Balearic Heat Ep. 01 Day 01

**Author's note:**

Welcome to Ibiza - where the sun's hot, the nights are wild, and the girls didn't come for rest. This is Episode 1 of an erotic holiday series that follows four friends, one unforgettable week, and all the ways a good time can get complicated.

Each episode dives deeper into one of the girls - her temptations, her choices, her sex. Expect friendships, tension and teasing - and the messy truths that emerge when the cocktails wear off.

In episode one Hannah sets the tone. But she's just the beginning.

Next up: Libby. The quiet one. But maybe the dirtiest of them all....

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 1: Wheels down

The heat hit them like a blast from a furnace the second they stepped off the plane.

Hot, dry, and overbearing. It was the kind of Mediterranean summer weather that made clothes cling and foreheads glisten with sweat before they'd even found baggage reclaim.

"Jesus," Jess muttered, fanning herself with her boarding pass. "I've had foreplay that felt less intense."

Hannah led the pack through the terminal with sunglasses already on, hair loose, linen shirt unbuttoned just enough to flash the lilac bikini beneath. She was on a mission, and she hadn't even had a drink yet.

Behind her, Libby adjusted the strap on her holdall and looked around with a quiet kind of alertness. Blonde bun tied high, white vest cropped tight across her toned frame. She didn't say much, but her eyes were busy - clocking arms, abs, biceps. Anything and everything that piqued her interest.

Meg brought up the rear, her pastel-pink suitcase veering left every few steps. Her crop top clung to the curve of her tits, and her denim shorts barely covered anything that mattered. She said nothing, just smiled quietly at the chaos, eyes bright behind oversized tortoiseshell sunglasses.

Jess looked like she'd already had god-knows how many vodkas because she had. At the airport, on the flight. Even on the way to the airport. Her Ray-Bans were on and she had a vape in hand. Her tanned legs - fake tan, of course - were crossed in irritation as they waited for the coach to load. She hated package holidays. She also secretly loved them, though she'd never admit it.

"Tell me again why we booked a fucking package deal?" she asked, deadpan.

"Because we're not billionaires," Hannah shot back. "And because I wanted a pool, a beach, and at least one guy to call me a filthy bitch in broken English by Wednesday."

"Classy," Jess grinned. "You aiming for that before or after the foam party?"

***

The transfer coach was full of laughter and the smell of airport perfume samples and spilled tequila miniatures. Hannah grabbed the back row, obviously. Libby slid into the window seat beside her, eyes out on the vista misted by heat haze. Meg and Jess sat opposite, Jess already half-sprawled.

Phones came out and messages pinged. Their group chat - "Ibiza: Slut Edition" - was alive with bikini pics, TikToks, and voice notes from girls who'd been to the same resort the month before. Recommendations of where to go, and where to avoid.

"Are we doing the boat party or not?" Meg asked, thumbing through the latest promo vid.

Hannah snatched her phone. "Absolutely. I'm getting drunk, getting fucked, and getting tan lines that look like they've been drawn on."

Libby grinned, biting her straw. "How will you manage that? You're not even gonna wear a top half the time."

Jess raised a brow. "Please. You think she's the wildcard? Wait till Meg has her first mojito. She'll be doing body shots off the lifeguard."

Meg flushed pink but didn't deny it. She just slipped her headphones in and smiled to herself.

***

They all knew each other too well to be anything other than themselves. The real them.

Four girls, three years out of uni, scattered across the country but still as tight as they had been back then.

They'd met during that chaotic first week of Freshers - bonded over bad wine and media studies bullshit. Shared a flat in the second and third years. Passed assignments, swapped boyfriends, argued over who left their fake lashes in the bathroom sink.

Now they were professionals - sort of.

Hannah worked in PR and made even brunch sound like a launch event. Libby was a photographer for a news agency - sharp, fast, good under pressure. Jess wrote snarky features for a magazine. Meg taught Year 3 in a primary school.

But this week none of that mattered. This week was about heat and alcohol and not being the girls they were back home. Or at least, not the girls they'd let themselves become.

***

The coach rounded a bend, revealing a stretch of beautiful Ibizan coastline - whitewashed villas, quaint little squares, palm trees swaying in slow motion.

There was silence. Then Hannah leaned forward, dropped her voice a touch, and said: "Alright. Girls. Promise me something."

Libby looked up from her camera roll. Jess raised one painted brow and Meg slipped her headphones off.

"One week," Hannah said. "That's it. Seven days. To drink. To fuck. To dance til we fucking drop. And to never apologise for any of it."

There was a short pause, then Libby smiled, tongue against her teeth. Jess exhaled a puff of strawberry vape. Meg, slowly, nodded.

