Eden Cove Resort

Prologue: The Last Stretch

The sun beat down on the rooftop terrace of the Fontaine Residences, a glass-and-gold skyscraper nestled high above the smog-tinted skyline. Wind whispered over imported bamboo plants. A bronze water feature trickled behind John's bare feet. It could've been peaceful. Serene.

It wasn't.

"John," whined the voice behind him, "do we really need to do this in the sun?"

John Vanderbilt didn't flinch. He held his position--knees bent, arms slowly sweeping in a fluid circle, breath syncing to the movement like ocean waves. Eyes half-lidded. Focused.

Behind him, squatting awkwardly on an oversized yoga mat that buckled under her weight, was Margot St. Clair--New York royalty, heiress to a food conglomerate, and a professional pain in the ass. She wore a custom lavender tracksuit lined with gold zippers and rhinestone initials: M. S. C.

She wasn't sweating. Not only that, but she was oozing.

"It's about energy flow," John said calmly, pivoting into a palm strike form. "Chi thrives in the open air."

"Chi would thrive in air conditioning," Margot snapped, mopping her forehead with a monogrammed towel. "And my Lululemon has sweat pooling in areas it has no business pooling."

John suppressed a smirk. He'd worked with royalty, celebrities, ex-athletes, and billionaires in retirement. None had prepared him for Margot's unique brand of entitled chaos.

She was in her early forties, proudly curvy, loudly judgmental, and entirely convinced that the universe owed her admiration simply for existing. Every Tai Chi session began with a complaint and ended with a personal philosophical rant, usually about men being useless and carbs being misunderstood.

"Shift your hips back," John instructed. "Float your hands. Good. Now--breathe."

Margot exhaled sharply and wobbled, trying to mimic the movement. It looked less like a graceful form and more like a falling chandelier in slow motion.

"This is absolutely barbaric," she muttered. "I should've just bought a Peloton instructor and locked him in the pool house."

John smiled politely and flowed into the next sequence. His movements were like poetry--strong, precise, soft at the edges. The sunlight caught his blond hair and traced the hard lines of his arms and torso through the fitted black tee.

He was twenty-five, but it showed in his energy more than his face. The kind of body built by discipline, not vanity. He was tall, lean with just the right dose of muscle, and moved with the quiet certainty of a man who'd seen and survived more than he said.

Because he had.

Before this--before New York, before personal training and daily ego management--John had worn a different uniform. A darker one. He'd been special forces. Krav Maga, Kung Fu, extraction missions, black sites. He knew how to take down a man with a teacup or vanish in the chaos of a city. But all that ended three years ago.

A bullet. A classified disaster. A name buried and discharged with honors.

Now, his battlefield was luxury rooftops. His weapons were balance and breath. And his clients, well--most couldn't spell Krav Maga, let alone survive a warm-up.

Margot was glaring at a bird now.

"Why do pigeons always look so smug?" she asked aloud. "They've done nothing for society."

John chuckled and turned to face her. "Let's try the final movement. Then we'll cool down."

"Final? Praise be." She adjusted her waistband. "I'm sweating through my diamonds."

⸻

The door to the rooftop swung open with a mechanical whoosh.

Both of them turned.

And just like that, the morning changed.

She stood in the doorway like she owned the sky.

Tall. Sculpted. Bronze skin glowing in the sun. Her long black hair was pulled into a sleek knot, and her tailored suit hugged every elegant curve. Mirrored sunglasses reflected the scene--Margot hunched like a melting meringue, John mid-pose.

"John Vanderbilt?" she asked, voice smooth as velvet and twice as dangerous.

John straightened slowly. "That's me."

Margot blinked. "I didn't order anyone--"

The woman strode forward without a glance at her.

"I'm Gianna. Eden Cove's Welcome Mistress." She extended a folder with a seal John didn't recognize. "I'm here on behalf of the Eden International Consortium to deliver your prize."

"My what?" he said, taking the folder.

