Eventually they climbed out, dripping and still laughing softly, wrapping themselves in oversized towels. The coffee had gone lukewarm on the table, but neither minded. They sat side by side on the loungers, feet brushing, the sun climbing higher. Every accidental touch felt deliberate now, every shared glance loaded.
* * *
Afternoons became their own quiet rhythm: a slow drive to the nearby village for market shopping—creamy cheeses, fat blackolives, crusty artisanal bread still warm from the oven—then back to the villa for sleepy siestas in front of the fire when the breeze turned cooler. One day they hiked a rugged coastal path, the sea crashing white against the rocks far below. Lucas opened up about his brothers—the relentless sibling rivalry that had sharpened his drive on track, the way Jax’s chaos always pushed him harder. Mia shared stories of her parents’ quiet, steady pride, the late-night video calls from the other side of the world that kept her anchored no matter how far the circuit took her.
The days stretched easy and golden, each one pulling them a little closer, the unspoken tension simmering just beneath every laugh, every accidental touch. Lucas felt it building like revs before lights out—inevitable, thrilling, terrifying.
Later in the week, the thaw was undeniable. Touches lingered: a hand on her back guiding her through a door, fingers brushing when passing a wine glass. Friendship blurred at the edges, charged with what-ifs. That evening, after a sunset walk on the pebble beach, they returned salt-kissed and windswept. Lucas lit the outdoor fire pit, and they settled on loungers with blankets and another bottle of rosé.
The wine warmed them as stars pricked the sky. Mia's gaze drifted to his collarbone, visible under his open sweater. The scar, pale against tanned skin.
“You've noticed,” he said quietly.
“In Barcelona. What happened?”
He set his glass down, expression turning inward. “Boarding school. I was 12, skinny as a rail. The other boys… they knew who my grandfather was. Everyone did. The old man’s name was still on trophies, a legend. They expected me to walk in like some big shot—tall, untouchable, already a champion in the making. But the reality?” He gave a small, bitter laugh. “I was just a scrawny kid with big ears and no muscle. Didn’t quite fit the myth. So they pounced. Saw the vulnerability a mile away. Teased me relentlessly—‘rich kid, soft kid, daddy’s legacy boy who can’t even throw a punch.’ One night a group of older boys cornered me in the dorms. Dragged me to an empty classroom. They thought it was a joke, roughhousing gone wrong. Punches, kicks. I remember the laughter most—cruel, echoing. Broke my shoulder in three places, needed surgery. Pins left that scar.”
Mia’s face tightened. “Lucas… that’s horrific. Kids can be monsters.”
He nodded, voice steady but raw. “Parents yanked me out immediately. Private tutor. It was hell at first—pain, physio, nightmares. But it gave me time. More karting sessions, building my body in the gym. I vowed never to be that vulnerable again. Winning? It’s armour. Proof no one’s laughing anymore.”
She reached out instinctively, her fingertip tracing the scar’s jagged line. The contact sent heat racing through him—sharp, electric.
“Mia…”
The air thickened. He caught her hand, bringing it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her palm. Then he leaned in, capturing her mouth—gentle at first, exploratory, tasting of wine and salt. She sighed into it, shifted closer, her free hand sliding to his chest.
The kiss deepened, tongues brushing, heat rising. Lucas pulled her onto his lap, her legs straddling him on the lounger. He hardened beneath her, a low groan escaping as she rocked instinctively. His hands roamed—up her sides, under her shirt, thumbs circling her ribs before cupping her breasts through her bra. He broke the kiss to trail his mouth down her neck, sucking at her pulse point, drawing a gasp.
"God, you feel good," he murmured, voice rough. One hand slipped lower, gripping her hip, guiding her movements as she ground against him slowly, friction building through theirclothes. His other hand pushed her shirt higher, exposing skin to the cool night air. He kissed down her collarbone, then lower, tugging her bra strap aside to bare one breast.
Her head fell back as his mouth closed over her nipple—hot, wet, tongue flicking teasingly before he sucked hard. She moaned, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. "Lucas..." The sound of his name on her lips sent a jolt straight to his cock. He switched to the other breast, licking a slow circle, teeth grazing just enough to make her shudder. His free hand slid between them, pressing against her through her shorts, rubbing in firm circles that had her panting.
"You're so responsive," he growled against her skin, fingers deftly unbuttoning her shorts, dipping inside to trace her through damp fabric."I want to taste all of you."
She whimpered, grinding harder, heat coiling tight. His mouth returned to hers, kiss messy and urgent, bodies aligned in a rhythm that promised more.
Lucas groaned into her mouth as her hips rolled against the hard length straining his shorts. His hand between her legs pressed firmer, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over her clit through the thin fabric of her underwear. Her breath hitched, thighs trembling as she chased the pressure.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he rasped, voice wrecked. He hooked a finger under the edge of her shorts and underwear, sliding them aside. Cool night air kissed her exposed skin for a heartbeat—then his fingers were there, tracing her slick folds, teasing her entrance.
Her nails dug into his shoulders. “Please…”
He didn’t make her wait. One finger slipped inside her—slow, deliberate, curling just right. She gasped, hips jerking forward to take him deeper. He added a second finger almost immediately, stretching her gently, thrusting in a steady rhythm that matched the grind of her hips. His thumb found her clit again, circling in time with his strokes.
“That’s it,” he murmured against her throat, lips brushing her pulse. “Ride my hand, Mia. Let me feel you.”
She rocked down onto his fingers, the sounds of her arousal loud in the quiet night. Each thrust pushed her higher—his palm grinding against her clit, fingers curling to hit that perfect spot inside.
“Lucas—” Her voice cracked, desperate.
“Come for me,” he growled low, teeth grazing her earlobe. “I want to feel you come all over my fingers. Let go, Mia. I’ve got you.”
She clenched hard around his fingers, a broken moan tearing from her throat as waves of pleasure crashed through her—intense, shuddering, leaving her trembling in his lap. Lucas kept moving slowly, drawing it out, murmuring soft praise against her skin until the aftershocks faded and she slumped against his chest, panting.
He pressed soft kisses to her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. His fingers slipped free gently; she whimpered at the loss. He brought them to his lips, tasting her with a low, satisfied hum that made fresh heat flicker through him.
Mia lifted her head, dazed, cheeks flushed. “I… that was…”
