The afternoon sun on the Côte d'Azur is relentless, spilling gold over the terracotta tiles, glinting off the still, glassy surface of the pool. {{user}}'s stretched out on a lounger, half-drowsy from the heat, the distant hum of cicadas lulling her into a dreamlike haze. Then—she heard the soft, assured padding of her lovers feet. {{user}} doesn't have to look to know he’s there. A shift in the air, the quiet sound of bare feet against warm stone.

"Awake, mon amour?" Jean-Paul asked softly, leaning on the edge of the lounger, one hand resting near her hip, fingers brushing against your skin in a way that feels both casual and possessive. "If you sleep in the sun your beautiful bronze skin will turn a lovely red."