The Croatian Adventure: Chasing Her Wild

Julie lay on her back, her body sore but pleasantly content as the morning sun filtered through the hotel room’s curtains. The lingering ache between her legs was a reminder of last night - the thrill, the intoxicating power of giving in to something so shamelessly raw. It was epic.

She felt so good and alive today, the way she hadn’t felt in long time, probably since the experiment. That boat trip... it played through her mind like a fever dream. The wind against her skin, the scent of salt in the air, that insidious vulnerability of being exposed, on display, watched by strangers as she surrendered completely to her desires. And the best of all? George, and the way he had responded. Her own fairy tale played out, although in a much sluttier version she had ever anticipated.

Julie turned her head slightly, watching him as he slept, his breathing steady and peaceful. He had gone along with it. Maybe not fully, not without hesitation—but he had indulged her. And that meant something. It wasn’t just about curiosity or keeping her satisfied. She had seen it in his eyes. Something deeper had stirred in him, something he might not even be ready to admit.

Her fingers traced the edge of the sheets as doubt crept in, whispering against the edges of her excitement. They had barely stitched their marriage back together. Her affair with Mark had nearly destroyed them. That ****, the manipulation, the sick thrill of betraying her husband and slutting herself out to that man—she was lost in the haze of what she thought was discovery of her true self. But it wasn’t real, not in the way she had convinced herself. Mark had used and controlled her, twisted her needs into something reckless and dangerous. But George... he had pulled her back, held her steady when she was too ashamed to face what had really happened. He had forgiven her. But it wasn't enough, she wanted him to accept her as well.

So now she was leading him down another road. A road that, deep down, she knew she wanted. Mark's **** and manipulation, like it or not, changed her needs forever. Was she too greedy and selfish? Trying to relieve the moments from the experiment with her husband?

Julie exhaled softly, pushing the doubt away. This was different. This was theirs. She wasn’t being manipulated—she was in control this time. And George… he wasn’t resisting. If anything, he was starting to follow. That thought alone sent a shiver of excitement through her.

She bit her lip, allowing herself to linger on the memory of last night. The way his hands had gripped her, the way his eyes had darkened as he watched her lose herself in front of others. It was exhilarating. And it had been even better than the highs she had chased with Mark—because this time, there was love in the mix. That made it more potent, more consuming.

A slow smile curved her lips.

She wasn’t entirely sure what came next. But she knew one thing: the door had been opened. And she was ready to step through it.

Careful not to wake him, Julie slid out of bed. She needed a moment to herself, to let the excitement settle, to collect her thoughts before George opened his eyes and she saw whatever truths were waiting in them.

This new freedom, this new hunger—it felt liberating. And now, all she needed was for George to understand. To follow. To let go of judgment and step into the unknown with her. She felt she could be herself in front of him and that he wanted the new Julie - the real her - deep down.

She wasn’t turning back. Not now.

---

By the time they reached the hotel restaurant for breakfast, the place was buzzing—cutlery clinking, voices layering over each other, standard hotel buffet scene.

“Looks crowded,” George muttered, already sizing up the buffet with a plate in hand.

Julie, though, wasn’t looking at the food. Her gaze snagged on a familiar figure—him, the waiter from yesterday. The one who had bent the rules for her, let them take breakfast to go, all because she’d turned on that teasing charm. She was still struggling to grasp the potential of her power to influence others by being... well, herself.

He moved easily through the crowd, setting down fresh cutlery, straightening chairs. Then, as if sensing her, he looked up. Their eyes met, and recognition sparked—his expression shifting from routine professionalism to something warmer, edged with a hint of amusement.

Julie didn’t hesitate. She closed the space between them, her dress swaying just enough to make an impression.

“Morning,” she greeted with a smooth voice smooth.

His mouth quirked in a slow smile. “Good morning.” A pause, then a knowing tilt of his head. “No need for a quick escape today, I hope?” His English was fluent, but his accent gave his words an easy rhythm.

She smirked playfully. “No worries, no rush today. Figured I’d give you a chance to properly introduce yourself, since yesterday was all business.”

His smile widened, eyes flicking over her face like he was reading between the lines. “Goran. Goran Antić,” he offered, voice warm. “And you, Mrs...?”

“Julie-... just Julie.” She let it roll off her tongue, deliberately leaving off her last name. “And I don’t need the ‘Mrs.’ bit while I’m here.”

Goran chuckled, the sound low, approving. “Fair enough.”

Julie leaned in just slightly, lowering her voice. “Listen, is there an option to find a quiet spot? The buffet scene’s a little too…” She gestured vaguely at the chaos around them. “Loud.”

Goran didn’t miss a beat. “The à la carte section’s isn't open for buffet guests, but you can go there, no problem. It's more private and much less crowded.”

