He exhaled through his nose, staring straight ahead. “And you? Laughing at his jokes. Letting him touch your elbow every time he passed. You think I didn’t notice?”
Mia’s cheeks flushed. “He was being professional. Friendly. That’s my job—build rapport, keep things smooth.”
“Rapport,” he repeated, the word bitter on his tongue. “Right.”
Silence stretched again—longer this time, heavy with everything they weren’t saying.
Mia spoke first, quieter. “I hated watching her touch you.”
He turned to her then—really looked. The anger in his eyes softened into something more vulnerable.
“I hated watching him look at you like he wanted to fuck you,” he admitted. “And you smiling back.”
“I wasn’t—” She stopped, swallowed. “I was being polite. Same as you.”
They stared at each other—two people who’d spent months hiding, protecting, pretending—and suddenly the pretending felt exhausting.
He reached across the console, slow enough she could pullaway if she wanted. She didn’t. His fingers brushed her cheek, thumb tracing the line of her jaw.
“I don’t want anyone else,” he said quietly. “I haven’t since Monaco. Since before Monaco.”
Mia’s breath hitched. “Me neither.”
He leaned in—slow, deliberate—until their foreheads touched. “Then why are we doing this? Fighting over nothing?”
“Because it hurts,” she whispered. “Seeing someone else want what’s mine.”
His eyes darkened. “You’re mine.”
She closed the distance—mouth on his, soft at first, testing. Then deeper. Hungrier. His hand slid into her hair, tilting her head, kissing her like he was claiming every inch of her mouth. She whimpered against him, fingers curling into his shirt.
They broke apart only long enough to stumble inside—door slamming shut behind them, shoes kicked off, hands already tearing at clothes. Her sundress hit the hallway floor. His shirt followed. They made it as far as the living room—halfway to the bedroom—before he lifted her onto the wide console table against the wall.
Legs wrapped around his waist. His mouth on her throat, sucking a mark just below her collarbone. She gasped, head tipping back, fingers working his belt open. He pushed her underwear aside and thrust in—slow, deep, both of them groaning at the stretch, the fullness.
They stilled for a moment—foreheads pressed, breathing each other in.
He stayed buried deep, hips flush against hers, not moving yet. His voice came out low, rough, almost a growl. “You’re mine.”
It wasn’t a question. But it wasn’t quite a demand either—just raw truth spilling out after the day’s tension.
Mia’s eyes met his, steady despite the flush on her cheeks. She tightened around him deliberately, once, feeling him twitch inside her. Then she rocked her hips forward—slow, claiming the motion herself. “Then prove it,” she whispered, voice breathy but firm. “Show me.”
His breath hitched. He didn’t rush—he waited a beat, letting her guide the next roll. Then he matched it: long, deep strokes that dragged against every sensitive spot, steady and unrelenting, but always attuned to the way she lifted to meet him.
She set the rhythm—subtle shifts of her hips dictating depth and pace. Her hands roamed his back, nails tracing muscle, pulling him closer when she wanted more. He groaned against her throat, mouth sucking that mark just below her collarbone harder now, possessive but careful.
“Feel that?” he murmured, lips brushing her skin. “How deep you take me. How fucking perfect.”
“Yes—” She clenched again on purpose, drawing another rough sound from him. Her mouth found his—open, hungry, tongues sliding as their bodies synced. Moans vibrated between them.
Her thighs trembled first. Breaths fractured into soft whimpers. She tilted her hips just right—guiding him exactly where the pressure built hottest.
“Lucas—”
He pressed deeper, holding there a second. “Come,” he rasped—half plea, half reverence. “Let me feel you.”
The orgasm rolled in slow—warm waves spreading outward, cresting gently as she rode it out with deliberate rocks of her hips. She clenched tight around him, crying out softly, nails biting into his shoulders. He followed right after—hips snapping once, then burying deep as he spilled inside her with a low, shuddering groan, body shaking against hers.
