Luca’s room felt too still, like even the walls were waiting to see if I’d chicken out. The heater buzzed in the background, and the shadows from the single lamp stretched long across the bed. I stood by the door, fingers clenched in the hem of my hoodie, heart pounding like it was trying to escape.
He looked up from the bed, hair a little messy, hoodie rumpled. “You okay?”
“I don’t know,” I said, honest and pathetic. “This feels… big.”
He didn’t move. Just nodded like he understood. “That’s because it is.”
I breathed out slowly, stepping further into the room. My shoes squeaked on the hardwood, and I swore even the air between us buzzed with tension. “You’re sure?”
His eyes didn’t waver. “Only if you are.”
I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say anything. I crossed the room and kissed him instead.
It started slow, like always. Lips brushing, fingers hesitating, breath catching in the space between want and worry. But this time, when his hands gripped my waist, when I let my fingers slide up under the hem of his shirt and he whispered my name against my lips—this time it felt different.
He guided me backward until the backs of my knees hit the mattress. We sank down together, a tangle of limbs and nerves and too much wanting. The bed dipped under our weight, creaking softly like it knew this wasn’t just fooling around. My pulse thudded under my skin, hot and electric.
I looked at him. “I’ve never… I mean, not—”
He brushed hair from my face, gaze steady. “Me neither. Not like this.”
That mattered. It mattered more than I expected. Because Luca Reyes—the guy who made my heart trip over itself with one smirk—was scared too. And still, he chose me.
His kisses moved lower, trailing down my throat, my chest, leaving sparks wherever he touched. My hoodie hit the floor. His followed. Every inch of skin he kissed felt like a secret he wanted to keep safe. He didn’t push. Didn’t rush. His hands asked permission with every movement.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, kissing the corner of my mouth.
“I’m terrified.”
“Me too.”
We stripped slowly, helping each other out of clothes like we were unwrapping something fragile. When I finally lay beneath him, bare and open and shaking, I wasn’t scared of him. Just of how much I already trusted him.
“I’ve wanted this,” he said, lips against my collarbone. “You. Always.”
The way he said it made my chest ache. Like I was something holy. Like he didn’t care about the bruises I tried to hide or the voice in my head telling me I’d mess it all up.
I kissed him again. Deeper this time. And everything slowed down.
His hands slid down my sides, slow and confident, like he already knew what I needed. He grabbed my hips, grounding me beneath him, and I could feel the heat of him—hard and pressed against me, not even inside yet, and I was already gasping. Every inch of my skin buzzed under his touch. My legs parted without thinking. Desperate. Needy. For him.
When our mouths met again, it wasn’t gentle. It was messy. Open. Tongues tangled and teeth scraping, his breath ragged against my lips as he rutted against me, grinding into my thigh until I whimpered.
“You like that?” he rasped, voice wrecked. “You’re so fucking hard already.”
I couldn’t answer—not with his fingers wrapping around both of us, stroking slow and filthy, precum slicking his grip. I bucked into his hand, shameless. He leaned down, lips at my neck, murmuring, “I’ve got you. Gonna make you feel so good, Noah.”
He took his time. Mouth trailing down my chest, tongue flicking over my nipple before sucking it hard enough to make me moan. One hand stayed on my cock, teasing, jerking just enough to keep me on edge. The other slid lower, between my thighs, fingers slick with lube before they pressed against me.
“Relax,” he whispered. “I want all of you.”
I tried. I really tried. But the second his finger pushed in, slow and careful, I saw stars. My hips jerked and he groaned against my neck.
“Fuck, you’re tight.” He added a second, scissoring them gently, watching my face like it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. “You’re doing so good for me.”
When he finally lined up, tip pressed right against my entrance, I couldn’t stop shaking. Not from fear—God, no. From the ache. The want. He slid in slow, inch by inch, his breath stuttering like he was barely keeping it together. I choked on a moan. It was too much. It was perfect.
“Holy shit,” he muttered, forehead pressed to mine. “You feel like heaven.”
Then he moved—and everything shattered.
He started slow, deep, letting me feel every thick, perfect inch. Then faster. Rougher. His grip bruised my hips as he slammed into me, over and over, making the bed creak and my voice break into moans I couldn’t hide.
“Take it,” he growled. “You’re mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I gasped, legs locked around his waist. “I’m fucking yours.”
His cock hit that spot again and again, and my whole body tightened, desperate for release. I stroked myself fast, chasing the high, and he didn’t stop. Didn’t let me stop. He fucked me through it, watched me fall apart, then followed with a guttural moan and a final, deep thrust as he came hard inside me.
After, we lay tangled in the sheets, his arm slung over my waist, my head tucked beneath his chin. My body still hummed with the memory of him. My skin buzzed where he touched me. I didn’t speak. Neither did he.
His fingers traced lazy circles on my back. My hand rested over his heart, feeling it beat steady and strong. I closed my eyes, letting myself feel safe. Letting myself believe this wasn’t temporary.
Luca whispered into my hair, “You’re the only one I’ve ever really wanted.”
That almost undid me. The silence between us wasn’t heavy this time. It was full. Warm. Safe.
Eventually, my eyes drifted shut. I let myself rest. For the first time in a long time, I fell asleep not worrying about what would happen next.
But the next morning, I woke up and Luca was gone.