Billy tried to wake up, but he was far too comfortable. His arms refused to let go of his favorite pillow, completely at ease, murmuring something about a strong double coffee with a bit of panela—just like his mother used to make.
—Hey… stop getting closer. —Adriana said, laughing.
She bit her lip as she felt Billy press lightly against her, sensing his affection. For a moment, she almost let herself drift into it—the warmth spread through her legs, a heat fueled by waves of hormones filling her. Sunlight slipped through the windows, something to hold onto, because everything passed with time, yet the closeness between them was intense, almost overwhelming.
—This is life. I'd give a kidney just to fall asleep like this on cold days with a woman like you. They say if you're born in a warm climate, you're easier to hold during rain or cold—your body carries heat by nature, it burns when you embrace someone. —Billy said.
—You're pathologically full of lies. —Adriana replied, melting into him, pressing her body close, tracing his form with intent and quiet urgency, through fabric and through something deeper.
—I think that's a poor standard for someone who wants me to fill her with lies… many lies. —
Billy brushed against Adriana's weak spot beneath her ear; something in her awakened that familiar, mysterious madness, pulling her down into that intimate spark—her slender spine, the way her deep green eyes darkened almost to black under pleasure, the whispering, the slow kisses. He understood that the door to happiness lay in mastering every detail of seduction, beginning with words—and those words were always simple.
—What kind of lies? —she sighed.
—The kind that rise gently after a trail of kisses, like hieroglyphs of love. I leave them with intention, so you get caught in the spell I was given. —he replied simply.
Their eyes met, their lips brushed, each kiss shaped with intention—lips adjusting, returning with subtle cunning, only to pull away just before surrendering completely.
She reached for his chest, lean and athletic, still forming into something stronger. She turned slightly, giving in just enough for him to take her into a deep, consuming kiss that left her strength momentarily dissolved in the image of desire.
—God… —
—Yes, God. He made us to love, and I think you and I can love in so many ways. —Billy said, kissing the corner of her mouth, breathing in her scent—clove and salt.
Her slender hips, angelic face, persuasive voice—she shifted effortlessly between English, Spanish, Portuguese, sometimes even teaching him a bit of French.
—You know I told you we should get married. —Adriana insisted.
Something inside her was building. Billy only smiled and kissed her again with the same insistence—kisses were his weakness. Then reality interrupted: room service. Two bowls of meat and vegetables, two liters of water, and a generous bowl of fruit.
—When you're thirty-two. If we're still together by then, with no one else in between, we'll get married. That'll be what we need. —Billy said.
—But… —
—We're just starting our careers. We have ten years to do what everyone wants—to live fully. To have two unbearable kids someday, a house by the sea, sweet Christmases… to live with our flaws and our strengths, because they're what give life its shape. —Billy said softly, kissing her again.
The emotional tide rose within her—she wanted that life now, with him, not with anyone else. She would wait. For now, it was a promise, one he perhaps needed more than she did. She leaned in, took his lips, and kissed him as they slowly shed their clothes, piece by piece.
…
The second day began around three in the afternoon, but it was four or five times more intense than anyone expected—an undeniable surge of energy. Everyone waited for Billy to deliver, because that was the quiet truth passed between circles: as the host, he was the center. People gravitated toward him for one simple reason—they loved being around someone who let them truly live.
—Man, this is the biggest party I've ever had the pleasure of seeing. —Peter, a rock musician known for his stature, told him.
—Welcome, my friend. What's a party if you've got no one to share it with? I believe the only wasted money is the money you don't spend on women, alcohol, or parties. —Billy replied.
—Damn, a long-lost brother. —Peter laughed.
—Stop bothering him. —said a woman—not so young anymore—Kate Moss, now twenty-seven, still legendary in her presence.
—Billy says every party needs me. I'm the number one guest anywhere. —Peter added with a crooked grin, his humor loose and infectious.
—Well, now you're legendary—New Year's and now this, three months later. Shake my hand and put me on that golden list. —Kate laughed.
…
Beach balls floated across the space, people danced endlessly, champagne fountains flowed, barrels of beer lined the edges. Beautiful women everywhere.
Billy moved through it all, encountering countless women, each moment an invitation, each interaction part of the rhythm. Cameras flashed constantly, capturing fragments of movement and energy.
There were too many people for such a vast space, yet somehow it all worked—the party became its own living system.
—I don't think I ever want to leave. —Adriana said, drink in hand, competing with Billy in a drinking game.
—I've got gifts for you. I ordered them this morning. —Billy said—a line of items for women, including a beautiful watch.
—More gifts… —she sighed.
—It's no trouble. I do it because I want to. How else can I tell you that you deserve it? A gift like that… it's enough. —Billy replied.
…
Artificially, he hoped the cameras were already gone.
Agyness Deyn, winner of the wet T-shirt contest, kissed her boyfriend and then her girlfriend, a bold reflection of the freedom and control that defined the night.
—And now, the grand dance! Whoever wins takes home a ten-thousand-dollar prize and a T-shirt signed by our lovely Keira! —the host announced.
The crowd erupted, fully alive once again.
....