I just stand there for a second, stunned. No pressure. No assumptions. No leering.
He didn’t bring me here for what I feared. He brought me here forme.
That realization settles somewhere deep in my chest. Warm. Heavy. Dazzling. Like maybe I’ve been wrong all along, about men, about safety, about what it means to be truly seen.
The bathroom is just as pristine as the rest of the penthouse, with warm lights and plush towels and enough space to dance in. I strip out of my clothes and step under the hot water.
And that’s when it hits me.
What happened back at the restaurant, the way he touched me, the way he kissed me, the way my bodyresponded. I’ve never felt anything like it. Never even let myself imagine it. I’ve always been too tired, too broke, too focused on surviving.
But with Luca, I feltalive. Wanted. Seen.
I stay under the spray longer than I need to, just letting the heat wash away the grime and the fear. When I finally step out and dry off, I pull his shirt over my head. It reaches past mid-thigh, loose and warm and smelling faintly like cedar and leather and something purely him.
When I step into the hallway, Luca is waiting.
His eyes land on me, and for a moment, he forgets to breathe. I see it—the way his jaw tenses, the way his hand clenches at his side like he’s fighting the urge to reach for me.
But all he says is, “Bedroom’s this way.”
He doesn’t touch me.
He just leads me down the hallway and pulls back the covers for me like I’m something fragile and precious.
I climb in. The sheets are impossibly soft. He gets in beside me and turns off the lights.
We lie in silence.
But I can’t sleep.
I toss. I turn. I can still feel the echo of his kiss, the thrum in my veins from earlier. My body is hot and restless.
“Luca?” I whisper.
He doesn’t move, but I know he’s awake. “Yeah?”
“I’ve never done that before.”
His voice is low. Careful. “That?”
“What happened in the bathroom,” I begin. “I’ve never felt like that. I didn’t even know Icouldfeel like that.”
There’s silence. Then, in the dark, I hear his sheets shift. I feel him roll toward me.
“Do you want to feel like that again?” he asks, voice low and husky.
I do. God, I do.
“I think my body’s still confused,” I murmur, barely audible. “I can’t sleep.”
His chuckle is quiet. Wicked.
“I can help,” he says.
My pulse thrums.
Then he leans in and kisses me.