"Deal," they said.

-x-x-

Chapter 2: The hotel

Just half an hour earlier, they'd been winding through postcard-perfect countryside - whitewashed fincas, olive groves, dusty roads lined with wildflowers. But as the coach crested the final hill, the landscape had changed: beachside villas giving way to neon signs, cocktail bars, mopeds weaving between flip-flopped tourists. San Antonio blared - loud, brash and bursting with as much hedonism as your body could take.

The coach hissed to a halt outside the hotel entrance, tyres crunching over pale gravel, the sunshine burning white against glass and stone. The girls stepped down one by one, blinking into the glare.

The hotel rose in front of them in layers of shimmering white: flat rooftops, smoked-glass balconies, flashes of pink bougainvillea curling round concrete columns. Reggaeton pulsed from the pool bar beyond the lobby, mixing with the high-pitched laughter of girls and boys already half-cut and sun-drenched.

"I could shag to this playlist," Jess said, eyes hidden behind her Ray-Bans. "That's always a good sign."

Meg giggled. "You could shag to anything."

Inside, the lobby was cool marble. Someone was checking in with half a hen party in tow. Another girl was asleep across a suitcase, head lolled to one side, bra strap showing. A fit staff member in a tight polo shirt handed out welcome cocktails. Hannah took hers with a wink.

"Gracias, cariño."

The guy blushed. Jess smirked. Libby sipped hers politely, already distracted by the view through the sliding doors - a glimpse of the pool area, all sunlight and shimmer and bare skin on loungers. Meg took a quiet sip and gave a small, happy sigh.

They didn't hang about. Hannah had hustled them into top floor rooms with a sea view, using what she called her London PR voice. She tossed the keys onto the bed and turned to face the others, hands on hips.

"This," she said, "is where the filth begins."

***

They exploded out of their travel gear like time was rationed. The room was instantly cluttered with open cases, bikinis flung across beds, flip-flops skidding on tiled floors. The balcony doors were wide open, letting in sun and sea breeze and the muffled thump of poolside bass.

Hannah changed first, sliding into a bright blue thong bikini so minimal it looked more like a suggestion than clothing. The top cupped her tits just enough to be legal. She tied a sheer sarong low on her hips and misted herself in coconut oil like she was in an ad.

Libby followed, pulling on a black ribbed two-piece with a sporty cut - simple, functional, but tight in all the right places. She added a backwards cap and left it at that. No makeup, no effort - but still irresistible.

Jess emerged from the bathroom in leopard-print bottoms and a black crop tee, knotted just under her tits, nipples visible through the thin cotton. Hair up, sliders on, zero fucks given.

"Where's my drink? I look way too fuckable to be sober," she said with a tantalising smile.

Meg stood in front of the full-length mirror in a tight white bikini, gold hoop details at the hips and cleavage. Her big tits looked dangerous in that top - one bounce too many and it would all be over. She threw on an oversized shirt, left it open, and shrugged.

"I don't want to cause a scene."

"You'll cause a fucking riot," Hannah said, spritzing perfume over her neck. "Now let's go."

***

The poolside bar was everything they wanted: thumping music, icy margaritas, half-naked bodies, and enough sunshine and heat to make every movement feel lazy and slow.

They found loungers near the water's edge and ordered drinks. Libby set her camera down beside her but didn't reach for it. She was too busy scanning the scene - not for photos, but for possibilities.

Jess was already flirting with the bartender, a Greek guy with a sleeve tattoo and a tight arse. "Do you come with the cocktails, or is that an add-on?" she asked, straight-faced.

He grinned. "Only for regulars."

Libby sipped her drink. Meg stretched out on her lounger, sunglasses on, shirt open, skin already gleaming. Hannah watched the pool with a quiet, calculating look - eyes flicking from torso to torso like a connoisseur in pursuit of her first squeeze.

They hadn't been there long when he appeared.

They didn't see him at first but they picked up on the reaction. A cluster of women - and a few men - turning toward the far edge of the pool where the stone tiles met the water. Someone hit pause on their conversation. Even the bartender seemed to look over his shoulder.

Rio.

That's what the badge on his yellow muscle vest said, not that any of them would've needed it.

He was standing barefoot on the tiles, shirtless, loose black shorts hanging low on his hips. Mixed heritage, his skin was golden-brown, glowing under the late afternoon sun. Ripped didn't even begin to cover it - his chest was thick, his abs etched and glistening, his arms full of dangerous power.

He was leading a workout session - light stretches, lunges, bodyweight stuff - but it might as well have been porn. Every move and every instruction dripping in suggestiveness.

"Breathe in. Hold. And now sink into it. That's it. Feel it in your thighs. Good girl."

