Heather's First Morning (Heather's POV)

Dawn in Eden Valley broke gently, like a slow yawn—soft gold sliding through the half-open blinds in my bedroom, fanning across the sheets, glinting off the metal of my phone where it was charging (or pretending to, like it had all night). I stretched, toes cracking, and for a minute just lay there, skin prickled and deliciously cool from the night’s breeze, all the little aches from yesterday’s hike up Lake Harmony’s rim pulsing in my thighs. In Eden Valley, the morning air always smelled faintly of sex and wildflowers—maybe it was the lake, maybe the way the grass never seemed to lose its dew. Or maybe just how every living thing in this place seemed to vibrate with barely-repressed hunger.

I padded to the bathroom, peeled off the threadbare tee I’d slept in, and let it drop to the tile. The mirror caught my body—tall, lean, the little indentations of muscle in my calves and shoulders sharp from another summer of volleyball. Even this early, my nipples were drawn tight against the chill, little pink bullseyes at attention. I brushed a hand down my stomach, pausing at the navel ring that still felt like a new acquisition, despite being two years old. It was all still me, but Eden Valley’s water made me feel somehow glossier, like I’d been lacquered with potential.

I twisted the shower knob all the way hot, steam erupting almost immediately. The water here was legendary, the kind of legend that came with warning labels and whispered confidences in the halls at State. “Don’t drink it unless you want to get fucked,” my RA had said sophomore year, the day she caught me filling a Nalgene from the dorm kitchen’s tap. “You’ll end up in someone’s bed, or three, if you’re lucky.” I’d laughed, but she wasn’t wrong.

By the time the water hit my skin, everything inside me came alive, nerves humming, heart hammering, pussy clenching tight like it was trying to drag in every droplet. The pressure was perfect—pounding over my chest, trickling down the small of my back, flowing in fat rivulets between my thighs. Every sensation was amplified tenfold. I closed my eyes and leaned in, lips parted, letting my hands drift and circle, not shy about the want pulsing through my blood.

Five minutes in, and my body was a riot. I circled my clit with two fingers, hard and slick and shockingly sensitive, grinding the heel of my palm against my mound, and imagined every person I’d ever wanted, or wanted to be. Jan and Melissa from next door, giggling over fence gossip, Jan’s kimono always “accidentally” opening just a touch too far. The twins at the corner house, always sunbathing topless, never even acknowledging their own beauty except in the way they’d wink at passing joggers. Sam, last night in the kitchen, bent over the fridge in nothing but boxer-briefs, the slope of his back and the clumsy way he scratched his head making me bite my tongue.

The orgasm came fast, sharp and mean, curling my toes, shuddering me against the shower wall. The second came before I’d even recovered from the first, then a lazy, whimpering third while I rinsed conditioner through my hair. I’d heard rumors about what the Valley’s water did to men, but to women, it was like being tuned to a higher frequency, every touch and scent and sound thrumming straight to the core.

By the time I toweled off, my knees were rubbery. I flopped onto the bed, damp and open, and sprawled for a moment, basking. I could already hear Sam moving around in the kitchen, clinking mugs and humming to himself, the awkward guy-who-doesn’t-know-he’s-hot vibe radiating from him like a beacon. I dressed in the first things I found—a scarlet tank that made my shoulders look criminal, a white skirt that was maybe too short for breakfast but perfect for everything else—and, with a glance at my phone (two unread messages, both from a “Paolo” I’d met at the Market and could not quite recall), made my way to the kitchen.

Sam was at the table, back to me, hunched over a sudoku and a stack of pancakes so tall it had to be a cry for help. His hair stuck up at impossible angles, ruddy and gold, and his bare feet tapped the linoleum in time with whatever tune was in his head. He didn’t hear me at first, so I just leaned in the doorway and watched, letting the moment spool out. There was something easy about mornings with Sam; even when he was silent, the room felt full.

“Good morning, bro. Something smells fantastic,” I mumbled.

Sam turned to me with a warm smile, trying—and failing—to keep his eyes from drifting to where my tank top clung a little too tightly. “Good morning, sleepy head. Looks like you really needed your rest. Are you hungry?”

“Famished!” I declared, already pulling up a stool as he slid a plate full of eggs, sausage, and toast toward me, along with a steaming cup of coffee. We dug in, the next forty minutes filled with easy conversation and laughter, a cozy reminder of childhood weekends when breakfast was a family affair. The phone rang, interrupting our peaceful moment. It was Doctor Liz, wanting to schedule a checkup for me.

