❝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
I'm lying sprawled across my bed, stomach flat against the sheets, feet kicking absently as my laptop warms the fabric underneath me. The faint scent of vanilla lotion mingles with the lingering clean laundry, normally calming, normally soft. But today, it's just... suffocating.
My thoughts are on an endless loop, spinning faster and faster, all roads leading back to... that moment with Luciano.
Twice.
I bury my face in my pillow, letting it absorb my muffled groan, before lifting my head and letting out a frustrated sigh.
"What the hell was that even supposed to mean..." I mutter into the silence.
Luciano hasn't said a single word about it. Not a hint. Not a look. Nothing. Just... him being his usual stoic self. Calm. Controlled. Hard to fucking decipher. Like a perfectly carved sculpture of a man who doesn't exist in the messy, emotional world that I live in.
Which only makes everything worse.
I flip my laptop open again and stare at the blinking cursor like it's mocking me. My fingers hover before I type something embarrassingly direct.
"do guys dry hump girls they're not attracted to?"
I hit enter and skim the results. Most of the answers are blunt, almost scolding.
"No." "If he wasn't into you, he'd shut that shit down instantly." "Dry humping is intimate—not something men do without interest."
I lean back against the headboard, exhaling slowly, letting my head drop back.
"Okay, but it's Luciano..." I whisper.
He's not like other guys. He doesn't react like they do. He barely reacts at all. He's quiet, composed, unreadable—like he was sculpted with the express purpose of being mysterious and difficult.
I scroll again.
"could a dry hump be just heat of the moment?"
The answers come in like a parade of logic and reason.
"Heat of the moment, sure—but attraction is still part of it." "You don't grind your genitals into someone you feel NOTHING for."
"Exactly!" I groan, rubbing my forehead. "So why the fuck is he acting like it was a dream I made up?"
I flop onto my back, staring at the ceiling as my chest rises and falls unevenly. My mind keeps replaying it—the way he felt underneath me, the way his body reacted, the way he grabbed me like he couldn't help himself.
Those weren't neutral reactions.
My stomach twists in on itself.
Unless... what if it really was just the moment? Just biology? Just him losing control for a second before slamming the emotional door shut again and walking away like nothing happened?