"You're the winner of the Global Oasis Lottery."

Margot gave a loud, flat laugh. "Oh, please. That scam?"

Gianna didn't look at her. She removed her sunglasses, revealing fierce amber eyes.

"Not a scam. One man chosen from 8.9 billion entries. Full financial freedom. A private jet waiting downstairs. A seaside villa on Eden Cove."

"Eden what?" Margot snapped, flustered.

"An island paradise with unique lifestyle freedoms," Gianna said, glancing now--just briefly. "Far from judgment. Or rhinestone sweatbands."

Margot's mouth fell open.

John flipped open the folder.

Inside, a letter gleamed in embossed gold:

⸻

Congratulations, John Vanderbilt.

You are now the exclusive winner of the Global Eden Lottery.

Your prize includes:

• Full access to the Eden Trust Fund (currently valued at $19.3 billion)

• Lifetime ownership of our most elite seaside villa

• Global tax exemption and private travel access

• Citizenship under Eden Cove's Free-use Charter

Eden Cove is unlike any place on Earth.

On the island, all women--staff and guests--freely accept the Free-use Policy. There are no taboos. No need for permission. No games. Your desires are honored, openly and immediately.

And you are the most desired man on the island.

Savor it.

Monica Deyna

Director, Eden Cove

⸻

John read it again. And again.

"You're joking," he said, finally.

Gianna's voice softened. "Not at all. Your former apartment lease has been paid out and closed. All accounts transferred. This is the last time you'll ever need to be anywhere you would rather not be."

Margot stepped in, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me. He is in the middle of a private session. You can't just swoop in and take him like a prize--"

"I can," Gianna said, turning slowly. "Because he is one."

Margot flinched.

"And while you're here huffing lavender polyester and confusing motion with progress," she added, stepping closer, "he's about to be the most worshipped man in the Caribbean."

"You can't talk to me like that--"

"I just did."

Margot huffed. "You look like a glorified flight attendant in a pantsuit."

Gianna smiled slowly. "And you look like your waistband is losing a custody battle with your thighs."

John choked on a laugh.

Margot stormed past them, towel flying. "I'll be calling my lawyer!"

"Call him from the pool," Gianna called after her. "Maybe he'll teach you how to float."

Silence fell.

John stared at the folder. At the jet-black keycard tucked inside. At the words "No permission required."

Then he looked up at Gianna.

"You serious?" he asked.

Her gaze softened. "You deserve this, John. You've given enough. Now you get everything."

He considered that.

Then he picked up his water bottle.

"Lead the way."

The ride down was quiet.

The concierge looked stunned as they swept through the marble lobby and straight into a waiting black car with the Eden emblem in gold. The driver never spoke. The streets blurred past.

John asked once, "Is this real?"

Gianna only smiled and said, "It's Eden."

As they pulled up to a private airstrip outside the city, he saw it: a gleaming jet, engines humming, a gold infinity symbol painted on the tail.

No press. No photographers. Just a red carpet and sunlight.

Gianna turned to him.

"This is your last chance to walk away," she said softly.

John looked at the jet.

At the sky.

At the future.

Then back at her.

"Not a chance."

Chapter 1: In-Flight Instructions.

The private jet gleamed beneath the afternoon sun, its white fuselage polished to a mirror finish. A golden infinity symbol adorned the tail, subtle but unmistakable--a mark of something elite, secret, and far beyond normal.

John Vanderbilt stood at the foot of the boarding stairs, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He hadn't packed it. Gianna had handed it to him in the car, claiming it held "something more comfortable." He hadn't opened it yet.

Beside him, Gianna watched the plane without blinking. The wind teased a strand of her long black hair loose from its sleek knot, and she tucked it behind her ear with a gesture so effortless it could've been rehearsed.

"This is really happening," John murmured.

"It's already happened," she said. "You just haven't caught up yet."

She led the way up the steps, her heels clicking in a smooth, confident rhythm. At the top, the door hissed open, and a cool breath of lavender-scented air wrapped around them.