Sam handed the handset to me, mouthing “told you so.” I stuck out my tongue.

“Heather speaking,” I said, trying to sound more alert than I felt.

“Oh, sugar, I hope I didn’t pull you from the arms of a lover.” Dr. Liz’s voice, all velvet and smoke, oozed through the receiver. “Is this a decent time?”

“Perfect time,” I lied, fighting a smile. “What’s up?”

“I heard you were back in the Valley and figured we better get you in before someone snaps you up and carries you off to a cabin for a week. Newcomers like you tend to cause a stir.” She tsked, then switched to business. “You ever had a Valley physical? If not, I need to get your lovely self on the books. Today, if possible.”

I glanced at Sam, who was now eavesdropping with all the subtlety of a peacock.

“Uh, sure. When?”

“I can swing by in an hour with Mark, or you can come by the Clinic after lunch. But if you’re already up and at ‘em, we’ll make house calls.” The way she said it made me imagine Liz in a nurse’s uniform, and the image didn’t help the persistent buzz in my bloodstream.

I said, “House call’s fine,” then immediately regretted it. The place was a mess, and my underwear situation was not visitor-appropriate. Not that Liz would care.

“Excellent, hon. We’ll see you in a tick.” She paused. “Tell Sam to wear something nice. I’ve heard he’s a treat when he tries.”

I hung up and relayed the details. Sam blushed all the way to his ears, then pretended to care about his sudoku again.

I cleaned up, threw some extra mugs in the sink, and debated changing my clothes, but in the end, decided I liked the effect the tank and skirt had on Sam. When the doorbell rang exactly forty-three minutes later, he was still sitting at the table, but had at least put on a shirt. Not buttoned, but the effort was appreciated.

A knock at the door announced our visitors. I heard Sam greeting Doctors Mark and Liz. As I turned the corner, I caught Liz withdrawing her hand from Sam's shorts, her composure intact while Sam stood flushed and visibly aroused. I smirked, recognizing the hunger that was growing within me—the water affected everyone. Sam, a bit flustered from Liz's attentions, introduced me to Mark and Liz. She was in her forties with auburn hair that fell in loose waves past her shoulders, her white blouse unbuttoned just enough to reveal the swell of her full breasts. Her lips were painted a deep wine color that made me wonder how they'd feel against my skin. Mark stood tall beside her, salt-and-pepper hair cropped short, his strong jawline peppered with stubble I could almost feel scratching against my inner thighs. The way his dress shirt stretched across his broad shoulders made my mouth water. As Mark, Liz, and I left Sam behind, I couldn't help but laugh at my brother's predicament, though the heat pooling between my legs told me I wasn't much better off.

I thought Sam would probably jerk himself off after we left, but Liz excused herself and slipped back in the house with a determined look on her face. I could still see her through the window as she closed the door and sank to her knees, her hands reaching for Sam’s shorts. I watched, hidden from view, as she expertly took him in her mouth, and unbuttoned her blouse, her large breasts swaying with each movement. Sam didn’t last long and sprayed his load all over her chest. Liz stood up, buttoning her blouse with a casual elegance, turned around, and left Sam with a smile and wave. She opened the door and walked back to the car, her tits still covered in my brother’s cum.

“Couldn’t leave your poor brother in a lurch like that, now could I dear?” she said with smirk as sat next to Mark.

Mark grinned back, “You’re always so gracious, Liz.”

The Clinic was a five-minute drive from the house, and Mark made sure we took the long way. I was intrigued by the two doctors but a bit nervous about the physical. The Clinic was empty when we arrived. Liz signed me in and winked. “We’ll take care of you in lickety-split, hon. She led me past the reception area into a short hallway painted an aggressive mint green, and then into a small, chilly exam room.

Mark gestured at the paper-covered table, then washed his hands at the sink. “Up here, please. Shoes and socks off. You can keep the skirt, but—” he trailed off, color blooming in his cheeks. “Never mind. You’re good.”

The exam was routine, at first. Height, weight, reflexes. Blood pressure. The scrape of the stethoscope was cold against my sternum, and I tried to focus on the ceiling tiles instead of the heat in Mark’s hands. He was gentle, methodical, a scientist cataloguing observations. Liz leaned in from the corner, arms folded under her chest, occasionally tossing in jokes about “strip poker gone clinical” or “Valley girls and their resilience.” I laughed, but only to keep my brain from spinning off.

