The party was a riot of colour and sound, thrumming basslines pulsing through every crack in the dilapidated limestone mansion of Sami Richenauer. Light spilled from chandeliers like melted jewels, and 311 guests moved like tides through grand halls and vine-covered courtyards. But in one tucked-away corner of the pool house, behind a curtain of crushed velvet and fairy lights, a small, dark confession booth hummed with mystery.
Inside it, two figures sat opposite each other, knees nearly touching. One of them was Wolfgang.
Wolfgang was a showstopper by default; tall and lean, with a jaw sharp as rebellion and spark-eyed charisma that could set off sprinklers. Tonight, he wore a loose, branded floral-print shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his chest, sleeves rolled casually to his elbows. The soft fabric swayed every time he gestured. His beige chino pants hugged his hips loosely but perfectly, and his pristine white sneakers were the kind of clean that made people wonder if he'd levitated.
Across from him was Sami.
Sami Richenauer, mistress of the mansion and the party's hostess, was the epitome of curated chaos. Her copper hair - somewhere between chestnut and sunset - spilled in waves around her shoulders. She wore a ribbed white tank top, tucked into a pair of relaxed dark-green cargo pants cinched at the waist with a neon pink belt. Chunky boots grounded her, silver chains swung from her neck, and her eyes, warm and sharp like vintage whiskey, scanned Wolfgang with focused amusement.
"Well, this place sure is cozy," Wolfgang remarked, his voice carrying a silky ease as he leaned back into the plush velvet seat. The dim fairy lights overhead caught in the intricate floral pattern of his shirt, each blossom flickering like stained glass as he moved. He shifted his legs slightly, one ankle resting casually over the other knee, the fabric of his beige chinos creasing neatly. The floral print of his shirt shimmered in delicate hues - wine red, jungle green, indigo - dancing under the warm glow like a living tapestry. His smirk curled slowly, not just playful but touched with something deeper, something intrigued. His eyes, blue-green and flickering with the booth's soft candle-like fairy light, lingered on Sami with a quiet intensity.
"Only the best for secret truths," Sami replied, her voice a velvety ribbon of sound that curled around the air like smoke. It was low and melodic, the kind of tone that lingered in the ears long after the words were spoken. Her eyes sparkled mischievously under the soft glow, and as she leaned back, the silver chains around her neck gave the faintest clink, as if punctuating her intent. The way she said it - half playful, half intimate - made it feel like a promise shared in candlelight, fragile and rich with possibility; she wanted him, and she desired to be as intimidate as possible with him, her secret flame of love.
Here in this enclosed place, it had to happen— the spark. At first - when Wolf had approached her earlier - she felt a whiffle of insecurity and a jolt of surprise purring through her veins, but now that he sat in front of her - being all sublime in his laid-back beauty - Sami herself took over that relaxed energy that radiated from him; a sizzling rush of self-assurance welled-up inside her, and she felt eager to take a bite out of him.
Here, the party was muffled. Just them and the booth. And something electric in the air. Normally people would back down when being one-on-one with the person they love, but strangely Sami had none of that, in contrary; a beam of excitement enlightened her mind into playfulness— if there was one thing Sami had a weakness for, then it was her relentless love for challenges and games, and being confronted with the person she loved - sitting with him in a small, secluded spot - awakened a positive tentative force inside; it was now or never, do or die; whether they would become love birds depended on this moment. Sami felt an eagerness for love-hunting engulfing her; her booty sat within arm's reach and its delicious scent tickled her senses in an overheat of wanting. Wanting him for herself. And not just a part of him, no, she wanted to capture the whole treasure for herself!
Sami was surprised by her own avid joy, and she thanked Misa for pushing her into this booth with him. Why am I always so rigid and starch when it's about love? I should be more happy-go-lucky in matters of love.... Love is somewhat of a game in itself, a play of pulling and pushing with the goal of eventually sticking together. Kinda exciting in a way....
Like a hawk she had her sights set on him now; patiently awaiting the right moment to overwhelm the silver-tongued peacock prince of delightful refinement with her passion and longing. But first it was on him to make his move, to give her a push; Sami awaited his sweet offensive with delight.
