Suggest ordering room service and enjoying a midnight feast in bed

You stretch languidly against David's warm body, your emerald nails tracing idle patterns across his chest. The passionate intensity of your lovemaking has left you both pleasantly exhausted but surprisingly hungry.

"I'm starving," you admit with a little giggle that bubbles up from nowhere. "Do you think they still do room service this late?"

David props himself up on one elbow, his eyes traveling appreciatively over your naked form. "Let's find out," he murmurs, reaching for the hotel information folder on the nightstand. "The Sandcastle prides itself on twenty-four-hour service, apparently."

He hands you the leather-bound menu, and you sit up, letting the sheet pool around your waist. Your copper hair tumbles in messy waves over your shoulders as you scan the options, your emerald nails tapping thoughtfully against the glossy pages.

"Ooh, they have lobster mac and cheese," you say, pointing to the decadent comfort food option. "And champagne strawberries for dessert."

"Perfect." David takes the menu, his fingers brushing yours. "I'll add a bottle of prosecco."

As he reaches for the phone, you catch his wrist, your nails glinting in the soft light. "Maybe I should call instead," you suggest with a mischievous smile. "You know, with my cute accent?"

David laughs, handing over the receiver. "By all means. Work your Irish charm."

You dial room service, automatically shifting to a slightly higher, breathier version of your voice. "Hello? Yes, we'd like to order some items for delivery to suite 1205... Mmhmm, that's right..."

As you place the order, you feel David's eyes on you, watching with fascination as you effortlessly slip into this flirtatious, feminine persona. Your free hand gestures animatedly as you speak, nails flashing like emerald daggers.

"...and the strawberries with chocolate, please. Oh, and a bottle of your house prosecco, well chilled." You pause, listening. "Thirty minutes? That's perfect, thank you so much."

You hang up with a satisfied smile, turning to find David staring at you with an expression of amused wonder.

"What?" you ask, suddenly self-conscious.

"Nothing," he says, pulling you back against him. "Just enjoying watching you be... you."

The words should feel strange—after all, this isn't really you, is it?—but somehow they don't. Under his appreciative gaze, being Mia feels increasingly natural, the boundaries between your former self and this new identity blurring with each passing hour.

"We have thirty minutes," you inform him, straddling his lap with newfound confidence. "Whatever shall we do to pass the time?"

David's hands slide up your thighs to grip your waist. "I have a few ideas," he growls, pulling you down for a kiss that quickly rekindles the heat between you.

You're both breathless and laughing when the discreet knock at the door announces the arrival of your feast. David throws on a hotel robe to answer while you wrap yourself in the plush bedsheet, creating an impromptu toga that leaves one freckled shoulder bare.

The waiter—a young man with sandy hair who introduces himself as Owen—wheels in a trolley laden with covered silver dishes and an ice bucket containing the prosecco. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of you perched on the edge of the bed, but his professionalism never wavers as he arranges everything on the small dining table by the window.

"Will there be anything else?" he asks, studiously avoiding looking directly at either of you.

"This is perfect, thank you," David replies, slipping him a generous tip.

As soon as the door closes, you both burst into giggles like naughty children.

"Did you see his face?" you ask, padding over to inspect the feast. "Poor boy nearly had a heart attack."

"Can't blame him," David says, coming up behind you to nuzzle your neck. "You're quite the sight wrapped in nothing but a sheet."

You pop a champagne-soaked strawberry into your mouth, the sweet juices exploding on your tongue. "Mmm, these are amazing," you moan, offering one to David.

He takes it with his teeth, deliberately grazing your fingertips in a way that sends shivers down your spine. The midnight feast becomes a sensual experience—feeding each other bites of rich, creamy mac and cheese, sipping bubbly prosecco from the same glass, stealing kisses between bites that taste of chocolate and fruit.

"Best room service ever," you declare, licking a spot of chocolate from your thumb, careful of your long nails.

"And the night's not over yet," David reminds you, his eyes darkening as he pulls you back toward the bed, the remainder of your feast forgotten.

23:40 | Monday 4 August 2025 | The Sandcastle Hotel, Brighton

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