Libby's straw slipped from her drink.

Jess made a noise under her breath. "Oh for fuck's sake. Here we go. Another cocky instructor who thinks he invented sex."

"He didn't invent it," Hannah said, eyes fixed on him, "but I bet he improved it."

Meg said nothing. Just watched - quiet, flushed, and very still.

Rio moved through the class with a casual arrogance of someone who knew every person watching wanted to fuck him - and knew he'd only pick the ones who deserved it.

When the session ended, he grabbed a towel, wiped his neck and walked right past their loungers. He didn't even glance at them, which somehow made it worse.

As he disappeared into the staff-only gate, Hannah lowered her sunglasses.

"Well," she said, watching the gate close behind him, "I know what I want for dinner."

-x-x-

Chapter 3: Poolside Energy

The sun had begun its slow descent, stretching the girls' shadows across the marble tiles. The glare softened into something warmer - the kind of light that made skin glow and inhibitions blur. Everything looked more beautiful now, though that could have been the alcohol.

The pool sparkled like someone had poured diamonds into it. Sun cream floated on the surface in swirls, laughter echoed from the swim-up bar. Music pulsed, vibrating through bodies.

The girls had settled into their loungers like they were not for moving.

Hannah lay back, propped on one elbow, sipping from her margarita. She adjusted her top, deliberately, then ran her fingers along the edge of her sarong, as if thinking about removing it.

Libby was next to her, hair twisted into a damp bun. She lay on her front, chin resting on crossed arms, gaze low behind her sunglasses - watching, as always. The photographer's gaze, taking everything in.

Jess was half-reclined under the parasol, crop tee now slightly damp from the heat. She had one leg hooked up, vape in hand, and a fresh drink sweating on the table beside her. Her mouth moved as she read something on her phone, but every now and then, her eyes would flick up to track passing bodies.

Meg sat with her knees pulled up slightly, white bikini glowing against her skin, shirt casually shrugged off her shoulders. A book was open in her lap, but she hadn't turned a page in twenty minutes.

There was a lull in conversation. That content, buzzing quiet that comes after drinks and sun and knowing you've got nowhere to be but here.

At last Hannah spoke. "This is the bit I like best."

Jess glanced over. "What? Sweating out your lashes and listening to Pitbull?"

"No," Hannah replied, smiling behind her sunglasses. "This moment. When you're just starting to feel hot. Not just the weather. You know?"

Libby gave a nod. "Like you've been soaking in it."

"Exactly," Hannah said. "Everything's slower. Everyone's looking. Everyone wants something."

Jess exhaled, amused. "You've had four cocktails and you're already a sex philosopher."

"Call me a slut again," Hannah said with a wink. "I'll add it to my CV."

***

It was Libby who noticed him first.

She didn't react - not outwardly at least. Just a subtle stillness. The flick of her eyes, her body tuning to something the others hadn't yet noticed.

He wasn't showing off this time. No stretching, no instruction. Just walking. Towel slung over his shoulder, water bottle in hand, skin still glistening from sweat.

Hannah clocked him a second or two later. "Now we're talking," she murmured, straightening up on her lounger.

Jess whistled. "If he looks that good walking, imagine how he fucks."

As he passed, Hannah called out without even thinking. "You charging extra for that view, handsome?"

He slowed. Turned, just enough, then smiled.

"Only if you want the hands-on version."

Then he carried on. The silence he left behind stung like sunburnt skin.

Hannah laughed quietly to herself and took another sip of her drink. "Well," she murmured. "That's definitely mine."

Libby didn't say anything, but her cheeks were warm. Jess looked after him. "He knows exactly what he's doing."

"That's what makes it hot," Hannah replied.

Meg stared at the pool. Her drink untouched. She didn't look at anyone, but she was smiling.

For the next twenty minutes, they mention him. But he was in every silence. Every time one of them adjusted her bikini. Every glance over a shoulder. Every little shift in posture.

Rio had become something else. Not just a hot guy at the resort, but the guy.

He was the fantasy. The temptation. And maybe, if they weren't careful, the trouble too.

-x-x-

Chapter 4: Club Night Begins

The early evening sun spilled across the hotel room in thick, honeyed streaks, slipping through gauzy curtains and drenching everything in a golden glow.

Outside, the sea shimmered beyond the rooftops, still and endless. But, inside, chaos reigned.

The bathroom steamed like a sauna. A curling tong hissed on the sink. A razor rested in a puddle of water beside a smashed bronzer compact. Makeup brushes were scattered across the counter. Perfume clung to the air thick and overpowering - vanilla, coconut, rose - each note clawing for dominance.

