“Don’t fight you?”
“Don’t fight us. This. Whatever this is becoming.”
She pulls back enough to look up at me. “And what is it becoming?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s honest.”
She stares at me for another moment. Then she kisses me.
It’s different from the other times. Softer. Less driven by anger and more by something else. Need, maybe. Or exhaustion. Or the desperate desire to feel something other than the chaos of the past few hours.
I kiss her back. Pull her closer.
It starts tentatively. Her lips brush mine like she’s testing whether I will push her away. I don’t. I let her lead. My hands settle on her waist, light, giving her room to decide. She presses closer, mouth opening slowly, tongue touching mine in a soft sweep. A small sound escapes her throat.
I kiss her back the same way. Slow. Careful. My fingers slide under the hem of her sweater, finding bare skin. Warm. Soft. She shivers but doesn’t pull back. Instead, she deepens the kiss, hands coming up to frame my face. Her thumbs brush my jaw, trembling slightly.
We stand like that for long minutes. Just kissing. Breathing each other in. No rush. No fight. The study fades until it’s only her mouth on mine, her body pressing closer, her heartbeat thudding against my chest.
She breaks the kiss first. Forehead resting against mine. Breathing unsteady.
Her hands move to my shirt. Fingers work the buttons one by one, and when the last one gives, she pushes the fabric open,palms sliding over my chest. Skin on skin. She traces scars she has touched before in anger. Now her touch is gentle. Learning me without the barrier of hate.
I mirror her, hands under her sweater again. I lift it inch by inch. She raises her arms. The fabric slips over her head and falls to the floor. No bra underneath. Just her. Soft curves. Nipples already peaked in the cool air. I cup one breast, thumb brushing the tip. She gasps quietly. Arches into my hand.
We undress each other without hurry. Her sweatpants slide down her legs. My pants follow. Underwear last. Until we are both bare. Standing in the low lamplight. Vulnerable. Exposed in every way.
I walk backward to the desk. Sit on the edge. Pull her with me. She straddles my lap without hesitation, knees bracketing my hips. Her heat settles against me. Not entering yet. Just pressing. Warm. Wet. She rocks once. Slow. Testing. A soft moan slips from her lips.
My hands settle on her hips. Not gripping. Guiding. Letting her find the rhythm. She leans in, kisses me again. Deeper this time. Tongue stroking mine. Her hands slide into my hair, fingers threading through, holding me close.
She reaches between us. Wraps her fingers around me. Strokes once. Twice. Slow. Firm. I groan into her mouth. The sound vibrates between us. She lines me up. Sinks down inch by inch.
The stretch is exquisite. Tight. Hot. Wet. She pauses halfway, breathing hard against my lips. Eyes locked on mine. Wide. Searching. I hold her gaze. I don’t look away.
“Stay with me,” I murmur.
She nods. Sinks the rest of the way. Takes me fully. We both exhale at the same time. A shared breath.
She starts to move. Slow rolls of her hips. Grinding more than thrusting. Finding the angle that makes her gasp. Her hands grip my shoulders.
I let her set the pace. My hands roam her back, up her spine and down again. Cupping her ass. Helping her rise and fall when her thighs start to tremble.
Her forehead drops to mine again. Eyes half-closed but still on me.
“Luca,” she breathes. She says my name like a plea.
I cup her face. Thumb brushing her cheekbone. “I’m here.”
She kisses me. Soft. Lingering. Then faster. The rhythm builds. Her hips rock harder. Deeper. I meet her now, thrusting up gently. Matching her. The desk creaks under us. Neither of us cares.
I lift her smoothly, arms under her thighs, and carry her out of the study, still inside her. The hallway is dark. Silent. Empty. Moonlight filters through tall windows, painting silver stripes across the floor. Our bare feet make almost no sound on the hardwood.
We pause halfway. I press her back gently against the wall. Kiss her throat. Her collarbone. She tilts her head back, fingers tightening in my hair. I nip softly along her jaw. She shivers, presses her palm to my chest, and strokes down to where we’re still joined. I rock into her once. Slow. Deep. She gasps against my ear.