John stepped into luxury.

The cabin wasn't just first-class--it was another world. A plush L-shaped couch upholstered in deep cream leather stretched along one side, wrapping around a smoked-glass coffee table that shimmered with inlaid silver. Opposite, a built-in minibar sparkled under soft ambient lighting, stocked with crystal decanters and rare liquors. Toward the rear, a widescreen television nearly spanned the wall, quietly displaying aerial footage of a sunset drifting over ocean waves. There were no rows. No other passengers. Just space. Comfort. And indulgence, curated.

"Make yourself at home," Gianna said, gesturing toward the couch.

John dropped onto it, letting the leather embrace him like a sigh.

"I've trained in palaces," he muttered. "This beats all of them."

She smiled faintly and stepped to the bar, pouring two drinks--something golden and aromatic. "You're not just flying to Eden," she said, handing him a glass. "You're becoming part of it."

He took a sip. Smooth. Sweet with a trace of spice.

"Alright," he said, settling in. "Explain it to me. Everything. The resort. The island. This... Free-use thing."

Gianna sank into the seat opposite him and crossed one leg elegantly over the other. "Let's start simple. Eden Cove is a private island. Technically sovereign, recognized under a niche maritime agreement. It's run by the Eden Consortium--a group of ultra-wealthy patrons who believe the world has too many rules."

"Sounds vague," John said.

"It's meant to be," she replied smoothly. "Because Eden isn't for everyone. It's for the chosen few. Those who crave beauty, freedom, and indulgence without apology."

He leaned forward. "And the Free-use Charter?"

Gianna gave a small, amused tilt of her head, as if she'd been waiting for that.

"Every woman who comes to the island," she said, "whether staff or guest, signs the Eden Charter. By doing so, she agrees to a lifestyle where sexual availability is open, non-possessive, and prioritized around pleasure--yours in particular."

John blinked.

Gianna continued, calm as ever. "The idea is radical in most places. But on Eden, it's cultural. There's no shame. No resistance. No manipulation or pretense. If she's there, she's already said yes. You don't need to ask. You just enjoy."

"... Every woman?"

"Every. Woman." Her lips curved. "With one very specific clause: only you have Free-use privileges within the resort."

John tilted his head. "What do you mean 'within the resort'?"

Gianna stood and moved toward a small panel embedded in the wall. She tapped it, and a holographic map flickered into the air--an island shaped like a curved teardrop, dotted with beaches, coves, and architectural outlines.

She gestured toward the central area. "This is Eden Cove Resort. It's not just a hotel--it's an experience. Curated. Controlled. Everyone you'll meet there is part of the lifestyle."

"And outside the resort?"

She pointed to villas scattered along the outer edges. "Some residents. Private patrons. They live on the island, but they're not part of the resort itself. Some of them are men--but they don't have access to what you do."

"No Free-use?"

"No status," she confirmed. "Not within the resort. You are the man, John. The only one with full rights, full privilege, and full access. There are no rivals. No competition. Only you."

He was silent for a moment.

Then: "That's... a lot."

She smiled. "It's the fantasy every man has--and only one gets to live."

He exhaled slowly and leaned back, eyes on the ceiling. "So, what does a day look like?"

Gianna's voice was soft. "Whatever you want. Wake when you like. Swim. Drink. Walk the beach. Someone may join you. Or several. No games. No waiting. If you want it, it's yours."

He looked at her, searching her face. "Why me?"

"Because you're everything they crave," she said. "Disciplined. Desirable. Grounded. You've lived through fire and emerged focused. And you've already proven you know how to lead."

John looked down at his hands. Strong. Scarred. Capable.

"I thought I left all this behind when I left the military."

"You left war behind," she said. "Not power."

A quiet pause settled between them. The hum of the jet surrounded them like breath.

Then John turned to her.

"What about you?" he asked. "Are you included?"

Gianna held his gaze for a moment. No change in her expression. Then, without a word, she rose from her seat and crossed the short distance between them.