As they sat together in close proximity and under dim light, the scent hit her— sweet saffron and glowing amber, soft yet piercing, like heat laced with silk. It wasn't just cologne; it was a signature, a spell. Baccarat Rouge 540 danced between them, luxurious and strange, like whispered secrets in velvet halls.
Sami felt it in her chest first, then lower, an ache blooming with every inhale. His melodic voice, his wild curls, his serpent-like turquoise eyes - all magnetic - but it was that scent that made her predator-sense brisk up in fierce alertness of maximum sharpness. It wrapped around her, pulling her closer before he even touched her. She wanted to breathe him in forever. He smelled like danger dressed in innocent silk, the fallen angel Lucifer with his blinding and treacherous appearance of the most delicious, irresistible kind.
Inside the velvet-draped booth, the air was thicker than outside— not from heat, but from something slower, heavier. Anticipation. The fairy lights strung overhead cast a honeyed glow, painting their skin in golds and warm shadows.
Wolfgang stretched out leisurely, letting his fingers toy with the hem of his sleeve. His grin was a full, unbothered arc. "You know," he said, tilting his head just so, "I was worried this booth was going to be a cheap stunt. But now that you're sitting across from me? I'm willing to revise my expectations."
Sami leaned forward, one elbow on her knee, her chin resting on her hand. "Oh? And what were your expectations exactly? A shallow girl giggling at your shirt and pretending not to be staring at your chest?"
"Well.... Yes," he said without hesitation, shrugging theatrically. "But apparently the presence of the delightful Sami Richenauer herself enlightens even the dullest, clampy and musty spots on earth. Well, you're a fashion goddess after all. And a party queen. Owner of the single most intimidating belt in the building."
She smirked and flicked the end of the neon pink belt around her waist. "You're not the first to fear the belt," she said. "But you might be the first who will be spanked by it."
Wolfgang blinked. Then laughed— hard and genuine, caught off guard. "Wow. I didn't expect you to go there."
''Well, you're a very, veeery bad wolf, so it's not out of options.''
"Okay," Wolfgang said, mock-formal. "Enough of the banter, Truth or dare, Madame Hostess?"
Sami grinned. "Truth."
He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "What's one thing you've never told anyone at one of your parties?"
Her smile faded into something thoughtful. She inhaled, exhaled slowly. "I think.... I think I use these parties as a shield sometimes. People think I'm carefree and happy, but honestly? It's easier than being real with anyone," she spoke softly, immediately going all-in and putting all her cards on the table; Sami laid herself intentionally exposed like a Venus flytrap, hoping to lure her opponent into her sweet trap of 'I am deep down very complicated' cliché prattle.
Wolfgang didn't laugh. He just nodded— he took the bait nicely; his gallantness had left its shell.
"Your turn," she said, her voice slipping into something lower, gentler— like velvet drawn over bare skin. Playfulness in her tone gave way to something vulnerable, a quiet intimacy that hovered between them like mist. Her gaze now held a quiet invitation, deep and unwavering it said: 'Come on, show me your Achilles heel, or don't you dare?'
"I act like I'm the most confident guy in the room," he said, his voice suddenly low, stripped of its usual glittering irony. "But most days, I feel like a magician pulling endless scarves from his sleeve - colourful, dazzling, distracting - just to keep people from seeing that underneath it all, I'm not sure if anyone likes me. Not really. Just the show I put on. The jokes, the charm, the flair.... I wonder if they'd still stick around if the spotlight flickered off."
Sami heard Wolfgang's words, and for a moment, the air between them held still— weighty, sincere. But she didn't let it sink too far. She let the silence linger just long enough to prove she'd heard him. Then, with a slow smirk curling at one corner of her lips, she leaned in.
"Ohhh," she breathed, her tone teasing, "so the glitter prince is just a soft, anxious boy under all that shimmer?"