Her lips curved. “That sounds perfect.”

Goran nodded, gesturing for her to follow. As she turned, her gaze flicked toward George, still at the buffet. He caught her look mid-move, his eyes settling on hers. Julie didn’t call him over, didn’t need to—just held his gaze for a second, a silent exchange that he read easily. A perk of knowing someone for more than a decade.

Smirking, she turned back to Goran. “Lead the way.”

He walked ahead, weaving them through the restaurant. Julie caught his occasional glance, not overt, just there—like he was quietly measuring the space between them. Confident, but not overstepping. That easy control had its own pull.

Goran gestured them to a table near the window, the morning sun pooling over the white tablecloth.

“This should be nice for you two,” he said, stepping back. Still professional, but that thread of something extra hadn’t faded. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Julie slid into the seat, the smooth leather cool against her thighs. As Goran turned to go, she stopped him—just a light touch on his arm, a fleeting graze of her fingers. “Thanks, Goran.”

He glanced down at her touch, then back up—his smirk just a little slower this time. “Anytime... Julie.” His voice lingered on her name before he stepped away.

Julie exhaled, turning her attention back just as George sat down across from her, coffee in hand. His expression was unreadable at first, but then—just a flicker. Not quite jealousy. More like… curiosity. Maybe amusement.

“So,” she said, lifting her coffee, voice light, “nice spot, huh?”

George saw right through her and took a sip of his own before answering. “He’s a confident guy.”

Julie met his gaze, lips curving. “Oh... you saw that, haha. You think he's... confident?”

“Yeah.” He leaned back slightly, eyes sharp but relaxed. “Flirting with you in front of me? That takes some nerve.”

A slow smile spread across her face. “Maybe he just doesn’t scare easy.”

George smirked, his gaze steady. “Maybe he just doesn't know what kind of trouble_ you _can be.”

Julie laughed, a low, amused sound. “Trouble? Me?”

George raised his cup in a little toast. “Yes, you. Remember yesterday? Go ahead. Be trouble. I'm not complaining, am I?”

Julie took a sip of her coffee, letting the moment stretch between them. Then, shifting the focus, she mused, “Think we should ask him for some recommendations for this evening? Might be nice to check out a place only the locals know.”

George arched a brow, catching the underlying suggestion. “Well, well, my wild girl wants to see the real nightlife, huh?”

She tilted her head, playful. “Well... why not?”

George gave a low chuckle. “After yesterday, I’m not sure the real nightlife is ready for you.”

Julie grinned. “I’ll be gentle.”

“Somehow... I doubt that,” he said, eyes warm. “But sure… let’s see what kind of trouble you almost get us into this time.”

He set his cup down with a quiet clink, the spark in his eyes unmistakable.

Julie’s smile deepened, impressed at how good he was responding.

---

They strolled through the winding streets and golden lights flickered to life along the old stone facades. The town had shifted into its nighttime rhythm—music spilling from bars, voices mingling in a soft hum, the scent of grilled seafood and salt hanging in the air.

Julie had dressed with intent. A sleek black slip dress that clung where it should, the thin straps resting against her bronzed shoulders, just enough skin to invite a second glance, maybe a third. Her blonde hair fell loose, lightly tousled, framing her face in a way that made her look carefree. She also did her makeup, of course. Bit of liner smudged at the corners of her eyes, lips glossed, but not overdone. She knew how to let a man’s gaze trail over her without needing to ask for it.

George had kept it easy—dark slacks, a white linen shirt unbuttoned at the top, the sleeves rolled up just enough to look intentional. He didn’t need to try. He was the kind of man who drew attention just by existing, by carrying himself the way he did—relaxed, controlled, like he always knew exactly where he stood.

They reached the club Goran had suggested—an open-air space built into the cliffside, its entrance blending seamlessly into the night. A deep bassline pulsed through the stone walls and the steady rhythm vibrated through the floor as they stepped inside.

Julie glanced at George as they stepped through the crowd. “I gotta say - our waiter has good taste,” she murmured, lips curving slightly.

George’s gaze flicked around, taking in the place. “Yeah,” he said, voice low. “Not bad.”

They found a spot near the edge of the terrace, a perfect view of the dance floor below, where bodies moved in slow waves under shifting lights. A waitress appeared and took their order—cocktails, something crisp and strong.

Julie leaned back in her seat, slipping a cigarette from her clutch and placed it between her lips. The lighter followed, the small flame illuminating her face for a second before she inhaled.

George watched her as she exhaled, smoke curling past her lips, her fingers resting loose around the cigarette.

“You really lean into that, don’t you?” he said, smirking over the rim of his glass.

