The curtain fell on stage, the actors bowing to thunderous applause. But in the private booth at the back, the heavy breathing had nothing to do with the performance.
Amy pulled back slowly, her chest heaving against Oliver's hand. Her lips were swollen, her eyes glazed and misty. She looked at him with a mix of shyness and triumphant defiance.
"I… I'm not a child anymore," she whispered, her voice trembling but firm. "Don't treat me like one."
On his left, Isolde finally withdrew her hand from beneath the layers of fabric. She didn't look embarrassed in the slightest. She brought her fingers to her lips, kissing the tips lightly while maintaining eye contact with Oliver.
"A spirited effort," Isolde purred, her voice husky. She leaned in, wiping a smudge of Amy's lipstick off Oliver's cheek with her thumb. "But you looked a little overwhelmed, Master. Are two women too much for you?"