Her voice was velvet— mocking, but warm. Her eyes sparkled with challenge, not cruelty. She tilted her head, exaggeratedly sympathetic. "Poor baby.... All those flamboyant shirts and cologne clouds, just a smokescreen for a fragile little soul." She gave a mock pout. "What are we going to do with you, huh? Wrap you in bubble wrap? Put warning labels on your charm? 'Handle with care: may self-destruct when not admired.'"
Then, in a more genuine voice, softer, lower— something tender threading through the laughter:
"But don't worry, Wolf. I see you. Scarves, sequins, secret existential dread and all. Not just the unbuttoned shirt and practiced swagger, but the bare skin you showed with your words. That kind of honesty? That's rarer than any floral-print masterpiece you've ever worn. And somehow.... It suits you even better, makes you more.... Delicious."
Wolfgang blinked once - slowly - as if her words had physically touched him. The cocky mask didn't shatter, but it wavered, just enough for the boy underneath to peek through.
For a heartbeat, he said nothing.
Then, a breath of a laugh escaped him— quiet, almost disbelieving. He leaned back against the velvet booth wall, hands clasped loosely between his knees, eyes locked on hers with a new kind of focus. Less dazzle. More depth.
"God," he said, voice husky with something raw and reluctant, "you're dangerous."
His smile returned, but it wasn't the usual grin— no flourish, no theatrics. It was lopsided, a little vulnerable. "Most people just clap for the show. You're over here pulling back the curtain like it's a game."
He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands. "You're not supposed to say things like that," he muttered. "You're only supposed to flirt back, or make a joke, or— hell, call me dramatic."
Sami just raised a brow, clearly not letting him off the hook.
Wolfgang huffed, half-laughing again, but this time the sound was quieter. Honest. "You actually see me, huh?" he asked, looking at her like it scared him a little. "That's.... Rare."
Then he tilted his head, gaze softening, but still playful at the edges. "You sure you're not the magician? Because somehow you just undressed my ego without touching me."
Wolfgang's vulnerability softened Sami's attitude and made her even the more interested in his life.
Sami looked him on earnestly now. ''So,'' she said, one brow raised. "Something is actually bothering me, to be honest; you really chose Sport, Fitness, and Physiotherapy as subjects for university? I thought for sure you'd go for Fashion with me. You're practically walking haute couture already."
He paused for effect, then grinned like a boy holding a guilty secret. "Alright. I'll tell you— but only because you look way too good tonight for me to keep secrets." He leaned closer and lowered his voice like a spy revealing state secrets. "It's my undercover ambition to become a professional football player."
Sami blinked. "You? Football?"
He placed a hand on his heart. "Yes. The field, the glory, the stadium lights glinting off my perfectly styled curls.... The world will know me not only for my impeccable style— but for my goals. And not just the aspirational kind."
Sami laughed. "You serious?"
Wolfgang winked. "Deadly serious. And bonus reason—" he flexed his arm in an exaggerated gym-bro pose, "I want to beef up. Get top-fit. I plan to be scandalously shirtless all next summer, and I need abs that make people question their life choices."
She burst out laughing, nearly spilling her drink. "You're a menace."
"An aesthetically driven menace with a protein shake subscription," Wolfgang said proudly.
"But really," she said after a beat, her tone softening. "You could've rocked the fashion world. Like, it was always a blast to work on school projects with you.... You're so creative."
With a little sadness Sami thought back to a school project she and Wolf done together. The magnificent chemistry they shared back then when they were still in the same class and had the opportunity to talk and work with each other more often.
It had been during their second year at Ardenburg-Greenhill High. The assignment was for Cultural Aesthetics— some broad, vaguely-defined project about identity, symbolism, and presentation. While most students defaulted to PowerPoints or poster boards, Sami and Wolfgang had gone rogue.
"We'll do a fashion piece," he had said, eyes glittering with excitement, "but not just clothes—statements. Each outfit will be a persona, a symbol. Like armour, but fabulous."