She arched a brow, tilting her head slightly. “Into what?”

“That whole thing,” he said, waving a hand vaguely. “The way you smoke. The way you sit. You know people are looking.”

Julie exhaled another slow stream of smoke, her lips quirking. “And?”

George chuckled, shaking his head. “Just an observation.”

A couple of men near the bar lingered in their glances, subtle but noticeable. Julie saw it. She always saw it.

She tapped ash into the tray, her gaze drifting back to George. “You don’t mind, do you?”

He took a sip of his drink, considering her. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice.”

Julie smiled slowly. “Not the same thing as minding.”

George smirked. “No, it’s not.”

The music shifted, the bass rolling deeper, a beat that pulled at the pulse. Julie glanced toward the dance floor, watching the movement, the fluid sway of bodies under the colored lights.

She took another drag, then leaned forward slightly, her voice dipping lower. “We should dance.”

George exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “That what you’re in the mood for?”

Julie held his gaze, her smirk lazy. “You keeping up, or what?”

George set his glass down with a soft clink, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then he pushed his chair back, standing with that effortless confidence, offering his hand.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” he said, voice low, a challenge wrapped in something smoother.

Julie’s lips curved as she placed her hand in his, letting him lead her onto the floor.

The music pulsed around them, guiding their movements in easy sync. Julie let herself move, feeling the rhythm, the press of bodies around them, George’s hands loose on her hips as they swayed together. The night was getting interesting.

But a glance over George’s shoulder and Julie instantly saw an opportunity to make this night even more interesting. Her eyes caught on a familiar figure near the bar.

Goran.

He leaned against the counter, a fresh drink in hand, his dark shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled up. He looked relaxed, but his gaze wasn’t idle—it was on her. The corner of his mouth lifted in acknowledgement.

Julie held the eye contact a beat longer than necessary, then leaned up toward George’s ear.

“Let’s take a break,” she murmured, her breath warm against his skin.

George pulled back slightly, his brows lifting in mild curiosity. “Already?”

She smirked, tugging his hand. “I need a drink.”

He let her lead them back toward their table, his gaze flicking back to where hers had been moments ago, but didn’t see anything. He knew her well enough to recognize when she was guiding something.

They had barely settled in when a shadow fell across their table.

“Look who it is,” came a smooth, familiar voice.

Julie glanced up, already smiling. “Goran.”

He returned the smile, easy and unhurried, then nodded toward George. “Mr. Wilson.”

George’s lips quirked at the formal greeting, eyes glinting with quiet amusement. “Just George,” he corrected, gesturing toward the empty seat. “Let me guess—off duty and needed something stronger than hotel coffee?”

Goran chuckled, shaking his head. “Exactly. Tomorrow's my day off and I thought I’d see what the town had to offer.” His gaze flicked between them, reading the dynamic, the unspoken allowances. “Mind if I join you for a minute?”

Julie glanced at George, a silent exchange passing between them. Then she turned back, her smile smooth. “We’d love that.”

Goran sat, settling in with a relaxed ease. “I have to admit, I didn’t take you two for club people.”

George leaned back slightly, fingers tapping idly against his glass. “And I didn’t take you for someone who’d track down his guests after hours,” he said, tone light but edged with something inquisitive.

Goran laughed, shaking his head. “Trust me, pure coincidence. This is the best place in region, after all, I come here often.” He took a sip of his drink, then tilted his head. “But I’m glad. I like meeting interesting people.”

Julie smirked, letting her eyes linger on him for a half-second before reaching for her cigarette case. “And do we qualify?” she asked, plucking one out.

Goran’s lips curved. “So far. What do you do?”

Julie flicked her lighter, the small flame reflecting in her eyes as she inhaled. Then, as she exhaled, she turned toward George, her gaze playful. “Come on, George, tell him—what’s your great literary mind working on these days?”

George huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, so now I’m the entertainment?”

Julie smirked, resting her chin on her hand. “Of course. I can’t be the only one showing off.”

Goran leaned in slightly, curiosity sparking in his expression. “You’re a writer?”

George’s mouth quirked. “Something like that.”

“Oh, he’s being modest,” Julie said, tilting her head toward Goran conspiratorially. “He’s brilliant, actually. The way he crafts characters, their depth... it’s something else.”

George shot her a look, amusement flickering through his eyes. “Flattery doesn’t suit you, Jules. You prefer to provoke.”

Julie exhaled a slow ribbon of smoke, smiling. “That might be true. But I meant what I said.”

Goran grinned, turning his attention back to George. “Alright then, now I’m curious. What kind of stories?”

