"I'm not fearless, Luca. I'm just tired of being afraid."
"I don't know how to do what you do. How to be that brave."
"You fought for me." The memory of him dropping gloves flashed through my mind—Luca’s face transformed by rage, fists swinging, blood streaming from his split knuckle. "You lost control in front of twenty thousand people and every camera in the arena. That was brave."
"That was panic." But something shifted in his expression. "When I saw him hit you, when I heard you go down—I stopped thinking. I just needed to make him hurt for touching you."
"I want this," I said quietly. "Whatever this is. But I need to know it's real for you. That I'm not just..."
"You're notjustanything." Luca finally closed the distance. His hand came up to cup my jaw. His thumb traced my cheekbone with devastating gentleness. "You're everything I've been terrified to want."
His eyes searched mine. I saw all of it there—the fear and the longing and the war he'd been fighting with himself since the day we met.
"Kiss me," I said.
He did. It was slower. Deeper. Luca kissed me like he was memorizing the shape of my mouth, the taste of me, the way I breathed his name against his lips. His hand slid into my hair, holding me steady while his tongue swept against mine.
Heat pooled low in my belly. My hands found his waist, pulling him closer until we were pressed together on my cheap couch.
"Theo." He broke the kiss, breathing hard. "If we do this—I need you to know I'm falling for you. I have been since you looked at me like I was worth something more than a captain’s C."
My heart cracked open. "Say it again."
"I am falling for you." His forehead pressed against mine. "And it's terrifying because I don't know how to give you what you deserve. But I can't stop. I can't walk away from this. From you."
I kissed him again, harder this time. I poured everything I couldn't say into the slide of lips and tongue and breath. He responded with a low sound that vibrated through his chest into mine.
"Bedroom," I managed between kisses.
We barely made it. We stood in the doorway shedding clothes between desperate touches. My fingers shook on his zipper. His hands trembled as he pulled my shirt over my head, careful of my still-healing ribs.
"Are you..." He stopped, looking at the fading bruises across my side. Purple and yellow now instead of black. His expression went devastated. "Does it still hurt?"
"Not much anymore. And I don't care." I grabbed his hand and placed it directly over the worst of the bruising. "I want you to touch me."
His eyes darkened. "You sure?"
"Luca. I have been sure since the first morning you corrected my stance and I felt your hands on me." I pushed him backward toward the bed. "I am very, very sure."
We fell onto the mattress together, a tangle of limbs. Luca’s mouth found my neck, my collarbone, the sensitive spot just below my ear that made me gasp. His hands mapped my body—trailing down my sides, across my stomach, lower.
When his fingers wrapped around me, I nearly came apart.
"Perfect," he breathed against my throat. "You're perfect, Theo."
"Not..." The word broke on a moan as his grip tightened, stroking. "Not perfect."
"You are." He lifted his head to look at me. The intensity in his eyes stole my breath. "Your smile. Your laugh. The way you never back down. The way you crashed into my life and refused to leave even when I tried to push you away. Perfect."
Heat burned behind my eyes. "Luca."
"Let me." His mouth found mine again as his hand worked a steady rhythm. "Let me tell you. You are gorgeous. Smart. Brave. You make me want things I'd convinced myself were impossible. You make me feel..."
His voice cracked. I pulled him into a kiss.
We took our time learning each other. Every touch was a revelation—the way he shuddered when I kissed his throat, the sound he made when my teeth grazed his shoulder, the complete loss of control when I wrapped my hand around him and matched his rhythm.
"I want..." I didn't have words for what I wanted. Just the desperate need to be closer, to feel him everywhere.
