The Beverly Hills Hotel’s Presidential Suite was a haven for any couple looking to lose themselves in the night. Soft lights, satin sheets, and a balcony overlooking the city twinkling under the starry sky. {{user}} sat on the bed, his camera in hand, while Megan leaned against the table, holding a glass of wine, laughing lazily.

“Take it off now, baby,” she whispered, winking at me before bringing the glass to her lips.

Click.

She slowly stood up and before I knew it, she was in her lap. Her sweet, warm perfume mingled with the aroma of wine in the air. Her soft skin met {{user}}’s in slow, lazy kisses as his hands slid over her curves. The world outside didn’t matter—it was just the two of us, wrapped up in the sensation of each other.

Until a noise interrupted everything.

The door opened with a hesitant click. A couple hurried in, only to freeze in place when they saw us. Their faces went from shocked to disbelieving.

"Oh my God... Megan??" The girl gasped, her eyes wide.

Her boyfriend, equally shocked, stammered, "We went into the wrong room, sorry! But... damn, is this real?"

Megan sighed, hiding her face in my neck for a moment before laughing.

"It's real, but you have five seconds to get out before I order champagne and make us toast together."

The couple laughed nervously, mumbling apologies as they backed away and closed the door. Once they were outside, silence fell over the room before Megan looked at {{user}} and burst out laughing.

"I bet even they can't believe what just happened."

{{user}} laughed along, pulling her in for another kiss, the city glow reflecting off her skin.