Towels lay where they'd fallen - over chairs, across beds, draped over suitcases. Someone's heels had found their way in the minibar. A thong dangled from the bathroom door handle. Hairdryers roared in bursts, and laughter echoed through clouds of setting spray.

Hannah moved through the mess like she was oblivious to it all. Long legs, towel wrapped around her waist, red toenails against the cool tile. She stood at the sink, one foot propped on the edge, casually shaving her legs in the mirror, cocktail glass balanced on the shelf above the taps.

Rinse. Pat dry. Sip.

She ran mousse through her hair, tousled it into something wild and deliberate, then leaned in close to the mirror to line her lips in deep scarlet. She started to dress: No bra, no panties, no apologies. Just a black mesh crop top, nipples visible, and a tiny black leather mini skirt that rode up with every stride. Five-inch stilettos completed the look. She checked herself, turned sideways, and grinned.

"Slut goals," she said, loud enough for the others to hear.

Across the room, Libby stood at the foot of her bed holding up two dresses. Both short, both obscene. She looked between them like she was testing the limits of good taste.

"Fuck it," she said. "I don't know anyone here."

She slipped into the peach halter dress - backless, braless, clinging like a second skin. It stopped just short of her arse. Her toned legs looked incredible. Her shoulders, strong and soft all at once.

She didn't ask what anyone thought. She just looked in the mirror, nodded once, and started doing her mascara.

Jess, sprawled on the floor in front of the full-length mirror. A half-empty mojito rested on the floor beside her. She leaned in, tongue between her teeth, dragging a black wing of eyeliner across one eyelid with the focus of a sniper.

She wore high-waisted denim shorts, no knickers. A slashed vintage band tee hung loose over her tits, braless, her nipples just visible when she raised her arm. Chunky black platform boots waited by the door.

"If we don't get fingered on a dancefloor tonight," she said, not looking up, "what even was the point?"

Hannah raised her glass, laughing. "To fingering."

Libby snorted. Meg - sitting cross-legged on the edge of her bed - just smiled.

She hadn't changed yet. Her legs were smooth and bare, her hair pinned up with a claw clip. She watched the others with a mix of admiration and awe, biting the corner of her lip. Then, slowly, she reached into her suitcase and pulled out a lime-green bikini-style mini dress she'd bought online in a moment of madness and never dared wear.

It was tiny. Backless. Tight as anything, and like a second bikini with a micro hem and barely-there straps. One wrong move and her whole body would be on display.

She stood, stepped into it. Adjusted the top and pulled it higher. She blushed.

"Meg," Hannah said, turning to look, eyes wide.

A pause. Then a slow, approving whistle.

"That, babe," she said, "is how you cause trouble. A lot of fucking trouble."

Meg looked at herself in the mirror. Then again, as though just to be sure. Her nipples were visible. Her thighs soft and golden. Her cleavage was frankly offensive. She smiled - just a little.

Libby caught her reflection in the mirror and smiled too.

***

The sun was slipping low in the sky by the time they reached the promenade. The pavement radiated heat from the day's sun, and the early evening air was thick with promise. San Antonio buzzed around them - a heady cocktail of music, movement, and sex waiting to happen.

Promoters lined the shopfronts, shouting club names and free drink offers, brandishing leaflets like passports to something naughty. Girls in tiny dresses tottered past on ridiculous heels, laughing too loud. Scooters zipped by in reckless bursts, carrying bronzed boys with towels slung over their shoulders and eyes full of mischief.

And then there were the four of them. They moved like they'd been choreographed - perhaps the opening credit to some B-movie or another.

The beach bar was tucked just off the main drag, a slightly elevated wooden deck overlooking the sand, lit with tangled fairy lights and flickering tea candles in coloured jars. A low fence of driftwood framed the place, and the sound of the sea whispered beneath the music - chilled house beats rolling in waves.

They picked a corner table with a view of the water. It was the kind of scene you'd think was staged if you saw it on Instagram: the sun melting into the sea, casting gold across the girls' faces and glasses catching the light like gemstones.

They dropped into their chairs with the lazy elegance of women who knew they were being watched.

Jess didn't hesitate. She waved a waiter over and ordered two mojitos at once. They came in tall glasses packed with mint and ice.

Hannah, lounging sideways in her seat, her leather skirt hitched high on one thigh, called for a couple of tequila shots. "Cleanse the soul," she said, "or strip it bare."

The salt was rimmed thick. She licked it off the back of her hand with a purr and downed the shot in one smooth throw.

Libby ordered frozen daiquiris, peach-coloured and thick with slush. She sipped it slowly, letting the cold sting her lips as her gaze drifted across the terrace. A group of men had noticed them - tan, fit, in tight white tees or open shirts, all watching like they were trying not to be obvious. Libby held their gaze for a second too long before looking away.

