The last customer had left.
The candles still burned low, casting shadows across the walls.
Plates were clean.
Floors swept.
But in the kitchen, the real heat hadn't even started.
Marco locked the front door.
"No interruptions tonight."
Talia leaned back against the counter, sipping her wine.
"So… what now, Chef?"
Elena sat on a stool, eyes glinting.
"We've cooked.
We've tasted.
Maybe it's time for the main course."
Marco smirked.
"We usually keep that for dessert."
Talia stepped closer to him, her finger tracing a line down his chest.
"We're not following all the rules tonight, remember?"
Elena stood, walking over slowly, hips swaying.
"Then let's make new ones."
She reached for Marco's hand… and then, to Talia's surprise, reached for hers too.
Both their hands met.
Warm. Bold.
A triangle of heat.
No one said a word.The silence sizzled.
Then Marco leaned in.
First, he kissed Elena—slow, deep, his hand at the back of her neck.
Talia didn't wait. She stepped behind Elena, her lips brushing her shoulder.
Her breath was soft, but full of fire.
Elena shivered.
"So this is what 'after hours' means in Rosehill?"
Talia's lips curved against her skin.
"Only on the special menu."
They moved together like they had in the kitchen—hands knowing, mouths tasting, hearts beating fast.
Clothes fell like napkins after dinner.
Skin met skin, warm and open.
The room smelled of wine, spice, and something sweeter.
When they finally collapsed into a tangled pile of limbs and laughter, Elena whispered, "Best meal I've ever had."
Marco chuckled. "And dessert hasn't even been served."