George swirled the ice in his glass, considering. “Crime novels,” he said simply. “The dark, gritty stuff. People pushed to their limits, the choices they make when they’re ****. My books usually focus on the psychological side of crime—the things that twist a person’s mind and send them down the wrong path.”

Goran’s eyebrows raised in interest. “So a bit more like psychological thrillers, huh? Awesome. I’m a sucker for a good, tense detective story.”

George’s eyes sparkled with that quiet pride. “Exactly. There’s something irresistible about a good mystery—especially when it’s got more layers than the obvious answers.”

Julie looked between them. “Now I’m really curious,” she teased. “You two are going to be exchanging notes on who gets away with **** next.”

Goran laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t know if I’m qualified to give any writing advice.” He leaned forward, eyes glinting with playful challenge. “But I’ve read enough to know a good twist when I see one.”

George raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “So you’ve got a soft spot for psychology crime, huh? Ever thought about writing one yourself?”

Goran shrugged nonchalantly, but his smile hinted at something deeper. “Maybe one day. But for now, I prefer reading what others do with it. I find it... entertaining. Human psyche and all that.”

Julie smirked, exhaling another thin cloud of smoke. “Is that why you’re here tonight? To see how interesting people can get?”

Goran met her gaze and replied with a smooth voice, “Maybe. I do like seeing how people tick.”

Julie held his gaze a beat longer, then shifted her attention back to George. “See? After 10 years of marriage we're also still discovering each other. Maybe that’s why I married you.”

George scoffed lightly. “I'm not sure how to take this exactly. But at least you always know how to talk me up, Jules.”

“Someone’s got to,” she teased.

Goran leaned back in his chair, glancing toward the dance floor, where the music had shifted again, slower now, heavier. “Some places, some people—they just make life interesting,” he said, voice almost thoughtful.

Julie caught his eye, her lips curling in a subtle smile. “I’d agree with that.”

George watched them, not annoyed or possessive—just aware. He could read his wife well, could sense her slight shifts in focus. But she never left him out, never made him feel like an observer. Instead, she played the balance perfectly, keeping the energy electric but fluid.

Goran’s eyes flicked between them, then he leaned back in his chair, a slow, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Well, I think I made a good choice coming here tonight.”

Julie exhaled smoke, tilting her head. “We’ll see about that.”

Goran suddenly leaned forward, eyes glinting with something playful. “You're right,” he said, swirling the last sip of his drink, “For starters, I think we can do better than this table.”

Julie arched a brow. “Oh?”

He smirked. “The owner’s a friend of mine. There’s a VIP section upstairs—quieter, better drinks.”

George glanced at Julie, who gave him a look that practically said, Why not?

“Lead the way,” George said, amusement lacing his voice.

Goran grinned and motioned them to follow. They wove through the crowd, past the main bar, then up a sleek staircase leading to a dimly lit lounge area. Plush seating, a private bar with an exclusive atmosphere. A few other groups were scattered around, but the energy was more refined, more intimate.

They took a corner booth, forcing them close. Julie slipped into the middle, George on one side, Goran on the other.

Goran flagged down a server and, without hesitation, ordered a vodka boat. As the first round was poured, Goran clinked his glass against theirs. “To unexpected nights.”

Julie smirked, taking a sip, the burn sharp but pleasant. The conversation picked up easily again, George and Goran sliding back into talk of crime fiction.

“Your style—” Goran gestured with his glass toward George. “I’d bet it’s more about the minds behind the crimes, right? Less about action, more about why people break?”

George gave a small, approving nod. “True. It's the psychology of crime that fascinates me—what pushes someone to cross a line they swore they never would. Most people think they’re above it, but in the right situation…” He trailed off, lips quirking. “Or the wrong situation, I should say.”

Julie listened with a cigarette between her fingers, the smoke curling lazily as she brought it to her lips. She took her time with each inhale, exhaling slowly, letting it frame her face in a thin veil.

She didn’t miss how Goran’s eyes drifted toward her. It wasn’t blatant—but it was there. The slight shift in his posture, even the tiny details like the way his fingers adjusted around his glass, she saw it all.

She crossed her legs with slow, deliberate move. Of course Goran's eyes followed the entire motion. Test successful.

But then George’s hand rested casually on her thigh, warm through the fabric of her dress. He wasn’t oblivious, nor possessive. If anything, he was… allowing the moment to breathe, watching how it unfolded, while undoubtedly marking his territory.

Julie tilted her head, flicking ash into the tray. “So, Goran, since you're so into psychology I’ve got to ask—you spend all day dealing with hotel guests, handling people. You ever feel like you’re reading them? Trying to figure out their stories?”

Goran chuckled, swirling his drink. “All the time. You can tell a lot about someone by how they act when they think no one’s watching. But still, they can always surprise you.” His eyes flicked to her cigarette. “Like you, for example.”

