We landed in the expansive lodge suite at Bryce Canyon, its king-size beds draped in crisp linens, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the red rock spires under twilight. Jet-lagged from Vegas lights, my husband Alain delayed in Chicago. Just me, Nathalie, and Etienne in this shared haven—budget tight, but the isolation felt elite. Candle flames danced on wooden beams. After dinner, Nathalie sprawled belly-down, Etienne’s oiled hands gliding over her back, dipping to firm ass cheeks. She purred. I watched from my bed, nightgown clinging, heat rising. ‘Jealous?’ she teased. His fingers ventured lower, towel tossed, his long circumcised cock swaying free. Bold. Intimate. Mine.
