Turo’s hand tightens around the toy car. His knuckles go pale.
“That’s not enough,” he says.
“It’s everything,” I whisper.
The room goes quiet again. But it’s a different quiet now. Charged. Heavy. Like the air is thickening between us.
I can feel it. Three years of absence. One night that never stopped living under my skin. A child sleeping down the hall who has the same eyes as the man standing in front of me.
And before I can even register what’s happening, he takes a step closer.
It’s as if the world around us shrinks. There’s just Turo, and me, and this space between us that feels too charged with energy to ignore.
His hand is on my cheek, warm, firm, and before I can say anything, before I can even think about the million things I should do, his lips crash into mine.
It’s sudden. Unexpected. And completely overwhelming. His mouth is urgent, like he’s been holding something in all night and finally can’t wait any longer.
The kiss isn’t soft or gentle. It’s fiery and raw. All-consuming.
I freeze for a second, just absorbing the heat of it, but then everything clicks. Every part of me leans into it, into him. I kiss him back, my hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath his jacket. The world tilts, spins, and I forget about everything.
Everything except this.
My hands slide up under his shirt, feeling the taut muscles of his back, the way he shifts and groans under my touch. He pulls away just long enough to look at me, his breath ragged, eyes dark with something fierce.
“Lucia...” he murmurs, trying to control himself. His lips are barely an inch from mine, his words sending a shiver straight through me.
I stumble back, and the edge of his desk catches the backs of my thighs. Paper explodes everywhere. A stack of documents skitters to the floor like startled birds. A folder slides off the corner and lands with a soft slap. Something metallic—his pen, maybe—clatters once and rolls out of sight.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I twist my fingers into the cotton of his shirt, the warmth of his chest radiating through the fabric. His breath catches as his hands find the straps of my nightdress, his fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake. He gasps as he looks at me, his eyes darkening to the color of wet slate. The heat of his gaze traces every curve beneath my champagne-colored lace underwear, making my skin prickle.
His breath catches again. His pupils dilate until only a thin ring of gray remains. He doesn’t blink as his gaze follows the edge of champagne lace across my skin. The air conditioning raises goosebumps along my arms, or maybe it’s the way he's looking at me.
I bite my lower lip, reach behind my back. One hook. Two. The tension in the fabric releases. I roll my shoulders forward slightly, and the straps slip down, one after the other. The bra drops between us, a whisper of lace against carpet.
He eliminates the space between us in a heartbeat, his body pressing against mine. His mouth finds my nipple, drawing it in, and a moan escapes my lips. My back arches, thighs clenching, but he doesn’t linger. He trails kisses lower, and lower still, until he’s positioned between my legs, hands spreading my thighs apart with a possessive touch. He pinches my panties between his teeth, causing me to gasp desperately. My legs tremble with desire as he yanks the material down while slipping to his knees.
“Turo, please…” I whisper, desperate with need.
He exhales, hot and heavy against my center, and grins, a wicked and devastating smile. “Oh, Lucia, I don’t know if you really want me.”
A helpless, needy sound escapes me, humiliation and arousal churning in my stomach. “Please,” I whisper, squirming beneath him. “I need you.”
And then his mouth is on me, his tongue licking with a fierce hunger. He flicks over my clit, then slides down to tease my entrance before thrusting in. His nose presses just right, and I cry out, hips grinding into his face.
Shit, I have to cling to his hair just to stop myself from falling. His hands grip my thighs hard, holding me still as he devours me. Tongue, lips, teeth… he uses all of it, sending heat crackling down my spine with every movement. And when I start to tremble, teetering on the edge, he doesn’t stop.
He slides two fingers inside me, curling them deep, and moans against my skin. My body unravels under his touch, and I can feel how much he’s been craving this. Me.
“Turo, oh my God…” I gasp, barely a whisper.
But before I can get anything else out, my toes curl. I let loose, and I fall. I come so hard, I forget my own name, crying out as pleasure explodes behind my eyes, pulsing through my limbs and making my whole body shudder.
He doesn’t stop until I’m gasping, limp, twitching from overstimulation and completely wrung out. Then, just as I’m about to tumble, he scoops me up. The edge of his desk digs into the back of my thighs as he sets me down, not gentle but careful, like he knows exactly how much pressure my body can take before it turns into pain.
Paper slides under my palms. A stack of folders skitters, spilling across the polished wood in a soft avalanche. Something sharp-edged, a clipped bundle, fans out and tumbles to the floor.The lamp tilts, throwing the light sideways, turning the room into shadow and gold.
Turo pauses for a moment, his hands braced on either side of me as he spreads me open on his desk like he owns the space and is trying to convince himself he doesn’t. His fingers trace the curve of my jaw, slow and steady, his eyes locked on mine. Then he kisses me again, filthy and deep, letting me taste myself on his tongue. And I moan into his mouth, because I’ve never felt more wanted. More taken. More his.