“Me?”

He nodded. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a smoker.”

Julie took another drag, exhaling with a smirk. “It’s a... new habit.”

Goran’s gaze lingered, but it was George who responded.

“She’s been into trying, uhm, unexpected things lately.”

Julie turned her head slightly toward him. His fingers traced an idle motion against her thigh before tightening briefly, just enough to be felt.

Goran let out a quiet chuckle. “Well... unexpected can be good.”

Julie tapped her cigarette against the tray, watching the way Goran’s grip on his glass adjusted—like he needed to keep his hands occupied.

She leaned back, shifting her focus between the two men. “What about you, Goran? You ever do anything unexpected?”

He smiled, but this time it was different—less flirtatious, more... layered. “I jump off cliffs,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Julie blinked. “Wait—what?”

“BASE jumping,” Goran said, grinning. “Buildings. Antennas. Spans. Earth. The holy four.”

George let out a low whistle, amused. “That’s a hell of a pastime.”

“Some people golf,” Goran said with a shrug. “I jump.”

Julie stared at him for a moment, lips parting in surprise before curving into a grin. “You’re serious.”

“As a parachute failure,” he said, raising his glass. “Which, for the record, hasn’t happened yet.”

George chuckled, but there was a flicker of appraisal behind his eyes. “So you're an adrenaline junkie.”

“Not exactly,” Goran said. “It’s not about chasing danger. It’s about controlling it. You learn to calculate every step, every wind shift, every risk. But sure, one mistake and…” He made a soft gesture—just a flick of the fingers downward.

Julie’s eyes lingered on his hands. “That’s... intense.”

“It is,” Goran admitted, then looked at her. “But once you’ve stepped off a ledge 300 meters above ground, and you’re freefalling with the whole world beneath you? Everything else… slows down. The noise, the static in your head. It just vanishes.”

Julie looked at him a beat longer, absorbing it all. There was something magnetic about the mix—his grounded charm and that wild edge underneath. A man who served drinks by day and chased **** by night.

“I gotta say - you’re really not what I expected,” she said softly.

Goran’s gaze held hers, a flicker of something darker beneath the surface. “Well... neither are you.”

She let the silence stretch, heat pooling behind her ribs. The vodka, the music, the press of bodies below them—it all felt like a prelude to something...

George lit up his cigarillo and exhaled slowly. He leaned back, soaking in the warmth of the vodka, the haze of the conversation lingering between them. Goran had turned out to be interesting company—funny, witty, and apparently well-read. Not the kind of guy who overstayed his welcome. But still, there was something about him.

Julie, sitting between them, was comfortably draped in the space they’d carved for themselves, her laughter light, effortless. She tapped her nails against her glass, finishing the last sip before tilting her head toward George.

“I wanna do something unexpected again.” She set her glass down with a deliberate tap. “I feel like dancing. All three of us.”

George exhaled another slow stream of smoke, raising a brow. “Now?”

She slid to her feet. “Yes, now.”

He gave a low chuckle, tapping ash into the tray. “You’re not even gonna let me finish this, huh?”

Julie leaned down, brushing her hand lightly along his shoulder, voice dropping just for him. “It’ll still be here when you get back.”

George hesitated, watching the way her eyes flicked toward Goran. The other man had been relaxed, easygoing all night, but he hadn’t been blind to the way he looked at her. And Julie—well, she wasn’t blind to it either.

And yet, she turned back to George, waiting.

He waved her off with a smirk, cigarillo poised between his fingers. “You two go ahead, I'll join you in a minute.”

She grinned and took Goran’s hand.

It was barely a touch, just a flicker of fingers guiding him up, but George saw the difference. She wasn’t leading the way—she was inviting him in.

Goran played it smooth, just a casual, “Guess I can’t say no to that.” And then, just like that, they were heading down the steps, toward the dance floor.

George watched them slip into the crowd, his smirk lingering. He took another drag, the bite of tobacco grounding him as his gaze followed them.

The music pulsed, the heat of the crowd folding around Julie as she moved into the rhythm. Goran was a good dancer—not pushy, not passive—just enough confidence to match her flow, hands staying where they should, until she let them linger.

Julie liked the buzz in her limbs, the looseness that came with it. She turned easily, her body rolling with the beat, and when she met Goran’s gaze, there was that glint again. The one that said he knew exactly what was happening here.

“You’re a good dancer,” he said over the music.

She smirked. “You sound surprised.”

Goran tilted his head, watching the way she moved, the slow drag of her hand through her hair before it fell over her shoulder. “I guess I wasn’t expecting that either.”

