🌴 Tropical Permission 📖 Chapter Five (a): The Spa
Circling back to earlier in our story...
Adding some additional continuity & context as Tropical Permission develops. Sorry for bouncing around - hope you enjoy the addition! It may be come relevant as we progress (hint, hint). - L.H.
They walked to the spa after breakfast, robe belts tied loose around their waists, the bright sun softened by clouds that hadn’t yet burned off. The path wound past palms and flowering shrubs, everything thick with color. Diane felt the remnants of James’s come, dried on her lower back beneath her robe, and considered not washing it off.
The spa sat low and cool at the edge of the property, surrounded by still water and stone. Inside, the air changed: dim, quiet, lemongrass-scented. The world outside slowed to a hush.
The woman at the desk greeted them by name and offered cucumber water. “Your therapists will be ready shortly.”
James smiled at Diane over the rim of his glass, then let his head fall back against the lounger in the relaxation room. His legs parted easily. Diane could feel her own body still humming, still wet. The silence between them bridged by connection.
A man stepped into the doorway.
“Mrs. Allen?” he asked, in a soft accent that made the word sound more graceful than it had at the front desk.
Diane looked up. He was tall, early thirties, Mediterranean-looking. Dark hair tied back at the neck. Strong shoulders under a gray spa shirt, sleeves rolled high on his forearms. His eyes were warm and polite. There was something behind them. A quiet empathy.
“Diane,” she said, standing. Her robe shifted over her hips.
“I’m Marco,” he said. “Right this way.”
He held the door open for her. She passed him, caught the clean scent of cedarwood and citrus, and followed him into a private treatment room. The table was freshly made, towels perfectly folded, lights low. She felt suddenly self-conscious. Visible.
“I’ll step out while you get settled,” Marco said. “Face down, please. Undress to your comfort.”
She nodded. Her voice caught slightly. “Thank you.”
When the door closed behind him, she untied the robe and let it fall. Naked beneath. She didn’t reach for the modesty towel right away. She stood in the low light for a moment, bare, aware of her body in a new way. Not self-critical. Not seductive. Present.
She climbed onto the table and pulled the sheet over herself. Closed her eyes.
⸻
Marco’s hands were expert. The pressure deep, unhurried. First her shoulders, then the length of her back. His fingers found knots she hadn’t known she had. She exhaled through her nose, let herself sink into it.
But even as her muscles softened, her mind struggled to do the same.
She was thinking about James. About the way he’d looked at her this morning. About what they’d done. What they’d said.
Use me, baby.
She had known those words were inside her, that sort of desire was inside her - but she thought it buried in a past, younger version of herself. The version of herself that existed before James. And now that it was out, the part of her that had said those words refused to go back into hiding.
Use me, baby.
Marco’s palms pressed down along the sides of her spine. His touch was clinical but not detached. She felt attended to. Not just rubbed down. Seen.
Her thoughts drifted to the story she hadn’t told James.
The second one.
The memory had come back to her over breakfast. A flash of it, carried on the heat of his gaze and the bitter coffee on her tongue. But here, under Marco’s hands, it returned more fully:
The night in Croatia. The two Italian men. The way they’d made her feel like a gift they were unwrapping together, an expensive meal they were sharing.
Diane shifted slightly. Marco adjusted the sheet without comment.
She felt suddenly aware of her own wetness. Not overt. Not obvious. But unmistakable.
Her heart picked up.
What would it feel like if James were in the room right now? Watching this?
Not anything inappropriate. Not a breach of etiquette. Just his wife, naked, glistening slightly with oil, stretched out beneath another man’s hands. Letting herself feel.
Not imagining.
Just receiving.
Marco moved to her calves. His thumbs circled behind her knees. His breath was steady. He did not speak.
Diane did not open her eyes. She focused on her breath and the sensations of Marco’s hands on her skin, the pressure on her muscles. Breathing in and out through her nose she let the thoughts swim and dance across her consciousness and disappear as she relaxed into his touch.
“Mrs. Allen?” She awakened in relaxed bliss, like her whole body had made a gentle sigh. “You can lie here until you’re ready to get up. I’ll go get you a cup of water.”
“Thank you, Marco,” she said groggily. She sat up and stretched her naked torso into the air, twisting from the hips and feeling refreshed, renewed.
Awareness of anxiety still occupied her mind, but it too had been eased, relaxed.
Marco returned with a cool cup of citrus-infused water which she accepted gratefully. He handed Diane her robe, at which point she realized she was still completely naked. She sipped her water in the nude, handing it back to Marco before slipping into her robe and walking to the lobby to meet James for lunch.
Want more? Read Chapter Six here.
Just finding Tropical Permission? The story is up to Chapter 13 - get caught up with the first few chapters below (the chapter you just read fits between 5 and 6):
