🌴 Tropical Permission 📖 Chapter Fourteen: The Idea
They agreed on the rules. Now comes the first chance to test them.
The heat of the morning had grown fuller now, rippling off the tile and warming the salt-laced air. The pool shimmered like a jewel, its surface almost too perfect to disturb.
Diane reclined in a lounger beneath a wide umbrella, her freshly purchased bikini gleaming white against her skin. They’d bought it at the hotel gift shop just twenty minutes earlier. James had picked it out.
It barely qualified as swimwear, more Fredrick’s of Hollywood than Speedo.
The top was a triangle cut, almost translucent when wet — which they both knew from testing it under the faucet in their room. The bottoms were scandalously narrow, cut high over her hips and low over everything else. The woman at the counter had raised an eyebrow. Diane had smiled and said, “Vacation,” by way of explanation.
Now she was sprawled in it, sunglasses on, a hint of sheen on her chest and shoulders from the spray of mineral water James had just applied for her. She enjoyed the feeling of being a bit exposed, the feeling of sun hitting parts of her skin rarely left uncovered.
James sat beside her, sipping something citrusy and alcoholic, eyes hidden behind mirrored lenses.
“So,” he said lazily. “Do we make a spreadsheet?”
She turned her head slightly, amused. “A spreadsheet.”
“You know. Prospects. Screening questions. Availability. Maybe a column for ‘General Vibes.’”
She laughed. “You are not allowed to project manage our threesome.”
“I didn’t say Gantt chart,” he said, mock-wounded. “Just a few helpful data points.”
Diane took a long sip of her drink and nodded subtly to the pool. “We could start here.”
A man was swimming slow laps, athletic and tanned, with a swimmer’s shoulders and hair slicked to his skull.
James considered. “A little generic. Hot, but… catalog model energy.”
“Mmm. Okay, fair. What about the bartender?”
They both looked toward the outdoor bar. He was tall, early thirties, a long braid tied down his back, pouring something pink into a martini glass.
“Could be perfect,” James said. “Although that braid! Hard pass.”
“Yikes! Agreed,” Diane said laughing, slightly devilishly.
Their banter was light, familiar. Like scouting a neighborhood together for houses. Safe.
“Wait,” James said, “what about—”
But Diane wasn’t listening. Her sunglasses had shifted slightly and her eyes had landed on someone walking past the far end of the pool.
Marco.
The massage therapist from their second day. He wore the resort’s soft gray uniform: loose pants, a short-sleeved shirt. His skin gleamed a little, dark gold and smooth. His body was lean and strong like a masseur should be, not built to impress but built to function. His walk was unhurried, purposeful.
He hadn’t seen them yet.
Diane raised a hand and waved.
Marco’s face lit up with recognition. He altered course and approached.
“Mrs. Allen,” he said warmly. “And Mr. Allen. How’s your stay been?”
“Bliss,” Diane said. “Thanks to you. That massage set the tone.”
“I’m glad,” he said, his smile professional but genuine. He glanced at James, nodding politely.
“We were just saying,” Diane continued, “it might be time for another one.”
“I think I have some time this afternoon,” Marco said. “I’m heading to the spa now to check my schedule. If you’d like, I can have someone send word to you here.”
Diane smiled. “That would be perfect. Would it be possible to come to our room instead of the spa?”
“Of course,” he said.
“That would be wonderful,” Diane said sincerely, softly placing a hand on her chest as she looked at him. “Thank you, Marco.”
James stayed quiet.
Marco gave a small bow. “I’ll let you know soon.” Then he walked off, back toward the spa.
Diane turned toward James, studying his face.
He lifted his sunglasses. “So.”
“So,” she echoed.
“That was,” he cleared his throat purposefully, “deliberate.”
She raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “Not entirely. I didn’t plan it.”
“But you didn’t not plan it.”
She shrugged coyly. “I saw him. It occurred to me. So I tried.”
James nodded slowly, processing. “You want him to touch you.”
“I want you to see me being touched,” she said, her voice even. “By someone else. Not sexually. But intimately. Deliberately.”
James looked away, toward the pool. “So this would be a test.”
“Let’s call it,” she said, matching his gaze to the water. “A way for us to dip our toes in the water. You’d be there. I wouldn’t be doing anything I haven’t done before. I just… wouldn’t be alone this time.”
James didn’t answer right away. She watched his throat work as he swallowed, then nodded.
“You’re sure he’s… professional?”
“Very,” she said. “But he’s also quite good with his hands. And you said yourself you wanted to see me.”
Just then, a pool waiter appeared at the edge of their umbrella. “Excuse me. Marco has availability at two., if you’d still like an in-room session this afternoon.”
Diane smiled. “Yes, please. That’s perfect.”
The waiter nodded and left.
James leaned back in his lounger, exhaled through his nose.
“Well then. Two p.m. it is.”
Diane let her head fall to one side, studying him with a slow smile.
“Don’t worry,” she murmured. “He’ll be in our room for an hour, and then it will be just the two of us.”
James didn’t answer, but she could see it in the set of his mouth — a mix of nerves and arousal, unease and eagerness. He was no longer watching strangers. Now, he was watching reality unfold before his eyes.