She sat beside him.

Close. Her bare thigh brushing his jeans, her dark eyes steady and unreadable.

"I've signed the Charter," she said simply.

John's gaze drifted down--her high-collared blouse, the subtle rise of her chest as she inhaled, the poise in every gesture.

He lifted a hand.

She didn't stop him.

His fingers grazed her bare knee, then traveled higher, skimming her inner thigh beneath the slit of her skirt. Her body was warm. Responsive, but still. Watching him.

She kept talking, as if nothing unusual was happening.

"Most winners don't ask that until much later," she murmured, voice smooth, amused.

"I'm not most," he replied, his hand sliding up more boldly now.

"No. You're not." she purred, her full lips curving into an enigmatic smile.

Gianna shifted slightly, allowing easier access as John's fingers danced along her thigh, drawing ever closer to the heat at her core. The slit in her skirt fell open further, revealing tantalizing glimpses of her long, toned legs.

Her hand found its way to his thigh, fingertips tracing teasing patterns through the denim of his jeans. The touch was light, almost innocent, yet charged with promise.

John's pulse quickened as Gianna's fingers traced maddeningly slow patterns on his thigh, each touch sending sparks of electricity through his body. He could feel the heat radiating off her skin, smell the intoxicating scent of her perfume -- something exotic and floral with an underlying note of spice. It clouded his senses, making it difficult to focus on anything but the woman before him.

"I've never been one for games," he said, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire. In one fluid motion, he closed the remaining distance between them, capturing Gianna's lips in a searing kiss. His hand slid up to cup the back of her neck, tangling in the silky strands of her raven hair as he deepened the kiss, pouring all of his pent-up passion and need into the embrace.

Gianna melted into the kiss, her plush lips moving against John's with a hunger that matched his own. She arched into him, pressing the soft curves of her body flush against the hard planes of his muscular frame. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring herself as the world seemed to tilt and spin around them.

When they finally broke apart, both panting for air, Gianna's eyes were dark with desire, her usually composed facade crumbling under the intensity of their connection. She licked her kiss-swollen lips, savoring the taste of him.

"My, my," she breathed, her voice husky with want. "It seems you have a talent for skipping straight to the main event."

Gianna's hands began to roam over John's chest and arms, mapping the contours of his physique with clear appreciation.

John's heart raced as Gianna's hands explored his body, her touch igniting a fire beneath his skin. He could feel the heat building between them, the air growing thick with tension and unspoken desires. His own hands slid down to her waist, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts through the thin fabric of her blouse.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he growled, his voice low and rough with need. In one swift movement, he stood, pulling Gianna up with him and crushing her against his chest. His mouth found hers again in a bruising kiss, all teeth, and tongue as he poured his frustration and desire into the heated embrace.

John walked them backwards until Gianna's back hit the wall, pinning her there with his body. His hips pressed against hers, letting her feel the evidence of his arousal.

Gianna gasped into the kiss, her body arching instinctively as John pinned her to the wall with his powerful frame. She could feel every hard inch of him pressed against her soft curves, stoking the flames of her desire to new heights. Her hands fisted in his hair, tugging lightly as she met his passion with her own fervor.

When they came up for air, Gianna's chest heaved with each ragged breath, her nipples visibly straining against the confines of her blouse. She looked up at John through lowered lashes, her golden eyes molten with lust.

"I think I have some idea," she purred, rolling her hips subtly against his. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"

Gianna's hands slid down John's back to grip his firm buttocks, squeezing appreciatively.

John groaned at the feeling of Gianna's hands kneading his ass, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. He ground his hips forward, letting her feel exactly how much he wanted her. One hand slid up to cup her breast, thumbing her nipple through the thin fabric of her blouse until it pebbled under his touch.

"I'm going to worship this gorgeous body of yours," he promised darkly, his other hand already working on the buttons of her top. "I will touch and taste every inch of you until you're trembling and begging for release."

