His gaze lingers on her breasts, smoldering with a heat that could melt candle wax. “I was prepared to offer you this body on your first night to properly welcome you.”
A dark and angry snake of possessiveness uncurls in my ribcage.
“Or perhaps,” he purrs, “you’d prefer to share my private sanctuary? Let Mr. Dare have the suite to himself?”
Cam’s cheeks flush, and that angry snake becomes a full-blown dragon. The thought of her spending one second in this Coconut Casanova’s love lair makes me want to commit crimes.
“Not happening,” I growl. “We’ll take the room. Together.”
He claps, and the sound is a gong striking the air, deep and commanding. “Excellent! Allow me to escort you to your sex den.”
Den of what now?
***
Ijustneedsleep.That’s all. Just sweet, dark oblivion where I can pretend this whole day never happened. But as Kai throws open the door, the strong scents of pineapple, vanilla, and what I’m pretty sure is aerosolized Viagra engulf me like a wave of horny air freshener.
“Welcome,” he purrs, his oiled chest glistening in the mood lighting, “to your Temple of Tropical Temptation!”
The hotel room pulses with a soft pink glow, as if the walls themselves are blushing. Genuine rainforest sounds fill the air—birds calling, water trickling, and… is that Barry White remixed with a ukulele?
“Oh my God, this is amazing.” Cam’s already filming, despite her shoulders shaking as she tries(and fails)to keep a straight face. “It’s like a porn set had a baby with a Rainforest Cafe. I’ve got the video title: I Survived 24 Hours in the Love Den.”
“No walls,” I blurt, my voice louder than I intended. “There are no walls.”
Kai claps a massive hand on my shoulder. “Precisely the point, Mr. Dare. Freedom! Connection! Vulnerability! Why hide from each other when you can share every moment, every sensation, with your partner?”
“It’s… unique,” she says diplomatically.
“Observe!” Kai glides to the centerpiece of this jungle-themed fever dream—a round bed that starts rotating at his approach. “She awakens! Your passion playground responds to movement, to desire, to—”
“Did you just call the bed ‘she’?” I ask.
“All beautiful things are feminine—take your lovely camerawoman here.” He winks at Cam.
The bed dominates the space, a circular monstrosity draped in red satin sheets that all but scream “sex tape waiting to happen.” And if that’s not enough, there’s a mirror the size of a satellite mounted on the ceiling, ensuring no angle is left unexplored. Because nothing says “romance” like watching yourself fall off this spinning teacup of a bed.
To top it all off, the pillows are embroidered with spicy suggestions. One readsPlunge Into Paradise, and another saysSweat Now, Cuddle Later,but the one I’m throwing off the balcony reads,Pussy Partner.
Kai pats the mattress like a monk blessing a temple. “This,” he says, voice hushed with reverence, “is a masterpiece of structural integrity. Designed to support every kind of union—soft, frantic, experimental—this bed welcomes all. Whether that’s two bodies moving as one, three finding harmony, or four testing the boundaries of spatial physics. No judgment, only support—emotionally and structurally.”
“Reece, get in the frame,” Cam says. “Your expression is hilarious.”
“Morales, I swear to God—”
“What? I’m just getting establishing shots. You’re always telling me to be thorough.”
She turns the camera back to the walking manbun. “Please, please tell me there are more motion sensors.”
“Yes, wahine. I’d be happy to show you how it’s done!” Kai prances—legitimately prances—through the space. With each movement, new features reveal themselves: hidden panels sliding open to showcase champagne, rose petals dropping from concealed ceiling compartments, massage oils that emerge from the floor like some sort of aroused dumbwaiter system.
“And over here!” Kai bounds across the room with the enthusiasm of a man who’s never felt shame. “The Swing of Sublime Surrender!”
He pauses theatrically, gesturing toward what I can only describe as Satan’s playground equipment: a sex swing hanging from the ceiling, complete with leather straps, stirrups, and more attachment points than a NASA docking station.
Camila pans the camera to me with flair. “Reece, thoughts? Care to take it for a spin?”
“You’re here to film, not offer commentary.”