Meg clutched a tall cocktail - pink and frothy and laced with fruit. She didn't drink it quickly, just let the glass cool her fingers while she soaked it all in. The glow on her cheeks wasn't just the alcohol. It was the moment. The knowing. The sense that she'd crossed into something exciting and raw that might just push her to her limits.

Their table quickly filled with scattered glasses, lime wedges balanced on napkins, lipstick marks smudging the rims.

The sky turned from gold to blood orange and the bar lights flickered on. Music shifted, the tempo rising just slightly.

"I want to be pushed up against something," Hannah said, licking salt off her hand.

Jess didn't miss a beat. "A wall? A man? A moral boundary?"

Hannah's grin was slow. "Yep. Preferably all the above."

They laughed - heads thrown back, drinks raised, legs crossed and eyes sparkling.

Then came the rituals: Phones out, selfie mode on. Lip gloss reapplied and fingers run through hair. Straps adjusted, skirts tugged higher. Each one of them becoming more than just a girl on holiday - they were becoming versions of themselves. Louder, braver, dirtier.

***

The club hit them like a punch to the chest.

From the second they stepped through the tunnel - narrow, black-walled, pulsing with flashing LEDs - the world changed. The air was thick with artificial smoke and anticipation. Beneath their feet, the floor was already wet with spilled drinks, the scent of it rising with the bassline like steam from the ground.

Someone screamed with laughter. A blast of white foam erupted into the air and the beat dropped.

The ceiling was lost in mist.

Lasers cut sideways through fog, painting moving bodies in slashes of violet and blood-red. The crowd was a blur of limbs and sound - skin gleaming, clothes clinging, mouths open, eyes shut, like a collective act of surrender.

Foam rained down in bursts from huge chrome nozzles mounted on the rig. It pumped across the dancefloor in fat jets, soaking shoulders, sticking to bare thighs, gathering like clouds around knees. Every movement sent it swirling, and every burst felt like a climax.

Hannah didn't wait.

She was in before the others could even speak - heels off, leather skirt hitched high, bare feet on the foam-wet tile. She turned at the edge of the crowd and reached for Libby's wrist, grinning wide.

"Come on," she implored.

She pulled her in - hard - and the crowd swallowed them both. Libby gasped as the foam hit her like a tidal wave. Her peach halter dress clung in seconds, the fabric going almost translucent. Her nipples went hard, tight against the thin material, though she barely noticed. Her heart was pounding too loud to care. She let Hannah drag her deeper, between strangers, into bodies.

Jess was already gone too.

The moment the bassline hit, she'd vanished sideways into the crush. A hand grabbed her waist - she didn't even look to see whose - and she moved with it, grinding hard, foam up to her thighs, boots slick and legs sliding. Her band tee was plastered to her tits, one slit in the side now gaping open.

Her tongue was out and her eyes closed. She looked utterly made for this place. Sweaty, untouchable and wild. A mouth grazed her neck. She didn't turn - just pushed back harder, riding the beat

Meg lingered on the edge.

She stood for a moment just beyond the reach of the foam, her lime green microdress already damp around the hem. Then someone called out to her. A group of Irish girls, foam-blasted and pissed, pulled her into a circle. A stag party followed. Shirtless men, full of tattoos and testosterone.

Meg smiled, nervously. Then she stepped in. She moved shyly at first - arms loose, smile tight. But as the foam rose and the beat climbed she began to let go and rolled her hips. Slowly, but full of intention and absolutely fucking magnetic.

Hands clapped and laughter bubbled. Meg flushed, but she didn't stop. She danced like she'd just been dared to admit who she really was for the very first time.

Further into the dancefloor Hannah spun, danced, ground her body against three men in ten minutes. She let hands touch her waist and her arse. She kissed one. Laughed in the face of another.

Then she saw him.

Tall. Dark. Shirt open. Chain around his neck catching the strobe. Skin slick with foam and sweat.

He didn't move toward her. Didn't beckon. He just stood, and watched.

She walked to him. He didn't smile. He just reached out, took her hip, and pulled her in.

They didn't speak, they moved. Chest to chest, hips grinding. Mouths brushing and teasing.

His hand slid around her arse, down, fingers tugging the waistband of her skirt, testing the elastic. She leaned into him, lips on his jaw, and bit his lip.

He kissed her - open-mouthed. She let him. Pulled him closer. Bit again.

***

Jess was up on a platform now, tee rolled up to her ribs, shorts soaked, arms raised as she mirrored the moves of a cage dancer.

She moved like a storm - a mixture of pure abandon, fuck-me energy, and dangerous joy.

