They collapsed—sweat-slick, entangled, breaths syncing. He pulled her close, kissing her temple.
“No regrets?” he whispered.
She traced the small scar above his eyebrow. “None.”
He held her tighter, the morning light warming their skin. The weight of secrets lifted, replaced by something real—fragile, but unbreakable.
???
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Lucas
The apartment was quiet except for their breathing and the distant hum of London traffic far below. Sunlight slipped through the half-closed blinds, painting lazy golden stripes across the tangled sheets and their bare skin. Lucas woke slowly, awareness returning in layers: the soft weight of Mia draped half across his chest, one of her thighs slung over his hip, his arm heavy and possessive around her waist. Her cheek rested over his heart, her breath warm against his skin, and he could feel the faint, lingering heat between her legs where they pressed together—the evidence of how thoroughly he’d claimed her that morning.
He didn’t move at first. Just lay there, soaking it in. The steady thump of his own pulse under her ear. The way her body fit against his like it had always belonged there. The quiet joy that bloomed in his chest, bright and almost painful after so many months of restraint, of wanting her and not allowing himself to have her.
She stirred first, shifting just enough that he felt how slick she still was, how sensitive every small brush of skin made her. His cock twitched against her stomach in immediate response.
Her eyes opened, sleepy and soft, and found his.
“Hey,” he rasped, voice rough from sleep and from groaning her name for hours.
“It’s almost dinner time,” she whispered, already leaning in topress a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of his throat.
The simple touch lit him up. His hand slid down her spine—deliberate, unhurried—until he cupped her ass and squeezed once, hard enough to pull a soft gasp from her. He rolled them in one smooth motion so she was underneath him, forearms braced on either side of her head, caging her in without crowding her.
“Still tender?” he asked, searching her eyes. He needed to know. Needed to be sure.
“A little.” She rocked her hips up once—slow, teasing—and he hardened instantly against her stomach. “Worth it.”
That was all he needed. His mouth curved into a half-smile he couldn’t stop. “Good. Because I’m nowhere near finished.”
No rush this time. They were already naked, already tangled. He kissed her lazily—deep and languid, tongues sliding together like they had forever. His hand drifted between her thighs, fingers gliding through her slickness without pushing inside, just stroking her outer lips, circling her clit with the lightest pressure until she squirmed beneath him, breath hitching.
“Lucas…”
“Patience,” he murmured against her lips. “We’ve got all night.”
He kissed his way down her body—slow, reverent—lingering at her breasts to suck each nipple until they were swollen and flushed, then lower, nipping the soft skin of her stomach, the crease of her hip. When he settled between her thighs he didn’t rush. He kissed the inside of each one—soft, teasing bites—then blew a cool breath across her centre just to watch her shiver and arch.
Only then did he lick her—long, flat strokes from entrance to clit, savouring every taste, every tremor. Her hands fisted the sheets; her hips lifted instinctively. He hummed against her, the vibration pulling a moan from deep in her throat, while his tongue worked her clit in tight, relentless circles.
She came quietly—back arching, a soft, broken whimper escaping as pleasure rolled through her in gentle waves. He didn’t stop—kept licking softly through the aftershocks until she was trembling, oversensitive, tugging weakly at his hair.
“Up,” she gasped. “Want you in my mouth.”
The words sent heat roaring through him. He crawled back up, kissed her deeply so she could taste herself on his tongue, then rolled onto his back.
Mia slid down his body, trailing kisses along his abs, the sharp lines of his hips. When she wrapped her hand around his cock—already thick and heavy—he had to grit his teeth against the rush of pleasure. She stroked him slowly, licked the tip, swirled her tongue around the head, tasting him.
“Fuck—” His hips jerked. “Mia…”
She took him deeper—slow, deliberate—relaxing her throat until her nose brushed his pelvis, then pulling back with a wet pop, hand twisting at the base. The rhythm she set was torture in the best way: deep pulls, tongue pressing along the underside, her other hand cupping and rolling his balls. His breathing turned ragged; his fingers tangled in her hair—not guiding, just holding on like she was the only thing keeping him anchored.
“Gonna come,” he warned, voice strained.
She didn’t stop. She sucked harder, faster, eyes locked on his as he shattered—hips snapping up, a guttural moan tearing from his throat as he pulsed hot and thick down her throat. She took every drop, working him through it until he collapsed back, panting, wrecked in the best possible way.