To me, it seemed that the trouble with this special Eden Valley water is that it makes every touch, even accidental ones, feel like a secret. When Mark pressed his palm to my back to listen to my lungs, I imagined those hands gripping my waist for very different reasons. When Liz measured my pulse, her thumb on the inside of my wrist, I pictured that same thumb sliding over my nipple, slow and possessive. I’d never been so aware of my own body, every nerve ending tuned to receive.

Mark cleared his throat. “I’ll need to check your abdomen, if that’s all right.”

“Go for it,” I said, voice only a little unsteady.

He pressed and palpated, moving in a gentle, clockwise spiral. It should have been clinical, but with every pass, my belly tensed and fluttered. I forced myself to keep breathing, to not let on just how keyed up I was. Liz caught my eye and smirked, as if she knew every thought I was having.

“Any pain?” Mark asked, fingers splayed just below my ribs.

“No. Just—uh—ticklish, I guess.”

He smiled, relaxed a little. “You’re healthy as a horse, Heather. We’re lucky to have you here.”

I wasn’t sure how to reply, so I just smiled back, grateful for the relief and a little disappointed the exam was almost over.

“Okay,” Mark said, snapping off his gloves. “Last part—standard for all new residents.” He produced a tiny plastic cup and gestured at the bathroom down the hall. “If you can, just fill it up to the line. Take your time.”

I took the cup and padded down the hall. The bathroom was clean, smelled of disinfectant and lavender. I sat, relaxed, and realized just how slick and swollen I’d become, my body humming from the touch-starved morning. Filling the cup took no effort at all.

When I returned, Liz was waiting just outside the door. She plucked the cup from my hand and grinned. “You’re the pride of the clinic already. Fastest draw we’ve had all week.”

I flushed, mumbling something about “staying hydrated.” She handed me a wipe, then leaned in close, her lips almost brushing my ear. “Mark’s cute, isn’t he? Don’t let him fool you with the soft-spoken thing. He’s a freak in the best way.”

I snorted, then immediately clapped my hand over my mouth. “Is that professional?”

Liz shrugged. “Around here? More like an ice-breaker.” She smoothed her skirt, then nodded at the hall. “Come on, let’s get you out of this icebox. Mark wants to take us to lunch.”

Back in the main corridor, Mark was already waiting by the door, keys in hand. He’d changed into a fresh shirt, pale blue and perfectly pressed. He gave me a little half-wave, then held the door open with a shy flourish.

The Valley sun was blinding after the clinic’s fluorescence. We walked in silence for a minute, Liz humming tunelessly, Mark looking everywhere but at me.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Let’s go the Tavern. Best food in town.”

“I could eat a horse,” I said, realizing I hadn’t had anything since pancakes.

“Make that two of us,” Liz chimed in. “But only if it comes with fries.”

The Eden View Tavern wasn’t just a restaurant. It was an all-you-could-eat buffet for every human sense, perched on a ledge of the valley so that even standing at the hostess stand gave you a sweeping, three-county panorama. I’d eaten lunch here twice since arriving—once with my parents, once with Sam—but walking in today with Mark and Liz felt like we’d been granted access to a secret level of the game. Liz kept calling it a “power lunch,” and I was pretty sure she was only partly joking.

We followed the hostess, a busty redhead with a tattoo of cherry blossoms crawling up her hip, through the packed main floor to a prime table near the glass wall. The entire back side of the restaurant was nothing but view—forest, lake, village rooftops, the faint mist of the waterfall in the distance, and the curved bridge over the river below.

“I swear, you could jump off this balcony and not hit a single cop car,” Mark said, pulling out my chair for me before plopping down beside Liz. He wore a SEVEN-logo polo and khaki shorts, but had somehow managed to get sunscreen streaks on his biceps before noon.

Liz’s Southern accent got thicker when she was hungry. “Well, ain’t this just a sight for sore eyes. And for what it’s worth, Mark, I prefer my power lunches vertical and fully clothed—for the first ten minutes, anyway.”

“Is that a challenge?” Mark waggled his eyebrows. “Because I’ve been known to work up a healthy appetite and still finish dessert on time.”

Liz grinned, turning to me. “Heather, are all doctors such incorrigible flirts, or is this just an Eden Valley thing?”