Sami, naturally, had loved the idea. For a week straight they turned her attic into a chaotic workshop. Fabrics draped over chairs, spools of thread spilled like confetti, and coffee cups marked the trail of their 2 a.m. brainstorms. They laughed a lot— argued a bit too, over the symbolism of a feathered cape or whether silk or mesh "said more about vulnerability." But mostly, they clicked.
She remembered Wolfgang, standing on the makeshift runway they'd built out of cardboard and arrogance, modelling a hybrid look they'd called The Serpent Prince— a wild ensemble of emerald faux leather, gold-thread embroidery, and a mask shaped like a fractured mirror. He had twirled dramatically, arms wide, and announced: "This is not fashion. This is mythology."
And he meant it.
Their presentation blew the class away. Their teacher gave them top marks but also warned, "Don't make the rest of the students feel like peasants at Versailles."
But more than the grade, it was the feeling Sami remembered now— the way she and Wolfgang had created something out of madness and silk, how their ideas tangled and merged like thread being sewn together. It had been chaotic, joyful and intimate.
To this day still her favourite assignment. Her most cherished moment of working together with someone. Unfortunately, back then Wolf was also busy with football and friends causing the contact between them to slowly fade away and eventually they only talked to each other occasionally during parties. Like now. And like in the future, because to her great disappointment he has not chosen fashion as an university subject.
Wolfgang was silent for a few seconds— he must have felt her sad demeanour, because he now said in grave earnestly: ''I have long thought about it, you know. About what to do in the future.... I have always said I wanted to do fashion, doing something creative. But recently my thoughts have changed. I have been playing football since the day I could walk.... After Jake went to that high-end football facility, I really felt jealous, you know? At that moment he was scouted, and he left the team and the club.... I really felt left behind, I wanted to follow him so much. Foremostly to play with him and beside him, but also because it hurt that he - someone who played football for a lesser span of time - had more skill and talent than me. For some reason it unleashed a spark in me, a renewed flame of football enthusiasm, an intense craving to go pro, to become really serious about football and to one day become a professional player playing professionally at a top-tier club besides Jake....''
''Oh, really? That sentiment of yours has completely flown over me.... I really didn't notice at all that becoming a professional football was your new aspiration. This really comes as a surprise....''
''You don't like it?'' Wolfgang said a bit precariously.
''No, no, it's not like that, Wolf, but to be fair.... I had hoped to go on the fashion course with you. Designing the most amazing stuff with you on my side.''
''Sorry, Sami,'' Wolfgang mumbled, the tone of his voice gloomy. ''Of course, the thought of you and me going on the fashion course, designing stuff together was something that appealed to me strongly, but in the end the thought of becoming pro or doing something with sports was more appealing.
''But.... Why do you still desire to become a pro football player when you know that Jake is out of the game? Jake got kicked out a few months ago, so becoming pro is not an option for him anymore. And as far as I know he hasn't resumed playing football these last few months....''
''Dunno,'' Wolfgang said dead honest with a plain voice. 'I have always compared myself to him a lot and to be honest I have always seen him more as a competitor and a rival than as a friend; we were both strikers so I always tried to score more than him, even though I almost never succeeded.... I always wanted to be better than him, in everything. Even now that he is no longer playing football, I still want to try to become a professional to show that I am ultimately better than him.'' He gave a wry chuckle. ''I really sound like an insecure asshole....''
''You're not,'' Sami said firmly and with conviction. ''It's normal and healthy to feel an urge for rivalry and contestation, especially with young men!''
''You're right about that,'' Wolfgang said. ''My rivalry with him has made me stronger, sharper and more skilled in football and sports, without him I would be much less skilled, and I would not be the main striker in the team now.''
''See?'' Sami said smilingly. ''You're more than a confident facade of flamboyance and extravagance! Deep down, you're also conflicted with yourself....''
''Yeah,'' he said softly. ''We all have our difficulties and struggles. And insecurities....''
Silence bloomed between them, warm and heavy. Then Sami reached out, her fingers brushing his wrist gently.
"I like you," she said, sincere. "Not the act. You."
Wolfgang looked at her, really looked, and for once the spark in his eyes dimmed just enough to show something raw underneath.
