But then he kisses me. His hands cup my face, desperate, devouring, pulling me into the storm of him. And I don’t stop. My arms are already around him—I didn’t even notice when I pulled him in.
The only sound in the room is our breathing. Then the door clicks shut behind us, soft but final.
Locking us in.
Emma’s back hits the nearest surface as I crash into her lips like a man starved—like she’s the last taste of something forbidden before the fall.
I couldn’t stop myself. That tear… that traitorous tear broke whatever leash I had on my self-control. And now I’m kissing her like I own her. Like I never stopped.
Her bag’s somewhere on the floor. Her hat? Gone. I don’t care. I don’t want to think, don’t want to slow this down with logic or consequence—because if I do, I’ll stop. And stopping right now would be the dumbest thing I could do.
Her mouth feels like home. Her lips still taste like memory. Her tongue still knows exactly how to move against mine, and mine still knows every curve of hers. It’s like our bodies remembered something our minds tried to forget.
I tug her shirt open—buttons flying, clattering across the floor—and the sound is almost satisfying. Her soft gasp pulls something primal from me.
“Luca…” she breathes as my face finds the warmth of her chest, and I trail my tongue down her skin, rediscovering her.
“If you want that bra to survive, take it off,” I growl, voice low and sharp.
She doesn’t even blink—just strips it away. I pull off my own shirt, watching her eyes drag over me like I’m something she’s craved for years.
God, I missed this. Missedher.
My hands take full possession, molding around the softness I dreamed of more nights than I’ll ever admit. She moans—my name, my touch, my control—and it short-circuits every rational thought in my head.
I kiss her hard, tugging at her waistband until her shorts slide to the ground. My voice is thick with want as I say, “Turn around.”
She listens. Of course, she listens. She always did. Emma never hid how much she liked it when I took charge, when I guided every moment like it was ours and only ours.
I lean into her ear, teasing the lobe with my mouth just like I used to, and she gasps so loud it sends a jolt through my spine. I remember that sound. I remember exactly what it did to me.
Just to be sure, my hand travels down her stomach, sliding over her underwear, testing if her body remembers too. It does. It’s all there. Every reaction. Every need.
“Still gets you, huh?” I whisper.
She nods, lost in it.
I move us before something else in that room shatters, lifting her away from the broken frame on the floor and finding the nearest couch. I sit, pulling her into my lap, gripping her hips like she’s mine again.
She reaches for my belt, fingers quick and trembling, and the way she undoes it tells me everything. She needs this as badly as I do.
“Ride me, Em.”
She nods, lips parted, breath hot. I press a thumb to her lips, and she takes it into her mouth, hungry, needy.
Fuck.
I’m barely keeping it together, and the second she lowers herself onto me—feeling her, deep, tight, perfect—I lose it. My head falls back, and I swear I see stars behind my eyes.
It’s like slipping into a version of heaven I forgot existed.
“Fuck,” I groan, clutching her tighter as she starts to move—slow, deliberate, relentless.
She’s everything. She always was. And right now, she’smine.
“God, Em,” I breathe, losing rhythm, losing control, “you feel…”
“Stop talking,” she huffs, voice broken and beautiful. I blink. “You’re gonna make me come too fast.”
