Then I felt the weight of an arm across my waist and remembered everything.
Luca's penthouse. His bed. The fact that I'd chosen to be here.
I stayed very still, processing. Luca was pressed against my back, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths. Still asleep. His arm held me close but not possessively—just... holding me. Like this was normal. Like we did this all the time.
Except we didn't. This was new. Different. Chosen.
Last night had been different from our first time. In his office it had been desperate, angry, a collision of want and resentment. Last night had been... intentional. Slow. He'd let me lead before taking control back. Had checked in, made sure I wanted it, treated me like a person instead of a possession.
It had felt real.
The thought terrified me almost as much as it thrilled me.
I shifted slightly, testing if I could move without waking him. His arm tightened automatically and he made a low sound of protest.
"Stay." His voice was rough with sleep. "It's early."
"I should probably—"
"Please." He pressed his face against the back of my neck. "Just a few more minutes."
The vulnerability in his voice made my chest tight. This wasn't the persona speaking. This was just Luca, still half-asleep and wanting me to stay.
So I did.
We lay there in comfortable silence while the city woke up outside. I could hear traffic far below, the distant sound of sirens, the hum of Manhattan coming to life. But up here in Luca's penthouse, it felt separate from all that. Like we existed in a bubble where the rest of the world couldn't reach us.
Eventually Luca's breathing changed, becoming more alert. His hand moved from my waist to my hip, tracing lazy patterns on my skin.
"Good morning," he said against my shoulder.
"Morning."
"Sleep well?"
"Better than I have in weeks, actually." It was true. Despite everything, despite all the complications, I'd slept deeply. Safely. "You?"
"Best I've slept in years." He kissed the back of my neck. "Having you here helps."
I didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know how to process the casual intimacy of it. So I just let myself feel it—the warmth of his body against mine, the gentle touch of his hands, the quiet comfort of not being alone.
"Coffee?" he asked after a while.
"God, yes."
He laughed and extracted himself from the bed. I turned to watch him pull on pajama pants—expensive, dark grey, low on his hips. No shirt. He looked rumpled and human and nothing like the perfectly polished businessman who'd threatened me in my kitchen two months ago.
"Stay here. I'll bring it to you."
"I can get up—"
"I know you can. But I want to bring it to you." He paused at the door. "Let me take care of you. Just for this morning."
Something in my chest cracked open at that. "Okay."
He disappeared through the doorway and I lay there processing the fact that Luca Romano wanted to bring me coffee in bed. That he wanted to take care of me. That this whole situation had somehow shifted from coercion to... what? Dating? A relationship?
I sat up and looked around the bedroom properly. Last night I'd been too focused on Luca to really notice the space. Now I took in the details.