Sami sat back, suddenly nervous. She cleared her throat.
"Can I tell you something weird?"
"Please do."
She bit her lower lip. "I.... I've always had a type. Not a checklist, but.... Certain patterns."
Wolfgang quirked a brow. "Oh?"
"Yeah," she said, eyes on the floor now. "For example, guys with curly dark blonde hair."
His hand instinctively ran through his tousled curls.
"And I like those kinds of lucid-bright eyes that seems to shift its vibrant colour like sea glass beneath sun and shadow, as if they carry entire seasons in their magnificent depths. Sometimes cool like Arctic tide, other times glowing with the warmth of spring-green moss, or, occasionally - like just now when you addressed me under the bright light of that spotlight near the chocolate-fountain - glistening in defiant and lustrous green, those two wide irises of yours radiating a poisonous green like a devilish viper lurking for the sins of others— the blue purity and cleanliness banished to the far ends of the iris, making its way for the overwhelming green tide of....'' She faltered and stopped her long sentence, too ashamed to continue because she now embarrassedly realised that she had given herself over too much to her passion for his beauty. In her thoughts she resumed the sentence: .... [overwhelming green tide] Of lust, playfulness and heated-up desire welling up in the centre and around the pupil, restively boiling with serpent-like intrigue, that had me completely pinned down for a few seconds at that moment.
Of course, Wolfgang knew now for sure that she spoke of him; only a few people on earth have such green-blue eyes as him. Her indirect admission of admiration for him, made him blush and blink, he said with a voice of silken-soft charming delight: ''Can I know more of those patterns in your that resemble your favourite type?''
Sami regained her cool and chill, she continued calmly: ''Guys with a bold, colourful fashion style that radiates shameless lust, exuberance and flamboyant in its fashion; so extravagant and.... Frivolous that it cannot be ignored.... It attracts, pulls eyes to its perfumed firework like a magnet, an irresistible force....''
She looked up at him now, her burning gaze full lust and ardour piercing through the dim light and the reverent silence of the small booth. "Guys who make rooms brighter with their daring and dazzling appearance but also hold so much back behind their bravado."
Wolfgang's breath hitched. "Sami...." Without thinking he leaned his right thumb on the opening of his loose shirt, exposing even more of his skin.
She reached across the small space and took his left hand that rested on his knee, but she didn't stop there. Slowly, her body leaned forward, the faint scent of citrus and spice wrapping around him as her fingers glided up softly on top of the exposed skin of his forearm with a gentle curiosity. Her touch was featherlight, reverent, like she was deliberately, with utmost patience learning every soft hair on his forearm by feel, when she reached his elbow, where the sleeve of his shirt was tightly rolled up, she stroked the fine fabric of his shirt in a steady, graceful upward motion, then at his shoulder she quickly brought her hand to the opening of his shirt, there her hand paused over the soft, open line of his floral shirt, hovering just above his chest. Then, almost in a whisper of motion, her hand glided in the opening, the palm rested over his heart, the thumb brushed against the curve of his strong breast and teasingly pushed his tight nipple.
It wasn't overt. It was romantic and tender. Like crossing a border and walking into a forbidden place, a licentious valley of shameless pleasure. "You're the first person I've wanted to be real with in a long time," she murmured. "And tonight, when you walked in with that excessively extravagant floral shirt and that delicate smile of yours that both screamed: 'I'm the crown jewel of this party'— I just can't hold myself back anymore."
His fingers tightened around hers, and then slowly, he shifted forward. One hand rose to brush a stray strand of hair from her face, and then travelled down, tracing the line of her collarbone with soft reverence before gliding over the fabric of her tank top. His touch found her side, then her waist, and finally came to rest tenderly over her heart— his thumb drawing a lazy, affectionate circle. Sami exhaled, a soft, involuntary sound of delight slipping from her lips. Every slow, sweet touch made her feel not just seen, but cherished. There was a pause, then her voice, quieter than it had been all night: ''Do you want me, Wolf?''
