She laughed softly, breathless. “You remember.”
“I remember everything.”
He slid the blouse off her shoulders; let it pool on the floor. His hands roamed—up her spine, down her sides, learning her again like she was new and familiar all at once. She tugged his T-shirt over his head, palms smoothing over the warm skin of his chest, the faint scar from boarding school, the newer ones from Barcelona still pink at the edges. She traced them with her fingertips, then with her lips, slow and reverent.
He groaned low in his throat when her mouth found the spot just below his collarbone. His hands slid to the clasp of her bra, unhooked it with careful fingers. The lace fell away. He cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples until they tightened under his touch. She arched into him, head tipping back, a quiet moan escaping.
They shed the rest slowly—jeans, underwear, every layer peeled away like unwrapping something precious. When they were bare, he pulled her down onto the bed with him, rolling so she was beneath him, then shifting until they lay side by side, facing each other. Legs tangled. Hands exploring. Mouths meeting again and again.
He kissed his way down her body—sternum, ribs, the softplane of her stomach—pausing to nuzzle the dip of her hip, the inside of her thigh. When he settled between her legs, he looked up at her, waiting. She nodded, fingers sliding into his hair.
His mouth was slow, deliberate. Tongue tracing lazy spirals, then firmer strokes, then sucking gently until her hips lifted off the bed. He held her thighs open with gentle pressure, forearms braced, savouring every hitch in her breath, every quiet sound she tried to swallow. When her fingers tightened in his hair and her back bowed, he didn’t rush her toward the edge—he drew it out, coaxing her higher, letting her tremble there until she shattered with a soft, broken cry.
He kissed his way back up her body while she caught her breath, settling between her thighs again. She wrapped her legs around him, heels pressing into the small of his back. He reached between them, guided himself to her entrance, paused.
“Look at me,” he said, voice rough.
He settled back between her thighs, guided himself to her entrance once more, and pushed in slowly—inch by inch—until he was seated fully inside her. They both stilled, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.
“God, Mia,” he whispered. “You feel…”
She kissed him before he could finish, hips rocking gently, urging him to move.
He did—slow, deep rolls at first, every thrust measured, drawing out the friction. Her hands roamed his back, nails grazing lightly, then digging in when he found the angle that made her gasp. He kept the rhythm steady, sensual, building gradually. Their mouths stayed close—kissing, breathing each other in, soft words murmured between thrusts.
“I missed you,” he said against her lips. “Every day.”
“I missed you too.”
He shifted, hooking one of her legs higher over his hip,changing the angle just enough to make her moan louder. She tightened around him, breath hitching.
“Lucas—”
“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Let go again. I want to feel it.”
She did—head thrown back, body arching, pulsing around him in long, shuddering waves. He followed moments later, hips stuttering, burying himself deep as he came undone with a low groan, face pressed to the curve of her neck.
They stayed like that—tangled, breathing hard, hearts hammering against each other—until the aftershocks faded. He eased out slowly, rolled to his side, pulled her against his chest. She curled into him, cheek over his heart, legs entwined.
He kissed her temple, her forehead, the corner of her mouth. “Stay,” he said again, quieter this time, voice thick with everything unsaid.
She didn’t answer. Just pressed closer, her hand resting over his heart, feeling its steady rhythm slow as sleep began to claim them both.
Mia lay awake a little longer, cheek against his chest, listening to the gradual softening of his breathing. His arm stayed heavy around her waist, warm and sure, and the quiet of the room wrapped around them like a held breath. Her body still tingled—soft echoes of pleasure, the faint ache between her thighs—but her mind wouldn’t settle.
She could feel the steady thump of his heart under her palm, the rise and fall of his ribs, the way he’d relaxed completely against her. Safe. Familiar. Terrifying.
Her own pulse hadn’t slowed. It fluttered in her throat, unsteady, like it knew something she didn’t want to admit. She should leave. Slip out now, while he slept. Protect the fragile thing they’d just rebuilt. Protect him—one race from the championship, one clean drive away from everything he’d chased for years.
But his warmth anchored her. His hand, even in sleep, curvedprotectively over her hip. She remembered the way he’d looked at her earlier—open, pleading, like she was still the only thing that could steady him.
She wasn’t ready to walk away again. Not tonight.
She let her eyes close, let her breathing match his—slow, deep, deliberate. Tomorrow she’d leave. Tomorrow she’d rebuild the distance. Tonight… tonight she let herself stay.
* * *
Lucas