“Oh, I think he was born with it.” I dropped my sunglasses on the table and stretched my legs under the white linen. The view was breathtaking, but even the best vista couldn’t compete with what was happening under the table.

Within three minutes, we were visited by not one, but three different waitstaff: the tattooed hostess, a slim man in tight black pants who refilled our water and looked down Liz’s blouse with open adoration, and then—finally—Barb.

Barb had jet-black hair that was chopped into a bob with magenta streaks. Her smile was all teeth, and she wore her waitress apron tied scandalously high above her ass. When she walked, you heard the sound of her thighs, and the glint of her clit piercing as she adjusted her skirt to squat by the table.

“Fancy seeing you here, Doc,” Barb said to Mark, then winked at me. “Y’all here for the lunch special, or do you prefer à la carte?”

Liz eyed the specials menu. “What do you recommend, honey?”

Barb leaned in, arching her back so her cleavage threatened to upstage the appetizer list. “The wood-fired branzino is spectacular today, but for some reason, the sausage linguine has been flying out of the kitchen.” Her eyes darted to Mark’s lap as she said “sausage.” She made sure we noticed.

Mark didn’t skip a beat. “I’ll take the linguine. Extra sausage.”

Liz covered her laugh with her hand. “You know what? I’ll have the same. And let’s do a bottle of the Albariño.”

Barb scribbled, then turned to me. “And for the pretty brunette?”

“Uh, salad Nicoise, rare tuna,” I said, “and a shot of tequila?”

“I like your style,” Barb said, patting my shoulder—then letting her hand drift down my bare upper arm, linger on my biceps, and finally trail off, grazing the slope of my breast as she straightened. Her fingers flicked the tip of my nipple as if testing its ripeness. I felt it tingle to life under my shirt.

Barb smiled at our collective lack of reaction and, instead of walking away, set her order pad down on the table. “So, Mark, are you free for a house call tonight? I’ve got a…stiffness in my lower back.”

He grinned. “You’re getting greedy. Didn’t I just see you last week for your annual?”

She shrugged. “A girl’s gotta eat.”

Mark looked at Liz. “You mind if I—?”

Liz waved him off. “Sugar, you can eat her for dessert as long as you don’t forget where you left your fork.”

Barb put her hands on her hips. “Why wait till dessert?”

The table vibrated with a sudden sexual charge, as if an invisible switch had flipped and everyone decided, simultaneously, to stop pretending this was a normal restaurant.

Mark stood up, gesturing for Barb to come around behind him. She did, and he pulled her straight onto his lap. Barb’s black skirt rode up, and the bare flesh of her ass pressed against Mark’s khakis. The sight of a grown woman straddling a doctor in public, within sight of at least three other occupied tables, was so shamelessly hot I nearly choked on my water.

Liz leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Keep your eyes open, Heather. It gets better.”

I was riveted. Barb wriggled until she faced Mark, draping her arms around his neck like a prom date. His hands wasted no time: he unknotted her apron and let it fall to the floor, then cupped her ass in both hands and squeezed. Barb’s thighs were splayed wide, and with every hip roll, her bare mound ground into his crotch. If he hadn’t been hard already, he was now. Barb nuzzled Mark’s ear, then bit his lobe and started rocking more aggressively.

Every head in our section was watching as though this were expected entertainment.

Mark slipped a hand down the front of Barb’s micro-skirt. She arched her back and moaned, loudly enough for the bartender to grin and nod his head. Barb reached under the table, and I realized with a jolt that she’d unzipped him, right then and there. Her hand moved in a familiar piston motion under the white linen.

“God, Mark, you’re such a tease,” she gasped. “Why don’t you just fuck me already?”

“Because I’m a gentleman. And we haven’t even had appetizers yet,” he said.

Barb laughed, deep and throaty. “If you’re a gentleman, I’m the Queen of England.”

Liz squeezed my thigh under the table. “Don’t worry, sweetpea, it’s not a contest. But we should probably order dessert, just in case.”

I could barely hear her over the wet, hungry sounds coming from Barb’s mouth as she leaned down to suck Mark’s cock. I was close enough to see the head of his dick vanish between her lips, and the slick of pre-cum already coating her tongue. Barb was loud and proud, slurping and moaning as if she wanted the entire restaurant to know just how good he tasted. A light breeze swept through the balcony, carrying the scent of grilled fish and ozone—and also the unmistakable musk of sex. My face burned with a strange mix of embarrassment and arousal. I tried to look away, but Liz’s hand was insistent on my thigh. When I glanced at her, she was watching me, not the show.