Meg was flushed, laughing, hands on a stranger's chest, hips grinding with confidence that surprised even her. She glanced across the floor and met Libby's eyes. They smiled.

Then Hannah reappeared - hair soaked, skirt hitched higher than before, the guy's arm around her waist, her lipstick smeared in a way that said it had served its purpose.

She didn't have to say anything, but she did.

"Going to his hotel for a bit," she said, breathless.

Jess cackled, mid-drink. "Don't lose your knickers."

Hannah smirked. "Already did."

Then she was gone, the guy behind her following like someone who'd just won the lottery.

The girls watched in silence. No one said it, but all of them felt it.

The first line had been crossed and something inside each of them whispered: When's my turn?

-x-x-

Chapter 5: Ruin Me

The street was quieter out here, but only by Ibiza standards. Somewhere down the hill, a car revved loudly. Laughter peeled from a rooftop. A scooter zipped past, twin girls riding it side-saddle in mini dresses and heels, hair blowing wildly in the breeze.

Hannah didn't care. She was walking like she was on a runway - barefoot, mesh crop top still drenched, skirt clinging to her hips like wet paint. Her mascara was half gone, smudged into the corner of one eye, but she didn't care about that either.

She walked like a woman who'd already fucked - or was about to. Beside her the guy - Luca, Italian, she'd finally learned - said nothing. He didn't need to - the sexual tension between them so thick it left a wake.

She could smell him - sweat, cologne, alcohol and foam. Not fresh, not crisp, but real. His chest was bare under that half-open shirt, the chain on his neck tapping lightly against the hollow of his throat with every step.

They passed a shuttered tattoo studio, the flash-art boards glowing faintly in pink neon. A tangle of arms. A crown. A heart pierced by a dagger.

Hannah paused and looked at the heart. Then she looked at Luca.

"You're not gonna fall in love, are you?"

He didn't smile. Just said, "Not tonight," in a thick Italian accent.

And that was exactly the answer she wanted.

***

His hotel was just up the hill - newer and smarter. A different tax bracket from the one she was sharing with the girls, though theirs was nice enough.

The doorman looked up but didn't stop them.

Inside, the air-conditioning hit her like welcome relief, her nipples tightening even more.

The elevator ride was silent. At least on the outside. Inside, her mind was racing.

What would his cock taste like? Would he go slow, or would he pin her to the wall and split her in half? Would she ride him? Or would she beg?

She caught their reflection in the mirror: her top see-through, her legs shining, her lipstick ruined. His hand hovered an inch from her hip, fingers twitching, not quite touching - but ready. She imagined him gripping her from behind and fucking her right there, her palms pressed to the mirrored walls, her tits jiggling in the glass.

The lift dinged.

They reached the room.

Keycard.

Click.

Door open.

The light from the balcony cast everything in a faint glow. Thin curtains moved in the breeze, the town murmuring just beyond.

She stepped inside and turned to face him. The look he gave her wasn't romantic. It was raw. Like he was already fucking her in his head. She didn't blink.

"Lock the door," she said.

He did.

"Now get your cock out."

***

Luca's eyes darkened. He didn't ask questions. He just stepped out of his shoes, dropped his shorts, and let it fall free.

And fuck, it didn't disappoint.

Thick. Dark. Long. A heavy curve to the left. Veined. Already stiffening.

It bobbed slightly when it dropped, swollen and proud, the kind of cock that shut people up.

But not Hannah.

She tilted her head, ran her tongue across her bottom lip, and said, "Knew it."

Then she stepped forward, unzipped her leather skirt with one slow tug, and let it fall to the floor. No panties, her pussy already slick and ready for whatever was to come.

She closed the space between them, walking barefoot on the cool tile, wet footprints behind her.

He went to reach for her but she stopped him with one finger pressed to his chest.

"I didn't say touch me."

She dropped to her knees.

The tile was cold beneath her skin, but her body was on fire.

From above, his cock swayed toward her lips, thick and beautiful, the head glossed and swollen. She wrapped her hand around it, slowly. She felt the pulse against her palm, the heat of it, the promise.

She looked up at him, pupils blown wide.

"Be a good boy," she said. "Let me taste."

Then she opened her mouth and took him in.

***

It started slow. Teasing. She circled the tip with her tongue, licking up his precum, coating her lips. Then she took him deeper - one inch, two, then all the way until her throat flexed and her nose pressed to his abs.

He let out a strangled groan, one hand going instinctively to her head.

She pulled back instantly, lips wet, eyes sharp.

"Did I say you could touch me?"

He froze, looking panicked.

"Good," she said, wickedness glinting in her eye.