Julie laughed, spinning once before dipping just a little closer to him. “You aren't that good at reading people after all, huh? Besides... I said I liked doing unexpected things.”

Goran’s mouth twitched like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he matched her movements, keeping it just inside the line—for now.

And then George lost sight of them.

---

One moment, they were within sight; the next, swallowed by the tide of bodies and colored lights. George exhaled slowly, finishing the last of his cigarillo before snuffing it out with a calmness that didn’t quite match the tightness in his jaw.

He wasn’t worried. Not really. But the space Julie had disappeared into—in the presence of another man—had an edge to it. One that pressed against him as he made his way down the stairs and into the thrumming heart of the club.

The dance floor was a blur of bodies, rhythm pulsing through every limb. George moved through it with quiet focus, scanning for the familiar line of Julie’s shoulders and her blonde hair or the sway of her hips in that black dress.

He found them near one of the glowing columns, half-shrouded in shadow and bright color. Julie’s body flowed with the music, easy and loose, her hair clinging in places to her neck. Goran stood behind her—close enough to feel her movement, not so close that it could be called a hold. His hand hovered at the small of her back, his fingers testing the shape of what might be allowed.

George stopped for a beat, watching. Something about it wasn’t threatening. It wasn’t even jealousy that stirred in his chest. It was... curiosity. The way Julie moved—completely at ease and in control—intrigued him.

She turned, catching sight of him, and her smile bloomed immediately. Not apologetic, not cautious—just amused, warm, and a little knowing. Her hand lifted in invitation.

He stepped forward without hesitation.

She welcomed him by sliding an arm around his neck and pulling him into her rhythm. Goran adjusted smoothly, barely shifting position, as if he’d anticipated George joining them all along.

And just like that, the three of them were dancing.

Julie, framed between the two men, guided the flow—her body was moving in subtle arcs, brushing against one, then the other. The music wrapped around them, dark and deep, each beat making the moment stretch out, coiling tighter.

No one said anything, they didn’t need to. Julie tipped her head back between them, laughing softly, nad closed her eyes for a moment as she let the beat carry her. Her fingers traced the back of George’s neck, then slid over to graze Goran’s shoulder in one fluid motion.

It wasn’t a performance or an act.

It was something else—something forming right there between three people who hadn’t intended for the night to go this way, but now neither wanted walking it back, all of them in the moment.

Julie was the axis around which everything turned. George kept a hand firm on her hip, the other sliding down the line of her thigh when there was a chance. Goran wasn’t really touching her—merely brushing her here and there—but he hovered close, hands open and waiting.

Then, a sudden shimmer of silver caught George’s eye.

A hostess appeared beside them in incredibly short shiny dress with a tray of tequila shots balanced in her hands like an offering.

“Compliments of the VIP floor,” she said with a practiced smile.

Julie grinned, already reaching. “Don’t mind if I do.”

George caught her wrist gently. “Easy,” he murmured, half into her ear. “Remember what you said this morning?”

She looked up at him, wide-eyed with a mock innocence that didn’t fool anyone. “I said I wanted a wild night.”

“You also said you'd behave.”

“Oh. Well, I guess I lied about that,” she giggled, slipping the first shot between her fingers. A squeeze of lime, a lick of salt, and then it was down in a smooth motion.

George just shook his head, amused. “So this is how it's going to be, huh? Fuck it... let's be wild, then...”

Julie mischievously watched her husband take his shot then turned to Goran. “You in?”

He raised his brows, but smiled. “Do I look like a man who says no to tequila?”

They each took a round. Then Julie reached for a second without pause, her fingers a little less precise this time. She downed it quick and clean, her eyes gleaming now with the kind of light that came just before decisions stopped making sense. Then the third followed until the tray was empty.

The music dipped low and came back hard, a shift in beat that pulled their bodies closer and made distance feel... unnatural.

Julie turned again between them, her back pressing into George’s chest, hips rolling back into him deliberately. What she felt with her buttocks only confirmed what sensed in him - he was turned on. Her arms lifted, wrapping around his neck, guiding his hands where she wanted them.

Goran stayed in front of her, one hand confidently at her waist now, the other bracing her lightly just above the hipbone as she moved.

George’s grip firmed slightly and his breath tickled the side of her neck. “This wild enough for you?”

“Mmm... almost,” she murmured.

She turned her head and gave him a brief, teasing kiss, then faced Goran again, her gaze with something darker in it now. A playful challenge. A dare. Her body moved with a looser rhythm, she was past tipsy now and her dance became more a suggestion than motion.

Goran, for his part, played the line well—he wasn't pushing too far, but never shied from the invitation either. His hands followed her curves with confidence, discovering what was allowed. He glanced at George here and there, careful for potential signs of crossing boundary.

