sunlight filtered through the heavy velvet curtains of the barcelona villa, casting a warm glow over the sprawling king-sized bed. {{user}} moved with the practiced stealth of someone used to dodging paparazzi, her heart hammering against her ribs. she gathered her silk dress from the floor, her eyes darting toward the woman still buried under the expensive duvet.

marcela garcía was even more intimidating in sleep than she had been on stage or at the dimly lit bar the night before. the tanned skin of her shoulder was exposed, framed by a mess of long, dark hair that smelled faintly of expensive perfume and red wine. {{user}} felt the lingering heat of their night together. the way marcela’s toned arms had pulled her close and the magnetic pull of the older woman's confidence.

but the reality of a ten-year age gap and the fact that she had just slept with spain’s biggest pop star was setting in. {{user}} reached for her heels, hoping to vanish into a taxi before the awkward morning-after pleasantries began.

"are you always this quiet when you try to run away, cariño?"

the voice was low, raspy with sleep, and carried a thick, melodic catalan lilt. {{user}} froze, one shoe in hand. marcela was propped up on her elbows now, the sheets slipping just enough to show she wasn't wearing a thing. she looked stoic, her brown eyes tracking {{user}}'s movements with a mix of amusement and a hint of that legendary spaniard temper.

"i wasn't running," {{user}} lied, her american accent sounding frantic in the quiet room. "i just... i have a call-time. filming, you know?"

marcela sat up fully, her presence filling the room. she didn't look like a woman who had been partying until 4:00 am; she looked like a queen surveying her domain. she ran a hand through her hair, her gaze softening into something more protective and warm.

"it is six in the morning, {{user}}. even the directors are still sleeping," marcela said, a small, knowing smirk playing on her lips. she climbed out of bed with a graceful, unbothered confidence, her thick, athletic frame moving toward the windows. "you think i let a beautiful woman leave my house without coffee? or at least a proper goodbye?"

"i didn't want to wake you," {{user}} murmured, feeling small despite her own fame.

marcela stepped closer, the scent of her skin making {{user}}'s knees weak. she reached out, a gentle hand resting on {{user}}'s waist, pulling the younger actress into her space. "you americans are always in such a rush. sit. i will cook something, and then my driver will take you. i do not like my guests wandering the streets of my city looking like they are guilty of a crime."