''Yes, I want to make love with you,'' Wolfgang said sharp and confident. He leaned in, and their lips met in a kiss that started slow, hesitant, like the hush before thunder, his hand grabbed her breast and squeezed it playfully.
Her hand slid down beneath his loose shirt and tickled his abs, a refined motion that blasted an electric shockwave of lust in him; he now grabbed her neck with his right hand and forced himself on her like a big bad wolf full of fleshlust and hunger on her.
Their kiss wasn't gentle anymore— it was a wild whirl, a violent unravelling; Wolfgang kissed Sami like a man starved of sunlight, his fingers pinching the soft skin of her neck as if anchoring himself firmly for the storm.
Her fingers gripped the back of his neck, pulling him even closer, breathless and reckless. The booth around them faded into irrelevance as their mouths moved in chaotic rhythm— hot, urgent, uncoordinated and increasingly wild; they now intertwined their wet tongues and in a ferocious wrestling they played waggishly with their tongues, tasting each other's indulgence and gratification, enjoying it shamelessly without even the slightest of reserve or restraint.
His shirt was roughly unbuttoned; her tank top was clumsily removed and tossed aside. They didn't pause. They didn't need to. Every touch was fire and every gasp fuel. He pressed her against the padded wall, her legs wrapping around his waist with instinctive desperation. His body surged against hers like a storm tide— unyielding, hungry. Their skin collided with friction and fury, his movements a crescendo of withheld longing.
But beneath the storm, there was something sacred. After he gently removed his tongue from her mouth - thick, sticky saliva continued to bind their two tongues together like a rope for a few seconds -, their eyes met in renewed tranquillity and in that brief stillness, it wasn't just hunger— it was awe. She saw it in him. Felt it in every crashing wave of their tangled bodies; he wasn't just making love. He was surrendering to something wild and rare....
And Sami welcomed the tempest.
Once again, the wolf resumed his offensive of passionate love mercilessly and in thundering vigour; he kissed and even bit her all over her face and neck.
Between the gusts of passion she looked at his delicious figure; his upper body was sculpted in contradiction; lean and wiry yet marked by the kind of strength that didn't need to boast. His skin glowed golden under the soft booth lights, muscles flexing and relaxing as he shifted above her. His collarbones framed the slope of his chest like delicate architecture. The swell of his pectorals was undeniable— firm, warm, dusted with fine sun-kissed hair that trailed just slightly down toward the edge of his chino waistband. His nipples, flushed slightly from her earlier touch, seemed to rise at her gaze. She reached out again, her palm pressing flat against his chest, and he shuddered— not in weakness, but in pleasure, in the exquisite vulnerability of being wanted like this.
Her fingers traced the lines of him. Over the defined rise of his shoulders. Down his arms, where faint veins stood like tiny rivers beneath his skin. She pressed her mouth to the spot just below his neck, her lips finding rhythm against his pulse.
He groaned, low and guttural, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other at her waist— finding, gripping, pulling her impossibly closer. Their bodies ground against each other through the barriers of fabric. His chino pants and her cargo trousers created friction, a maddening kind of pleasure that made them both gasp and curse softly between kisses.
Sami's hips arched against his. Wolfgang responded instinctively, thrusting slowly, a tease, letting her feel the full extent of his hunger through the press of fabric between them. It wasn't enough. And it was too much. The sensation bordered on cruel delight— every movement sparking another wave of wanting.
"Sami...." he whispered against her ear, his voice rough and hoarse. "I think I'm going to wreck you....."
"Good," she breathed back, biting gently on his earlobe, "Wreck me. Let thunder loose."
She tugged at his belt, fumbling, her fingers trembling not with nervousness but with urgency. His hands slid up her soft belly now, palms splayed against the taut warmth of her stomach. When he brushed just beneath her breasts, she hissed in pleasure, grabbing his wrist and holding him there. Their eyes locked— hers, blazing with desire; his, darkened and dazed, blown wide.
