Deck 77 – At The Summit: Audio
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The top of the King’s Peak Tower shimmered in the high-altitude sun, the pines in the rooftop planter beds just beginning to bloom. Early buds glistened with melted frost as the cold mountain air swept across the second sunning platform—a sleek composite deck bordered in glass, its stone seating warmed from beneath and crafted to absorb sunlight like skin.
Raquel lay stretched across one of the long, benchlike slabs, her speckled coat radiant with dapples of ochre and sable. Her thick, unrestrained afro shifted subtly in the wind. One leg curled up loosely, the other extended, feline perfection in her posture. The only ornament on her body was a solid gold plug, seated deep, flashing sunlight with every slow and purposeful tilt of her hips.
She relished the weight of it, the warmth it retained, the way its presence became a kind of rhythm inside her. Each movement sent a shimmer across the metal, a glint caught by the sun and lost again in the folds of shadow cast by her own body.
A blunt burned between her fingers, its embers steady in the breeze. Smoke drifted upward, languid and unbothered, curling across her chest before the wind took it. She inhaled deeply, exhaled without urgency. Time stretched out around her—elastic, sunlit, quiet. The deck remained empty but for her. Soon, others would come—drawn by the warming season, the long light, the lure of soft stone and open sky. But for now, the summit belonged to her alone.
Above the pines, the blue of the Colorado sky remained unmarred, and beneath her skin, the slow, molten weight of gold pulsed with every unhurried breath.
