Page 18 of Christmas with my Three Best Friends

“I think we’ll settle for the Nubile Classic,” Richard says.

I mouth the words to myself. “Nubile Classic…”

“Shall we say nine o’clock?” the receptionist asks.

“Sounds decent. Two hours should be enough for dinner, right?” he turns to us.

I nod my agreement along with Jax and Marius, though I’m still not sure what we’ll be doing after dinner. Part of me suspects something decadent and particularly spicy, but I’ve decided to let the element of surprise make everything more interesting while we’re here. I’ve never spent Christmas outside of Seattle. I think I’ve earned myself a break, and I couldn’t imagine a better way to spend Christmas than with three of the hottest men I’ve ever known. I’m excited and eager, obviously, but definitely nervous. It’s one thing to fantasize about a foursome with Marius, Jax, and Richard, and a whole other thing to actually go ahead with it.

We’re escorted to our rooms on the first floor by another concierge. The first one has already carried our bags in while we were given a brief tour of the ground floor. The whole place is a sensory experience, I soon realize, as I listen to the soft jazz music pouring from seemingly invisible speakers. Every single choice of design is meant to soothe and relax the resort’s guests, and I have to admit, it’s working.

My room is huge with floor to ceiling windows that offer a full view of the hot springs and the surrounding gardens. Snow has fallen everywhere, though the staff make sure to keep all the pathways and seating areas clean and dry. But it looks beautiful, a pristine white blanket covering the gardens and loading the leafless trees with shimmering snow crowns.

The living room area is wide open with creamy seating and a glass coffee table, where an assortment of fresh fruits and healthy snacks await in a silvery bowl with filigree edges. The bed is ginormous, covered in ivory-colored silk, sprigs of lavender left on the pillows along with a welcome note. My bathroom is like something out of a dream, with treated wood paneling that resembles a Swedish sauna, while the clawfoot tub looks deep and wide enough to hold a foursome.

“Holy smokes, I’m in heaven,” I mumble as I tour my room, taking in every detail and running my fingers along every surface.

A phone rings somewhere in the room. I look around and spot a vintage rotary telephone with a brass dial and mother-of-pearl inlays.

“Hello?” I answer, and Marius’s voice flows through.

“How’s it looking?”

“Oh, gosh, it’s wonderful, Marius. I’m spoiled and then some.”

“Yeah, you should see my room. I reckon we’ll be coming back here. I’m already hooked,” he laughs.

“What kind of resort is this?” I ask him.

“What do you mean?” he replies.

I can almost see him lounging in a seat like mine, listening to the sound of my voice. The scantily clad couple outside my window captures my attention as they start making out, tongue-wrestling without a lick of shame as other spa residents simply walk past them, smiling and talking, without a care in the world, unbothered by what’s happening.

“Well, I’m looking at this couple,” I tell Marius. “Out in the hot springs… Do you have a view of them, too? Or is your room on the other side?”

“No, I can see them.”

“So, you can see what they’re doing,” I say, my voice lower and raspier than usual. Crap, I’m turned on. And judging by Marius’s voice, he’s not far behind.

“He’s licking her breasts, yeah. She seems to like it,” he replies somewhat nonchalantly.

“They remind me of us,” I hear myself and cannot believe my own ears.

What’s even more troubling is the fact that my hand is traveling downward, fingers unbuttoning my jeans as I keep watching the couple. He’s handsome, maybe in his mid-forties and blonde, while she’s super fit and tanned, her ginger hair pulled up in a loose bun on the top of her head. I see her muscles twitching as she wraps her arms around his neck.

The woman’s upper back is against the pool’s edge, her breasts just above the water. I lick my lips slowly.

“See how he takes his sweet time with each nipple?” Marius asks.

“Yeah.”

My fingers slide between wet folds, a swollen nub awaiting in desperate need of release. Whatever this place is, it’s doing one hell of a number on me—and I’m not the only one, either. Another couple stops not far from the pair Marius and I are watching. They seem just as interested, the husband parting his wife’s robe to touch her. She spreads her legs for him and smiles as they both admire the pool frolickers.

“She must be gushing underwater,” Marius says.

“She’s not the only one.”

“You’re wet, huh?”

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