They were a tangled knot of limbs and tension, grinding against each other like waves smashing against a cliff, and just as wild. Wolfgang put his hand at the crotch of his chino pants in order to unbutton is pants, readying himself to connect with her in flesh— the big bad wolf couldn't hold back anymore, he had unbuttoned his pants and now wanted to unzip his fly. But then—
Knock knock.
"Uh.... guys?" a voice mumbled just outside the curtain. "You've been in there a while.... Is it our turn yet?"
They froze. Hearts pounding. Chests heaving.
Wolfgang blinked first. "No. No way," he whispered in disbelief.
Sami stared at the door like it had committed treason. "Seriously?"
Another knock. "Just like.... A couple more minutes, okay? Don't mean to rush love or anything…"
Wolfgang's head fell against her shoulder. "I think I hate everyone."
Sami giggled breathlessly. It started as a whisper, then burst into full-bodied laughter. "Me too."
"Unbelievable," Wolfgang muttered, more to himself than to Sami. "Cockblocked by the velvet curtain and a line of karaoke kids."
Slowly - painfully slowly - Wolfgang reached down, his hand brushing against the loosened waistband of his chino pants. The button was still undone, the zipper teasingly halfway down. For a second, he hovered there, hand frozen, as if there was still some parallel universe where this didn't have to end.
But the muffled voice outside cleared its throat again.
With a reluctant sigh that sounded like surrender, Wolfgang buttoned his pants with the weary solemnity of a man zipping up his fate. Each motion was slow, dragged out— as if fastening the fabric again somehow sealed away everything he'd just felt, everything he wanted to keep unravelling.
They untangled, reluctantly, but with a shared grin of mischief. Sami tugged her tank top back down and ran a hand through her tousled hair. Wolfgang shrugged back into his crumpled floral shirt, not bothering to button it. His chest still rose and fell in quick bursts. He looked like something painted by a romantic madman— flushed, half-dressed, lips red from kissing, hair a riot of soft waves.
"You look like sin," Sami muttered.
He stepped closer and gave her a look that made her stomach twist deliciously. "Then lead me to salvation."
She kissed him once more, brief but fierce, then grabbed his hand. "Come on. I have a bedroom on the second floor."
Wolfgang followed, obedient and glowing, their fingers laced as they slipped through the outer curtain. Outside, two drunk partygoers waited— one raising an eyebrow, the other giving a slow clap.
"Nice," one said with a smirk.
Sami didn't flinch. "Get your own confession."
They climbed the back stairwell of the mansion, away from the main hall where bodies danced and lights flashed. The music faded behind them, replaced by the creak of old wood and the whisper of anticipation. Every step they took was faster, more urgent.
Wolfgang pressed her against the wall once in the hallway, mid-flight, kissing her neck with open-mouthed devotion, hands roaming again. Sami moaned softly and dragged him forward by the belt loops of his chinos.
"Almost there," she gasped, fumbling for her keycard and shoving open the heavy door to her suite.
It was like entering another world.
The bedroom was enormous— candlelit and quiet, with high ceilings and lace-draped windows. A four-poster bed stood proudly in the centre, its silk sheets shimmering under warm amber lamps. Art deco mirrors lined the walls, catching bits of their reflection in slivers. The scent of jasmine and vanilla clung to the air.
Wolfgang paused in the doorway, breath caught. "This is.... Unreal."
Sami stepped backward into the room, eyes never leaving him. She peeled off her top slowly, letting it drop to the floor, revealing the graceful curve of her figure and the hunger in her gaze.
"I know," she said. "So, let's make it better."
Wolfgang kicked the door shut behind him. It clicked closed with the finality of a vow.
He advanced on her slowly now— not like a storm, but a tide, overwhelming and impossible to resist. The bedroom was their sanctuary now. And they had all the time in the world to get it right.
Without a word, he took one step forward, then another, until he stood at the foot of the bed. His eyes were locked on hers— steady, unreadable, intense. Then, with slow deliberation, he slipped the shirt from his shoulders. It floated to the floor like a silken flag, revealing his bare torso in full. His skin gleamed softly in the candlelight, a warm bronze canvas sculpted by lean muscle and motion. Every line, every shadow seemed designed to tease the eye— defined shoulders, a smooth chest with the faintest dusting of sun-kissed hair, and the subtle ripple of abs leading downward beneath his waistband.