With deft fingers, John undid the last button and pushed the blouse off Gianna's shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. He took a moment to drink in the sight of her, clad now in just a lacy black bra that barely contained her ample breasts.

Gianna shivered as the cool air hit her newly exposed skin, goosebumps rising in the wake of John's heated gaze. She reached back to unclasp her bra, letting it join her blouse on the floor. Her breasts spilled free, full and perfect, the dusky nipples already puckered with arousal.

"Then what are you waiting for?" she challenged, her voice a seductive purr. Gianna took John's hand and guided it to her breast, arching into his touch. "Show me the depths of your worship."

At the same time, her nimble fingers found the hem of his shirt, slipping underneath to caress the hard planes of his abdomen. She could feel the coiled strength there, the power barely leashed. It thrilled her, made her ache to be claimed by him fully.

John's large hands engulfed Gianna's breasts, kneading the soft flesh reverently. He leaned down to capture one rosy peak in his mouth, suckling and swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. His other hand continued its exploration, trailing down the dip of her waist to the flare of her hips. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her skirt, tugging it down slowly, reveling in the inch-by-inch reveal of her long, toned legs.

As the skirt pooled at her feet, John pulled back to admire the view. Gianna stood before him in nothing but a scrap of lace that barely qualified as panties, her body a work of art. He dropped to his knees, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her stomach as he went, tasting her skin.

"I'm going to devour you,"

Gianna's head fell back against the wall with a soft thud, a breathy moan escaping her parted lips as John lavished attention on her sensitive breasts. Electric pleasure zinged through her nerves with each swipe of his tongue, each squeeze of his strong hands. When he started to remove her skirt, she lifted her hips eagerly, desperate to feel his touch on her bare skin.

Now, nearly naked and pinned by John's intense gaze, Gianna felt a thrill of vulnerability and excitement. The heat of his breath on her stomach made her muscles quiver in anticipation. She tangled her fingers in his hair, holding him close as he kissed a trail downward.

"Please," she whimpered, the word falling from her lips unbidden. Gianna had never wanted anyone as badly as she wanted John at this moment.

John growled approvingly at Gianna's needy plea, the sound vibrating against her skin. He hooked his fingers in the sides of her panties and dragged them down her legs, baring her completely to his hungry gaze. The intoxicating scent of her arousal filled his nostrils, making his head swim with desire.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful," he rasped, drinking in the sight of her glistening folds. Unable to resist, John leaned in and ran his tongue along her slit in one long, slow stroke. He groaned at the taste of her, sweet and addictive. His hands gripped her thighs, spreading her wider as he delved deeper, lapping at her most intimate places with single-minded focus.

Gianna cried out sharply as John's tongue made contact with her aching core, her hips bucking involuntarily into his face. Pleasure sparked through her like lightning, intense and overwhelming. Her hands fisted tighter in his hair, holding him in place as he worked her over with lips and tongue and teeth.

"Oh god, yes!" she keened, her voice breaking into a moan. Gianna's head thrashed from side to side, lost in the exquisite sensations John was evoking. She could feel the coil of tension in her lower belly tightening with each pass of his tongue, pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

One hand released its grip on his hair to cover her mouth, muffling her increasingly loud cries of ecstasy. The other hand slid down to press insistently against the back of his head, urging him on.

John redoubled his efforts, driven wild by Gianna's wanton responses. He sealed his lips around her clit and sucked hard, flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. Two fingers plunged knuckle-deep into her dripping channel, pumping steadily as he lapped at her.

He could feel her walls fluttering around his digits, telling him she was close. Determined to make her come undone, John curved his fingers to rub firmly against that special spot inside her while he bit down gently on her clit. At the same time, he thrust a third finger in alongside the first two, stretching her deliciously.

"Come for me, baby," he commanded huskily against her sex, the vibrations adding to her pleasure. "Let go and let me taste you."

