

Leo let out a soft, amused scoff, shaking his head. “You’re trouble.”

You winked. “You have no idea.”

You slid effortlessly into Richard’s arms, your hands resting against his chest as you swayed in time with the music. His grip on your waist tightened, fingers teasing just under the hem of your top. His breath was warm against your ear as he murmured, "You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?"

You hummed. "Shouldn’t I be?"

But your eyes flicked back to Damian.

He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t reacted.

But his glass was empty now.

And you knew—knew—he was watching.

It wasn’t enough.

You let your fingers drift up Richard’s chest, grazing over his collarbone before dragging down again, slow and deliberate. His hand slid lower on your waist, just a little too possessive, and you let him think he had you. Let him think you were here with him.

But then, effortlessly, you slipped away.

You moved toward the bar, toward Damian’s orbit, never quite acknowledging him directly but letting your presence brush against his. Close enough for him to smell the faint traces of perfume clinging to your skin. Close enough for him to hear the soft click of your nails against the glass as you refilled your drink.

You didn’t look at him.

Didn’t say a word.

But when you turned, slow and deliberate, to head back toward the others, your fingers just barely grazed his wrist.

And that—that was the moment you felt the shift.

Damian Kane had just lost the upper hand.

And now?

Now, it was just a matter of when he’d finally crack.

The night pressed on, and the cottage had long since shed any pretense of civility. What started as harmless flirtation had escalated into something shameless, something inevitable.

The drinks kept flowing, the music thrummed low and heavy, and the air had turned thick with liquor, smoke, and the unspoken permission that anything could happen here—would happen here.

Nobody was pretending anymore.

There were no couples, no commitments, no boundaries. Every woman here had come with a man, but that meant nothing now.

Madison, who had draped herself over Leo for most of the night, had somehow ended up in Julian’s lap. Her blonde extensions spilled over her shoulders as she giggled into his ear, one manicured hand trailing down his chest. Leo, far from offended, had his arm around Bianca now, whispering something low into her ear that made her smirk, fingers lazily curling into his shirt as she leaned into him.

Ethan, who had spent a good portion of the evening absorbed in conversation with Bianca, had now turned his attention to Sienna. She had sprawled herself across his lap, wine glass in hand, her long dark waves cascading over her shoulder as she tilted her head back, offering her throat up like an invitation. Ethan's fingers traced slow, teasing circles against her thigh, his expression unreadable but clearly entertained by her.

It wasn’t subtle.

It wasn’t meant to be.

The boundaries had dissolved completely, and now? Now it was just a game of who would end up with whom by the time the night was over.

Unlike the others, Richard hadn’t let you stray far.

He still had you in his lap, his arms snug around your waist, his fingers absently skimming beneath the hem of your cropped top. You could feel the heat of his hands through the thin fabric of your high-waisted trousers, his touch slow, teasing, possessive in a way that wasn’t unfamiliar—but tonight, it felt heavier.

He wasn’t looking anywhere else.

He wasn’t interested in mixing.

You were his, at least for tonight.

And that meant he was going to take what he wanted.

You barely had time to register how far things had gone before you heard it—the unmistakable sound of lips meeting, of gasps and low, husky murmurs.

You turned your head just in time to see Madison fully straddling Julian, their mouths fused together in something messy, something hungry. Julian’s hands were on her ass, gripping tight as she ground against him, their movements lazy and indulgent, like they had all the time in the world.

Bianca and Leo weren’t much different. She was curled against him, their bodies flush, her lips tracing slow, open-mouthed kisses along his jawline while he murmured something into her ear. Whatever he said had her smirking, because she turned and kissed him—hard.

Sienna was already tangled up with Ethan, her fingers buried in his hair as their mouths met in something slow and heated, her body arching into him like she needed him closer.

Nobody cared that they had all arrived with different people.

Nobody cared about anything anymore.

And just like that, Richard decided it was your turn.

You barely had a second to react before his fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face toward him. His lips met yours, and just like that, you were lost in it.

The kiss was slow at first—deliberate, coaxing. But then his hands tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and suddenly it was deeper, hungrier. His tongue teased against yours, the heat of his body pressing into you, fingers gripping your hips as if daring you to move, to grind against him the way Madison had against Julian.

And for a moment—just a moment—you let yourself sink into it.

You let yourself forget.

The taste of whiskey on his lips, the warmth of his hands against your waist, the way he wanted you—it was all so easy to fall into.

But then—then—his fingers slipped lower, pressing just a little too close, his grip just a little too tight, his intentions crystal clear.

And that was when you knew you had to stop this.

You pulled back, breathless, letting your head loll against his shoulder as if the **** had finally caught up to you.

Richard, still dazed from the kiss, chuckled against your hair. "What’s wrong, sweetheart?"

You let out a soft groan, your body going slack against his. "I think I drank too much," you murmured, letting your words slur just a little. "Feel kinda sick."

Richard stilled for a moment, his hands still resting on your hips.

Then, after a beat, he exhaled.

"Ah, shit," he muttered, his voice tinged with disappointment but not irritation. He shifted beneath you, adjusting your weight as he pulled you more comfortably against him. "You gonna be okay?"

You hummed, letting your eyes flutter shut. "Just… need to lie down. But not—" You let out a small, pitiful laugh. "Not to do anything. Just sleep."

Richard groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Well, that’s fucking unfortunate."

You **** a sleepy smile. "Sorry."

He sighed, but he didn’t push.

"Alright, fine," he muttered, shifting you off his lap gently. "Go lie down before you throw up all over my lap, yeah?"

You nodded, pushing yourself up with a sway that you definitely exaggerated. "You’re the best," you murmured, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek before you stumbled off toward the bedroom.

And as soon as the door shut behind you, you exhaled.

Your heart was still pounding. Not from desire. Not from Richard.

From the sheer weight of everything around you.

The game wasn’t over yet.

And if you wanted to get Damian Kane’s attention—if you wanted to win—you were going to have to play this game just a little longer.