Sami inhaled— quiet, sharp.
He approached, crawling onto the bed beside her without breaking eye contact. His hands were gentle as he urged her to lie back, her hair fanning out against the pillows. He moved over her, not with hunger, but with reverence, lowering himself until his bare chest pressed warmly against hers. Their skin met with a quiet heat, soft friction that sent a shiver down her spine.
Wolfgang kissed her neck first, slowly— then her collarbone, the soft space between her breasts, the curve of her shoulder. His hand, warm and sure, stroked her side, gliding up to rest on her ribcage just beneath her breast, his thumb brushing tenderly over her skin in hypnotic circles.
"You're beautiful," he murmured, the words barely a breath against her skin.
Sami reached up, cupping his face, her thumbs stroking his cheeks. "So are you."
His lips found hers again— slower this time, deeper, as if they had all the time in the world. He cradled her body with his, their legs tangled, the world outside dissolving with each shared breath.
No rush. No audience. Just them.
In that glowing silence, Wolfgang caressed her - slow, patient, worshipful - tracing the outline of her body like he was learning a map by heart. Sami closed her eyes and let the warmth of his touch guide her into something deeper, something tender.
Sami lay beneath Wolfgang, her breath still shallow from the heat of their kiss, her chest rising gently against his. For a moment, neither of them moved. The room was wrapped in amber shadows, soft with the glow of the candles flickering on her dresser and windowsills. The world outside had shrunk to this bed, this air, this warmth between them.
Her fingers, curious and unhurried, began to explore him.
She started at his face, tracing the line of his jaw, the dip of his throat, and then down— over the graceful slope of his neck and the firm plane of his chest. Her fingertips followed the faint line of muscle between his pectorals, gliding over his sun-warmed skin with reverent slowness. He exhaled at her touch, his eyes half-lidded, lips parting as if to sigh her name.
Sami smiled softly, watching him melt under her fingers. There was power in that, yes— but also something tender. She wasn't teasing him. She was learning him. Admiring him.
Her hand moved down over his abdomen, where his muscles shifted subtly beneath her touch— taut, smooth, and alive. She let her fingers wander lower, her palm sliding across the top of his light beige chino pants. The fabric was soft under her hand, warm from his body. Her touch was light at first, almost thoughtful, pressing gently along the waistband as if tracing the border between flesh and fabric.
Wolfgang's breath caught.
Sami didn't rush. She brushed her fingers over the front of his pants, feeling the faint twitch beneath— his body responding instinctively to her slow, deliberate touch. Her other hand cupped his hip, fingers curling into the fabric there, tugging lightly as if testing how much space there was between the waistband and his skin.
Her thumb traced the button above his zipper, circling it once, twice, before flattening her palm against the front of his pants, just over where he was growing harder by the second. She pressed just enough for him to feel it, to know she was aware of him, of what was building between them.
His hips shifted slightly under her hand, a low hum escaping his throat— not a moan, not quite, but close. A sound of surrender.
"You're so warm," she murmured, almost to herself. "It's like touching the sun."
Wolfgang opened his eyes slowly, looking down at her with something between wonder and desire. "Then keep touching."
She smiled, leaning up to kiss the centre of his chest, right above his heart, her look became more serious, and she said: ''Do you have it?''
Wolfgang knew instinctively what she meant, and he put his hand in the pocket of his pants and fumbled around in it a bit, finally pulling out a small, flat square-shaped package that was bright red in colour. He smiled mischievously and said: ''Of course I have it.''
Sami gave him a confident smirk. ''Let's do it. Don't hesitate, go wild on me. We don't have much time, I have to inaugurate and announce the karaoke tournament, after all I am the hostess of this party''
''Alright, this big bad wolf is going to devour you fast,'' Wolfgang crooned darkly.
While the party thundered on beneath them, they continued their lovemaking in the darkness of her room.