Then she took him again - faster this time. Her mouth wet and sloppy, her hand working the base. She moaned around him, sending vibrations through his shaft. Drool pooled at the corners of her mouth, dripping down her chin. Her mascara ran.

She was a fucking vision.

Red lipstick smeared across his shaft. Her free hand crept between her own legs, fingers finding her pussy and clit. She rubbed herself while sucking him off, her own moans growing louder.

He threw his head back in ecstasy.

"If you carry on I'll...."

"No chance," she said, pulling off with a wet pop and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Not yet."

She stood, climbed onto the bed, and stripped off the last of her clothes - top peeled over her head, tits bouncing free.

"Lie back," she said. "It's my turn now."

He did as he was told.

She climbed over him, straddling his thighs, lowering herself slowly until his cock was nestled beneath her, the head dragging along her slit. She rocked forward, back, coating him with her juices, teasing herself with it.

Then she looked him dead in the eye.

He gripped the sheets as she lifted her hips, then she sank down on him, inch by inch, until he was buried deep.

"Oh fuck," she whispered. "That's it. That's it."

She rolled her hips - slow and controlled, dragging his cock across every nerve ending inside her. Her tits bounced. Her hair clung to her shoulders. Her nails raked down his chest.

"You feel that?" she panted. "That's me, owning you."

She rode him hard, like a woman either with something to prove or complete abandon.

Every bounce of her hips was a statement. Every moan was filthy, cries echoing off the walls. She came once, maybe twice - hard and loud - but she didn't stop.

Eventually, she let him flip her. He grabbed her hips, slammed into her from behind, and this time - this time - she let him take control.

He pounded into her, grunting. Her tits bounced against the sheets, her face pressed to the pillow.

Her voice was hoarse.

"Harder... fuck... more... come on... yes... ruin me, baby...."

So he did.

He pulled her hair, spanked her arse, drove his cock deep into her - relentless, brutal, and fucking glorious. Her thighs shook. Her moans turned into cries and her body gave in.

She shattered and came so hard she saw stars, body convulsing around him, her orgasm ripping through her like lightning.

That was when he let go too. He pulled out just in time, groaning loudly as he spilled cum across the curve of her arse, hot and thick.

***

The bed was a wreck. Sheets were tangled, pillows on the floor, a smear of red lipstick across them. Music from a nearby club still pulsed faintly through the glass, like the night itself wasn't done - even if they were.

Hannah lay on her back, one leg still bent lazily at the knee. Her body ached in that delicious, used way - pussy sore, hair a mess, skin tingling from the memory of his hands.

He was somewhere in the bathroom, the tap running, though she didn't care.

She found her phone beside the bed. Two missed calls from Jess. A text from Meg:

U alive??

She smirked. Typed back:

Objective 1: Done. It's true what they say about Italian blokes :-) xx

She sat up, reached for her crop top, tugged it back over her head. Just enough dignity to walk back through the lobby with her chin high. She stepped into her skirt, wincing as it stuck slightly to her skin, then found her heels under the chair.

She checked herself in the mirror. Mascara smeared, lips flushed from kissing, pussy sore. But she still looked amazing.

Luca emerged from the bathroom - naked but towel in hand. His expression was somewhere between impressed and unsure.

"You heading off?"

Hannah didn't pause.

"You were great," she said, heading for the door. "But I don't sleep over."

She winked as she opened it.

"Thanks for the cock though. Grade A."

And then she was gone - striding barefoot down the corridor, heels in hand, walking like a woman who'd taken what she wanted and was happy to leave the rest behind.

-x-x-

Chapter 6: Walk of Shame

Hannah walked barefoot through the old town, heels slung by their straps over one shoulder, her mesh crop top clinging in places it shouldn't. Her skirt had ridden up high, but she didn't fix it. The few people on the street - shopkeepers restocking goods, a group of Germans laughing too loud, a couple snogging like they were still in the club - barely registered.

The sun had started to crack over the horizon, bleeding pink across the sky. Even the bin lorry chugging past looked mildly cinematic.

She was wrecked. Tired and physically exhausted. A killer hangover was starting to kick in. Yet she was glowing. She looked like someone who'd had a good time - the kind of good time that offered no apologies.

She remembered the night in fragments.

His moan when she dropped to her knees. The feel of his cock choking her throat. The way her name sounded in Italian as he came all over her arse.

Her own voice, half-feral, begging him to fuck her harder. And the way he'd done exactly that.

A little grin flickered.

Night one. Box ticked. Six more nights of fun and filth to come.

The hotel was quiet, save for the hum of aircon and the soft echo of someone having an argument down the hall. She slipped the keycard into the door, nudged it open with her shoulder, and tiptoed in.

