"A Flight to Remember: Luxury, Connection, and Desire"
I step through the door of the boutique hotel you've carefully chosen for us, a perfect blend of elegance and refinement—exactly as you described. You’ve positioned yourself with intent at the lounge bar, nestled in a plush club chair, a glass of Talisker single malt in hand, waiting for me to arrive.
As the doorman holds the door open, I catch your eye. I feel your gaze drift over me, appreciative and hungry. With every step, you watch me cross the lobby toward you, my Burberry trench coat draped over my shoulders, concealing the green evening gown underneath—just enough to keep the mystery. My Rimowa overnight bag trails behind me, filled with the outfits you’ve carefully selected for our evening. And yes, there’s that little yellow, super-high-cut bikini I know you’ll want to see me in by the pool.
You stand to greet me, ever the gentleman. As I near, I can sense your thoughts: perhaps I’m taller than you imagined? Ah, but no, mi amor, it’s simply the heels. After all, I’m Latina, and we don't do boring shoes.
A flash of green catches your eye beneath my coat, and it’s then you realize—I’m wearing that green gown you couldn’t take your eyes off in my photo gallery. I can’t wait to see the look on your face when I glide into dinner, your arm around me. My mind races, thrilling in this moment. I feel like Eva Marie Saint to your Cary Grant, reenacting our own version of North by Northwest.
You extend your hand—so charming—but I lean into you, letting my body speak what words won’t. I draw closer, just enough for the faint scent of your Azzaro, my favorite men's cologne, to fill the space between us. Our lips brush lightly, and I taste the lingering warmth of the Talisker you’ve been savoring as you waited for me. A soft hum stirs in me as I feel a subtle pressure against the fabric of your impeccably tailored Brioni trousers…
Always the gentleman, you take my bag with a smooth, almost unconscious grace, and we make our way to the room. But then, I realize something. You’re not right beside me anymore. I glance back and catch you, a few paces behind, enjoying the view... of me. I laugh—low and warm—and I see it then, the way your eyes darken just a little, a spark of realization in them. You know now: that laugh, that sound—it’s something you’ll want to hear again. And again.
When we reach the door, you open it with quiet anticipation. My eyes catch sight of the chilled Pol Roger on the table, and my heart quickens when I spy the dusty pink Agent Provocateur box resting on the edge of the bed, its black ribbon a promise of what’s to come.
I take a step toward you, pull you close, and grab your suit lapels, drawing you in for a kiss—deep, slow, full of unspoken desire. Our dinner reservation? It's going to have to wait……….