❝Book 1 in the 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 series
He spreads my folds wide, his hungry mouth latching onto my clit, sucking hard and licking expertly. My hips move on their own, riding his face as soft whimpers escape me.
Just when I think I can't take any more, he...
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P A R I S
The movie is playing, soft glow flickering across the room, but I can barely focus. At first, Luciano sat all the way on the other end of the couch—one arm slung across the backrest, legs spread in that relaxed, authoritative way of his.
The picture of calm, collected indifference. As if he has no idea how that effortless posture ties my stomach in knots. He's keeping that usual polite, invisible line between us, like he's guarding a fortress I have no business entering.
I glance at him from the corner of my eye. He's not watching me. He never is. But I know he feels me. So I test the waters. Little by little, I start a slow, innocent invasion. First the throw pillow between us "accidentally" falls to the floor. Then I stretch. Shift. Reposition. Until, finally, our arms brush. Just barely.
I don't look at him. I keep my eyes on the screen and act like I don't notice the warmth of his skin or the way my pulse kicks up every time we make contact.
The movie isn't explicit. It's romantic, slow-burning, the kind of film that dances around tension and doesn't say the quiet part out loud. Just like us. I picked it on purpose. Not obvious, just... suggestive. I wanted to set the mood, not wave a flag.
Luciano hasn't moved an inch.
But I can feel him noticing things. The way he shifts when a steamy scene sneaks up. The slight tick in his jaw when I laugh and lean into him a little more than necessary. He thinks he's being subtle. I smirk quietly to myself. He's trying so hard to stay neutral.
"I thought you liked rom-coms." I point out, keeping my tone light.
He doesn't look away from the screen.
"I like some of them."
"You've sighed like three times in the last ten minutes."
He cuts me a sideways look.
"They've known each other for, what, three weeks? And now they're suddenly in love?" He scoffs, shaking his head. "Give me a break."
I snort, amused by his cynicism.
"That's the magic of cinema, Luciano. Suspension of disbelief."
"They met because she spilled coffee on his shirt."
"And now they're soulmates," I say dramatically, clutching a throw blanket to my chest like I'm in the film. "Let yourself feel something, old man."
He side-eyes me.
"You're the one who said you wanted to watch something 'with depth.' This is one cliché away from a shampoo commercial."
I grin, warmth blooming in my chest. I live for this version of him—grumpy, dry, and just this side of flustered.