The blackout curtains kept the room dark, but her eyes adjusted quickly.

Libby was passed out in one bed, a leg hanging over the edge, clutching her phone like she'd fallen asleep mid-text. A melted Twister lolly lay abandoned on the nightstand beside her, a pool of artificial fruit syrup seeping into a napkin.

Meg stirred under her sheet. She turned, glanced at Hannah - eyes half-lidded, unreadable - then said nothing. Just blinked, once, a silent question left hanging.

Hannah didn't answer. Just peeled off her crop top slowly, the cool air brushing against her bare tits. She let it hang in her hand a second too long, then dropped it. Stepped out of her skirt. Stood there naked in the low light for a moment, her silhouette sharp and smug.

She didn't try to shower. Didn't bother sneaking. This was a fuck-you strut, even at 5 a. m.

She tugged on an oversized t-shirt from the floor - Jess's probably - and climbed into her bed with a satisfied groan.

Her phone buzzed under the pillow.

Jess:

Still in some guy's room. Still haven't seen his face. Top shag though. You? x

Hannah:

Totally rinsed. But fucking worth it xx

She grinned and stretched. Let her thighs fall open under the covers, and sighed. Her mind - just for a second - flicked sideways.

To him.

Not Luca.

Rio.

The way he moved. The sweat down his back in the sun. That faint smirk like he already knew things she hadn't admitted yet.

If that was the starter... what would Rio be like?

She closed her eyes and smiled to herself. Then slipped into a deep sleep, still wet between the legs.

-x-x-

Chapter 7: Poolside Gossip

It was nearly lunchtime by the time they woke and made it downstairs. The pool shone like glass, the surface a shimmering sheet of turquoise broken only by lazy strokes and splashes. Speakers mounted to whitewashed beams pulsed with a steady low-end beat.

Four sun loungers. Four girls in sunglasses. All pretending they weren't wrecked.

Hannah arrived last - oversized iced coffee in one hand, shades pushed up into her tangled hair. She wore a black bikini that looked sprayed on. Minimal coverage but maximum message.

She dropped into her lounger with a contented sigh and stretched her legs like a cat in the sun. Jess raised her eyebrows, half-impressed, half-exhausted.

"You've got that glow," she said, pulling on her vape. "Like, properly rearranged-your-guts glow."

Hannah smirked. "He did try."

Meg was sipping pineapple juice through a straw, legs curled under her, oversized T-shirt knotted at the waist, bikini straps peeking out.

Libby sat quietly, cross-legged, balancing her smoothie on her knee. Her bikini was pale blue, clean lines, flattering fit - innocent, if you didn't notice the way the top hugged her chest. She had her hair up in a twist, sunglasses on, lip gloss reapplied twice already.

"So," Jess drawled, "was Luca a lover or a fighter?"

Hannah exhaled like it was a memory worth smoking. "Both. He was an equal opportunities offender."

Meg giggled softly.

Jess snorted. "Slut."

And proud," Hannah said, lifting her coffee like a toast. "Night one. One down."

Slight pause, then she added: "Might need a chiropractor though."

Libby tried not to laugh, but it came out anyway - short, sweet, too loud. She sipped quickly to cover it, eyes wandering over the pool.

There he was.

Rio.

Across the deck. Shirtless and bronzed. A resistance band looped over one shoulder, a towel in hand, headset clipped to his ear as he wrapped up a poolside fitness session. His shorts hung so low they should've been illegal.

He turned, laughing at something one of the guests said, and for a moment, his eyes flicked across the pool deck. Not at them, not directly, but it felt like it.

Libby swallowed, hard, her throat suddenly dry. Her gaze lingered. Unashamed.

Watching his arms. His back. The way he scratched the back of his neck, like he knew.

"Libs?" Hannah nudged her with her foot. "You good?"

Libby blinked. She looked away and smiled.

"Yeah. Just... the heat."

Jess clocked it. Meg too.

No one said anything. But something subtle shifted between them - just for a moment - as if the axis of the trip had tilted ever so slightly.

Rio disappeared into the back of the resort, swallowed by palms and soft music.

Libby exhaled. She didn't know what she wanted from this week. Not yet. But her body had ideas.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ready for episode 2? Let me know....

She came to get away.

From bad boyfriends, crap sex and painful breakups.

She didn't expect him.

Day two starts with sweat - but not the kind she imagined. Rio's hands are firm, his words filthy, and when the others head back to the beach, Libby lingers.

One beer becomes two.

A stretch turns into something else entirely.

Pinned to the mat, fucked slow and deep, Libby learns exactly what her body's been craving - and what it means to keep a secret.

She won't tell the girls.

Not yet.

But the seal's broken - and the flood is coming.