Julie moved closer to him. Goran’s breath was at her temple now, his hand slipping just slightly lower. George’s hand was still on her, steady, grounded. But even he seemed to be reacting—his grip shifted, sliding up her side until his thumb rested just beneath the curve of her breast. Julie inhaled at the contact and a soft, involuntary sound escaped her lips.

Goran leaned in closer, his lips brushing her ear. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

Julie didn’t answer right away. She let the silence stretch, her fingers ghosting over Goran’s shoulder as she leaned into his space, lips near his neck but not touching. She could feel his pulse quicken beneath his skin.

Finally, her voice came—soft, sultry, threaded with mischief. “If I remember correctly, you like danger, don't you?"

"I do," Goran chuckled under his breath, but there was a sharp edge behind the sound. “What is this game you're playing?”

“Well, everything is a game, isn't it?” She murmured. Her fingers drew a lazy circle on his chest before drifting away. “And some of us... sometimes forget the rules.”

“I don’t mind a few broken ones.”

She smiled, and it wasn’t sweet.

“I can see that. And that makes this game so much more interesting."

George couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he didn’t need to. He saw the way her body tilted toward him, the way her lips hovered close to Goran’s ear, how her fingers danced over Goran’s chest. And Goran—smirking, leaning in, eyes locked on her like he couldn’t look anywhere else. The liquor dulled the edges of his thoughts, but he wasn't blind.

His wife was openly flirting with another man, right in front of him. And not subtly, either—no sideways glances or demure touches. No, this was Julie in full bloom, radiant and untouchable, impossible to resist. He found her intoxicating like this—teasing, fearless, a little reckless.

Part of him—some ancient, primal corner of his brain—wanted to grab her by the wrist, pull her off the floor, and press her against the wall of their hotel room until she forgot there was any other man in the world but him.

But another part—deeper, darker—was entranced.

Because she was alive in a way he hadn’t her seen in... well, never before. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, her smile held a blade’s edge, and even in her teasing of Goran, she felt impossibly his.

Then, just as suddenly, she turned her head, her back brushing against George’s chest like she’d never left.

A playful smirk tugged at her lips as she tilted her face toward her husband and purred above the music. “He’s kind of fun, isn’t he?”

George didn’t answer right away. His hand had settled again on her waist, thumb stroking slowly against her side.

"Yeah, I guess... why?"

Julie tilted her head back just enough to meet his eyes.

“You don’t mind if I… play a little, do you?”

The question was light, wrapped in a smile, almost innocent.

Almost.

George held her gaze, the corner of his mouth twitching into a slow smirk. “Depends what you mean by 'play'.”

Julie grinned and turned back to Goran without clarifying.

She moved back into the rhythm of the music, slipping closer to Goran, her hips catching the beat like it belonged to her. Goran grinned openly, not trying to hide his desires, not anymore. He mirrored her movement with hands light on her waist, but willing to follow whatever she had in mind.

She leaned in, laughing at something he said. Her hands found his shoulders, then smoothly slid down his and her body followed. The space between them vanished. She turned, sliding her back against his chest, her ass pressing bold into his crotch.

Goran’s hands circled her waist, holding her in place, and she rolled her hips to the music, taking control of the dance. His head dipped instinctively, lips near her shoulder now, but not touching.

Julie looked up and her gaze landed on George.

Her eyes locked on his—hot, electric, teasing—and she moved like she was dancing for him alone. Like she wanted him to see every roll of her hips, every flex of Goran’s grip tightening on her waist.

George stood still with a weird smirk on his face. He probably intended to appear nonchalant, but his posture betrayed him big time. He wasn't fooling anyone.

Julie raised a hand—slow, deliberate—and crooked her finger at him.

Come here.

He hesitated, a second too long. She didn’t wait. Her hand caught George’s shirt and she tugged him forward.

Goran’s hand shifted to one hip as George’s landed on the other and Julie was now sandwiched between both men. Her lips curved as the three of them began to move in sync.

Then she turned her face to George and kissed him. Hard.

She kept him locked in the rhythm that she set as her lips teased his with short, wet kisses. One hand rested firmly on his shoulder, but the other tangled back in Goran’s hair, keeping him tight to her neck.

“See this?” she whispered to George, her voice low and warm between kisses. Her body burned, swaying smoothly between them. Goran’s lips were practically on her neck, grazing her pulse, while George’s hardness was throbbing against her lower belly. “This is how wild I wanna be. Tell me you don’t find me hot like this. Tell me I have to stop.”

George stood frozen. His breath caught. His jaw tightened, muscles locked. But he didn’t pull away.

He should say something. He should stop this.

He didn’t.