Gianna shattered, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. She screamed John's name, her voice echoing off the walls as wave after wave of pure ecstasy rolled through her. Her inner muscles clamped down rhythmically on his invading fingers, rippling and fluttering as he worked her through it.

"Yes, fuck, JOHN!" Gianna wailed, her body convulsing almost violently in the throes of her climax. Drool escaped the corner of her slack mouth, tears of pleasure leaking from her tightly shut eyes. She had never come so hard in her life, the intensity bordering on overwhelming.

As the aftershocks gradually subsided, leaving her boneless and trembling, Gianna slumped back against the wall. Her chest heaved with each gasping breath, sweat cooling on her flushed skin.

John gentled his ministrations as Gianna rode out the waves of her intense orgasm, lapping softly at her oversensitive flesh to prolong her pleasure. He reveled in the taste of her release, the knowledge that he had brought her to such a peak of ecstasy. Slowly, he withdrew his fingers and surged up her body, capturing her lips in a deep, sensual kiss. He knew she would taste herself on his tongue, marking him as thoroughly as he had marked her.

Breaking the kiss, John scooped Gianna up into his arms, cradling her against his chest. He carried her to the couch, laying her down on the soft leather with tender care, despite the hunger still burning in his eyes. Standing over her, he quickly shed his own clothes, revealing his sculpted physique and impressive arousal.

"God, you're stunning,"

Gianna gazed up at John through hooded eyes, her pupils blown wide with lingering desire. She drank in the sight of his magnificent body, all hard planes and lean muscle, his manhood jutting proudly from a nest of dark curls. A fresh gush of arousal dampened her thighs at the thought of having him inside her.

"Come here," she purred, crooking a finger at him invitingly. "I want to feel every inch of you."

Gianna spread her legs in blatant invitation, the pink folds of her sex glistening with renewed wetness. She palmed her breasts, kneading the soft mounds and tweaking her nipples, putting on a show for her lover. The air between them crackled with sexual tension, heavy with the promise of what was to come.

"Take me," Gianna breathed, her voice thick with need.

John crawled onto the couch, settling himself between Gianna's splayed thighs. He took a moment to admire the erotic picture she made, sprawled out before him like a feast for the taking. The sight of her playing with her own breasts, the way her body trembled with anticipation, it was almost too much to bear.

Unable to resist a second longer, John notched the broad head of his cock against Gianna's entrance. He teased her with shallow thrusts, coating himself in her slick arousal. Then, with a roll of his hips, he sheathed himself fully inside her welcoming heat in one smooth stroke.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," John groaned, his head dropping forward as her velvety walls clenched around him like a vice.

Gianna threw her head back with a sharp cry of pleasure as John filled her completely, stretching her deliciously around his thick length. Her nails raked down his back, leaving crescent-shaped indents in his skin as she clung to him.

"So big," she panted, her inner muscles fluttering and adjusting to the welcome intrusion. "Filling me up so perfectly."

Wrapping her long legs around his waist, Gianna used the leverage to rock her hips up to meet his, taking him even deeper. She could feel every ridge and vein of his shaft dragging along her sensitive walls, stoking the embers of her desire back into a raging inferno.

"Yes, just like that," Gianna encouraged breathlessly, locking her ankles at the small of his back. "Harder, John. Take me harder!"

With a primal growl, John complied with Gianna's demand. He pulled nearly all the way out before slamming back in, setting a hard, fast pace that had the bed frame creaking in protest. Each powerful thrust drove him impossibly deep, the head of his cock kissing her cervix with every pump of his hips.

One hand snaked between their sweat-slicked bodies to find Gianna's clit, rubbing tight circles around the swollen nub. The other gripped her hip hard enough to bruise, holding her steady for his relentless assault. John could feel his own release building rapidly, spurred on by the exquisite sensation of Gianna's sheath gripping him like a silken fist.

"That's it, take it," he grunted, angling his hips to hit that special spot inside her with every thrust.