Liz’s gaze was focused and direct. “Are you uncomfortable?”

I shook my head. “No. Not even a little.”

She smiled, then reached up to cup my cheek. “Do you want to kiss me?”

I did. More than anything. So I leaned in and let Liz’s lips meet mine, slow at first, then hungry, her tongue probing for more. Liz tasted like lemon and white wine. She bit my lower lip, teasing, and I bit back, surprising both of us.

“Attagirl,” Liz whispered. “Show me what you want.”

I grabbed the back of her head and deepened the kiss, turning my chair so our bodies were flush together. Our tongues battled, then danced, and her hands moved to my chest, slipping under my shirt to palm my braless breasts. Her thumbs found my nipples instantly and rolled them hard, coaxing gasps from my throat. The restaurant sounds faded into the background. Even Barb’s enthusiastic sucking and Mark’s low, guttural groans became a soundtrack to Liz’s fingers as they pinched and kneaded, tracing lines from my breasts to my bare midriff, then lower, lower, until she slipped her hand underneath my skirt. I was already soaked. I moaned into her mouth, and she swallowed every sound, smiling as she parted my lips and slid two fingers deep inside.

“Goddamn, you’re wet,” Liz murmured. “I could eat you right here on the table.”

“Why don’t you?” I challenged.

She grinned. “Because we need to wait for our drinks.” She pressed her thumb to my clit and circled it, slow and rhythmic, never breaking eye contact.

The white-shirted waiter from before arrived, carrying a tray with a shot of tequila and the bottle of Albariño. He paused when he saw my shirt bunched up and Liz’s hand buried in my lap, but instead of retreating, he placed the drinks carefully on the table and said, “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“We will,” Liz said, not bothering to remove her fingers from inside me.

At the next table, a broad-shouldered guy with olive skin and an athletic build was eating lunch alone, watching our table with open fascination.

Liz caught my gaze and looked over. “That’s Paolo. He’s cute, isn’t he?”

I nodded. “You’ve got good taste.”

Liz leaned close. “Want to invite him over?”

I hesitated a fraction of a second, then nodded again.

Liz beckoned him with two fingers. Paolo stood up, abandoned his lunch, and strolled over with the easy confidence of a guy who’d been here before.

“Ladies,” he said, smiling. His voice had a faint Mediterranean lilt. “Mind if I join?”

Liz squeezed my hand and pulled him closer. “Sit. The more the merrier.”

Paolo slid into the seat next to me and put his arm across the back of my chair, the warmth of his skin sending a shockwave down my spine. His eyes drank in my body, lingering on my nipples poking through the fabric, then dropped to Liz’s hand still working magic between my legs.

“May I?” he asked, fingers hovering over my knee.

I nodded, and his hand closed over my thigh. He stroked upward, slow, until his fingertips met Liz’s. The two of them worked together, Liz plunging inside while Paolo massaged my clit, and I nearly came on the spot.

“I want you both,” I whispered.

Liz licked my neck and nipped my ear. “You can have us.”

Meanwhile, at the other end of the table, Mark was getting his balls drained. Barb had dropped to her knees and was bobbing up and down, deep-throating him with a shameless, almost athletic rhythm. She had a hand between her own legs, two fingers plunging in and out, and a dark wet spot spread across her micro-skirt. Mark’s face was flushed and blissed out, his hands tangled in her hair.

Liz glanced over and whispered, “Watch them while you cum, Heather. Let them show you how it’s done.”

I did. I locked eyes on Barb’s slick mouth gliding over Mark’s shaft, the obscene sounds of their coupling filling the space. Paolo’s fingers were relentless, circling and flicking my clit until I shattered, gasping and trembling. My hips bucked, knocking over the shot glass, and I convulsed against the chair, barely able to breathe.

The aftershocks made me delirious. I slumped against Paolo, who kissed my temple and said, “Bellissima.”

Liz withdrew her fingers, sucked them clean, and reached for her wine. “Well, that was a nice amuse-bouche. I hope the entree can keep up.”

When Barb finally came up for air, her mascara was smeared and she wore a wolfish grin. She climbed onto Mark’s lap, straddling him and impaling herself on his cock in one fluid, practiced motion. He grabbed her hips and guided her, bouncing her up and down so hard the silverware rattled.