Julie’s lips parted, hungry and provocative. Her gaze bore into his, both daring and pleading with him. Her hand went down, straight on his rock-hard bulge.

“You said yourself I could be wild tonight. So... just this night... I want to be really wild.”

He searched her face. Flushed, radiant, so alive. He saw her need and that new expression he found so irresistible here on this trip: wicked, naughty and playful at the same time.

Goran didn't want to be part of any potential drama so he tried to pull away a bit, but Julie didn't let him go - her hand him close her neck.

Seeing all this, Mark’s name flickered somewhere deep in George's head. But it was Julie’s eyes in front of him. Not her shame or guilt from past months. Just her—blazing and **** to pull him down with her.

He shook his head once, almost imperceptibly, but didn’t speak. His body was betraying him. Her fingers rubbed slow against his cock and while his mind screamed for control, his body had already fallen into her rhythm.

Julie felt it the way he was unraveling. She pressed in.

“I know you want this too,” she continued and then knowingly glanced down at his tent. “I can feel it.”

His chest rose sharply. His eyes burned with conflict.

“This is... I don’t know if…” he began—but the words died as she cupped his jaw.

Her thumb brushed his cheek. Her tongue flicked over his lips, slow and deliberate. The moment stretched—thick, electric. Her breath kissed his mouth.

“Mmm... you know you can trust me. Just say yes... please?”

He blinked. Swallowed. The war behind his eyes flared—and then collapsed.

"Yes."

It wasn’t loud. But it was real. The last thread of resistance snapping.

Julie’s grin bloomed, fierce and radiant. She kissed him hard, deep, flooding the space between them with everything she’d held back. When she pulled away to gasp against his lips, her voice trembled with wild joy.

“I love you.”

Her voice trembled with wild joy, her fingers gripping George’s shirt like she was anchoring herself to the one thing that mattered most. And for a breathless moment, everything else blurred—until she turned, her body pivoting like a tide changing direction.

She leaned back and pressed herself against Goran’s chest.

Her hands lifted behind her, arms reaching around his neck, pulling him down as she arched her back into him. Her ass rolled slow and bold against his crotch, grinding with the rhythm of a beat only she seemed to still hear. It wasn’t dancing anymore, it looked more like foreplay.

George froze, stunned, every part of him lighting up in storm of emotion: jealousy, confusion, disbelief… and arousal. He was drunk, all of them were, there was no doubt about that, but still he felt so turned on by his slutty wife and he had to admit he couldn't blame it all on the booze.

Goran’s gaze darted to him one last time. It wasn’t a smirk but rather a question, a quiet check-in. Is this still okay?

George said nothing.

He didn’t nod or smile, but he also didn’t stop it.

And that was more than enough for Goran. His hands came alive and they greedily slid from Julie’s hips to her stomach, to her waist, fingers spreading across the softness of her dress as though claiming her inch by inch. She moaned softly, barely audible, and sank into him fully.

While she held and guided Goran's hands in their exploration of her body, her eyes stayed on George the whole time.

Dark. Wanting. Lit like twin embers burning in a storm.

Her lips moved and she mouthed a Thank you.

And then her head turned, slowly, deliberately, toward Goran.

Her lips parted, wet and ready.

George’s breath caught. She was about to kiss him. His wife. Right there. In the open.

His mind reeled—how did it come to this? How was he letting it? And why, despite all logic, was every nerve in his body about to explode? Why did it feel like his cock would jump out of his jeans the very next moment?

But just before their mouths met—

The music cut.

The abrupt silence made them a bit more aware of the situation, but the real wake-up moment came when the club lights snapped on with full vengeance, banishing the shadows in a cruel flood of sterile white.

"What the fuck?" Julie flinched, blinking against the glare.

Goran’s hands stilled on her body, and she slowly pulled forward, the heat of the moment extinguished in a second. She looked around, drunk and disoriented, like waking from a dream.

George’s hand rubbed his face, similarly confused as Julie.

Goran exhaled a quiet laugh, glancing around the now-clearing floor. Chairs were being flipped onto tables and bartenders whistled.

They were among the last. They were so caught up in their 'dance' no one noticed it was already quite late. No one had seen, but the world had snapped back to real.

"I think they're closing..." Goran broke the silence by stating the obvious.

"Yeah..." George nodded with a sense of relief and a tiny bit of regret. A part of him was curious what would've happened.

Julie inhaled, long and trembling. Her chest rose with it. She turned to George and her fingers reached for his.

And then Goran’s.

“Guys, I need air... and we should be going anyway,” she murmured, voice low but clear.

No one spoke, they just followed—George to her left, Goran to her right—as they moved through the almost empty corridor and into the warm hush of the Croatian night.

The party was over. But Julie’s wild night wasn’t yet.