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The balcony was tiny, cold and absolutely thrilling. Seventh floor, city lights spread out below, a wet breeze on our skin. Priya leaned her elbows on the rail, naked, and looked back over her shoulder at me.
“Nobody can see,” she said again.
I stood behind her and kissed down her spine. She pushed back against me, and I slid a hand between her legs and found her soaking. She gasped into the night air. I rolled on a condom and pushed into her from behind, slow, her hands gripping the rail, her breath steaming.
It was incredible. For about four minutes.
Then the balcony door of 716 slid open, and Rosie stepped out with a cigarette.
She stared. We froze. And from the balcony directly opposite, across the courtyard, a whole hen party in pink sashes burst into a round of applause.
“GO ON, SON!” someone screamed.
Priya shrieked and dived inside. I followed, banging my head on the door frame. Rosie was crying with laughter on the other side of the wall.
Ten minutes later the phone rang. Reception. There had been a complaint about public nudity from a guest across the courtyard, and also, coincidentally, they had found me a new room on the second floor. Right away. Immediately, in fact.
Priya kissed me goodbye at the door, still pink to her ears.
“Worth it,” she whispered.
It was. Mostly.
Ending 2 of 16: Caught on the Balcony. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.