Gianna writhed beneath John, overwhelmed by the dual stimulation of his pistoning hips and clever fingers. Her clit throbbed under his touch, each circle and press sending jolts of electricity shooting up her spine. She could feel another orgasm building rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter in her core.

"Yes, yes, YES!" Gianna chanted mindlessly, her voice rising in pitch with each word. Her head thrashed on the pillow, dark hair splayed out in a wild halo. She met John thrust for thrust, her hips undulating in a sensual dance as old as time itself.

Suddenly, Gianna stiffened, her back arching almost painfully as her climax crashed over her. "JOHN!" she screamed, her vision whiting out from the sheer force of her pleasure.

The feeling of Gianna coming apart beneath him, her inner muscles clamping down on his cock like a velvet vice, was too much for John to withstand. With a hoarse shout of her name, he buried himself to the hilt inside her spasming heat and let go.

Thick ropes of his seed painted Gianna's insides as John emptied himself in pulsing spurts, his hips jerking erratically as he rode out the waves of his intense orgasm. He collapsed on top of her, careful not to crush her smaller frame, his face buried in the crook of her neck as he gasped for breath.

"Fuck, Gianna," John panted against her sweat-dampened skin, his voice rough with satisfaction. "That was... incredible."

Gianna hummed contentedly, basking in the afterglow of their intense lovemaking. She ran her fingers through John's hair, gently carding the damp strands as he caught his breath against her neck. Her own chest heaved with each shuddering inhale, the rapid beat of her heart gradually slowing.

"Mmm, I couldn't agree more," she murmured, tilting her head to press a soft kiss to his temple. "You certainly know how to show a girl a good time."

Gianna's legs, which had fallen limply to the sides, curled around to hug John close. She savored the feeling of his weight on top of her, the way their bodies fit together like two puzzle pieces. For once, she felt truly satisfied, not just physically but emotionally as well.

Gianna and John found themselves entwined on the leather couch. Their limbs were tangled together, a tangle of sweat-slicked skin and tousled hair. Gianna's head rested on John's chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat as it slowed into a relaxed rhythm.

She traced idle patterns on his skin with a delicate finger, marveling at the contrast of her golden complexion against his. The events of the day played through her mind -- the initial tension, the electric spark when they touched, the explosive passion that had consumed them both. It had been intense, raw, and utterly satisfying in a way few encounters ever were.

John's arm tightened around Gianna's waist, holding her flush against him as he drifted in that space between wakefulness and sleep. The warmth of her body seeped into his bones, chasing away the last vestiges of tension. He breathed in the sweet scent of her hair, mingled with the musky aroma of their lovemaking, and felt a profound sense of contentment wash over him.

Gianna stirred slightly in John's arms, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she sensed his gaze upon her. Even in sleep, she seemed attuned to his presence, drawn to the comforting strength of his embrace. Her eyelashes fluttered, casting dancing shadows across her cheeks as the last rays of sunlight filtered through the window.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, the sound somewhere between a purr and a whisper. One hand crept up to rest over John's heart, as if seeking to memorize its steady beat. In this moment of perfect peace, with the stresses and expectations of the outside world temporarily forgotten, Gianna allowed herself to simply exist. Not as a celebrated beauty or a coveted prize, but as a woman finding solace in the arms of someone who saw past the surface to the essence within.

⸻

Later, after the nap and another drink, John stood at the back of the cabin, watching the ocean as it came into view.

Eden Cove appeared like a mirage--lush green hills melting into wide stretches of pale sand, framed by glowing turquoise shallows. Docks jutted from coves. Villas sparkled along the ridges like polished gemstones.

It didn't look real.

It looked like somewhere gods vacationed when they needed time off.

The jet descended in a gentle arc, the island growing larger, more defined--stone pathways, thatched roofs, long hammocks swinging in the shade of tall palms.

Gianna rose and straightened her skirt without comment, smoothing the fabric where his hand had creased it earlier.

As the wheels kissed the runway, she turned to him, amber eyes glinting.

"Get ready for the Eden Cove experience."

⸻