“Do you always fuck at work?” I asked, voice still shaky.

Barb snorted. “As often as possible.” Then she bent forward, smushed her tits into Mark’s face, and rode him harder.

I heard myself laugh, high and delighted. It was like a dam had burst, flooding me with a wild, unfamiliar joy. Why pretend? Why not just want what I wanted? Paolo was an excellent kisser. He tasted like espresso and mint, and he used his tongue to paint circles around mine before going in for the kill. Liz pulled my shirt up and off, then stripped off her own blouse, exposing her braless full, round breasts. Paolo’s hand moved to Liz’s breast, squeezing gently, and then he nuzzled both of us at once, alternating kisses from my mouth to Liz’s.

At this point, the entire restaurant was either watching us or pretending not to. Several other couples were already making out at their own tables. The chef, a bald guy with a Fu Manchu, came out of the kitchen and stared, applauding the sex show unfolding before him. Barb and Mark were locked in a furious rhythm, Barb’s petite body rising and falling in time with Mark’s upward thrusts. She came first, screaming and clutching his shoulders, then Mark groaned and unloaded inside her. He stayed hard, though, and Barb kept riding him, milking every last drop.

Liz guided me to stand, then hopped up to sit on the table’s edge. She spread her legs wide, allowing access. Paolo dropped to his knees and buried his face between her thighs, licking like a starving man. Liz yanked my hips close and tugged my skirt down, exposing my shaved pussy to the warm air and the crowd.

“Let me taste you,” Liz pleaded, and I let her, climbing onto the table beside her. She pulled my pussy to her mouth, and the shock of her tongue was electric—so soft and agile, flicking and swirling, then probing deep inside. Paolo’s hand wandered to my ass, gripping and kneading, while his mouth and tongue worshipped Liz’s clit.

We made a sandwich—me and Liz on the tabletop, legs tangled, tongues and fingers everywhere; Paolo kneeling, eating both of us in turn; Mark and Barb fucking like porn stars at the other end, Barb’s high-pitched squeals mixing with the wet slap of skin. At one point, I looked up to see three men at the bar stroking themselves through their pants, and two women making out in the corner booth, hands jammed up each other’s skirts. I lost track of how many times I came. Liz was relentless, her tongue working me into a frenzy, then easing off just before the edge, then bringing me back over and over. Paolo alternated between Liz’s clit and mine, sometimes licking us both at once, his hands traveling up our torsos to squeeze our breasts, tweak our nipples, cradle the back of our heads.

Barb, never one to be left out, staggered over on unsteady legs and dropped to her knees in front of the table. She sucked Liz’s clit, then mine, sharing saliva and cunt juice with feral abandon. Mark followed, pulling up his shorts, but his cock was still half-hard and glistening as he licked my inner thigh, then took my nipple into his mouth and sucked hard.

It was a symphony: tongues, hands, lips, cock, fingers, mouths. No borders, no shame, just a tidal wave of sensation and connection, every touch amplified by the fact that none of us cared who was watching.

At one point, Paolo lifted me onto his lap, guiding my pussy down onto his dick with a gentle but unyielding grip. He entered me slow, inch by inch, as I straddled him and rode the length of his shaft. Liz curled behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist and kissing my neck, her tits pressed against my back, her fingers pinching my nipples as I fucked Paolo in the open sunlight. His cock was thick and curved, hitting every nerve ending as I ground down on him. I heard myself moaning, high and needy, and realized I didn’t care at all how I sounded.

Paolo looked up, eyes shining. “Cum for me, Heather. Show me how beautiful you are.”

I did, riding him until I exploded, clenching and convulsing so hard I almost blacked out. He pulsed inside me, filling me with heat, and I collapsed into Liz’s arms, gasping for air.

Barb started a slow clap, then cackled. “That’s how it’s done, girl.”

Mark lifted me off Paolo and set me gently on the table. He knelt to clean me with his tongue, soft and worshipful, savoring the aftermath. Then he kissed my belly, my breast, my lips, and whispered, “Welcome to Eden Valley.”

At the end, we all sat together at the table, shirtless and glowing, passing around a communal glass of wine and laughing at nothing. The waiter brought out the entrees, set them down without a word, and left us to our feast. For the first time, I didn’t feel like a tourist in this town. I felt like I belonged, body and soul.