EIGHTEEN
The knock on the door had woken me from a deep sleep, and I groaned as I fumbled for my phone to check the time. It was way too early for visitors. My alarm still had another hour to go before I was supposed to be up. Another knock, a little more insistent this time, pulled me out of bed. I stumbled to the door, not even bothering to glance in the mirror. My hair was likely a mess and I was still in my tiny sleep shorts and a thin tank top, but whatever—I wasn’t expecting company.
When I opened the door, squinting with one eye while the other protested against the light, I was surprised to see Luca standing there, looking far too awake for this hour. He was holding a bright pink box and the unmistakable scent of fresh pastries hit me instantly. The potent aroma of espresso followed and I was suddenly a lot more awake.
“By all means,”
I said, stepping aside and waving him in with a half-awake grin. “If you bring delectables, please come in.”
Luca chuckled softly, his eyes sweeping over my barely-dressed form with a mix of amusement and something else that sent a tiny thrill through me. I didn’t bother getting dressed—I was too tired to care, and if Luca was bothered, he certainly wasn’t showing it.
We headed to the little balcony and I settled into one of the small chairs at the little round table that overlooked the quiet street below. The morning air was crisp, the kind that made you feel like you had the entire world to yourself for just a little while.
Luca set the box on the table, and as he opened it, we were greeted with the most glorious sight—the rum baba, glistening and decadent, practically begging to be devoured. He went and bought the rum baba. Who does that? Is it because he’s Italian? Does he want sex? How do I know? Do I ask? Is that weird? Is this just a nice friend thing? I have so many questions and there is nobody here to answer them for me? We each picked one up, and at the same time and took a bite.
The flavor was just like I remembered—rich, sweet, with the perfect hint of rum. I couldn’t help it—a deep, satisfied sigh escaped me and I glanced at Luca to see if he felt the same. To my surprise, he was looking right back at me, his own expression a mirror of mine.
For a moment, we just sat there, basking in the sheer pleasure of that first bite. There was something almost intimate about the way we both reacted, like we were sharing a secret no one else could understand. It was just us, the quiet morning, and the most delicious pastry ever.
“Worth waking up for?”
Luca asked, his voice teasing, but there was a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
“Definitely,”
I replied, smiling as I took another bite. “You’ve officially ruined breakfast and, possibly, men for me. Nothing else will ever compare. And I can say with almost certainty that no other man will bring me rum baba at 5:45 a.m. in the morning.”
He laughed, a warm, genuine sound that I was starting to love hearing. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Channeling my inner Lena, I looked at Luca with my most serious face, which was hard to do when I devouring the most delicious pastry of my life, “Would you rather give up food or sex?”
He barely recovered from an almost choke on that question. He definitely wasn’t expecting that from me or possibly at all. I very much enjoyed his slightly uncomfortable look. He was doing an excellent job at remaining collected but I could see just below the surface he was a little shocked. I wondered if women every challenged him, mentally, not aggressively. I bet he seldom experienced any sort of opposition. I get it. Sitting here, enjoying the Parisian morning, it was very distracting to force myself to stop thinking about him just a little further in my room, on my bed. We all have needs. Why deny it? I was positive he would be capable of fulfilling any needs I could dream up.
“How long does this choice last,”
he asked me.
I completely forgot I just asked him a question. I went so far down the rabbit hole. “For a year. We’ll assume you won’t die with the lack of food for argument sake.”
“I don’t want to pick. A year is a long time. Does wine count as food,”
he worried.
“Just pick one, no food or no sex, for a year. What’s it going to be?”
I postered.
“I hate this game. It’s definitely an American game. Italians would never ask you to pick between the two.”
He laughed while he teased me. “I will give up food for a year. I know I will be able to enjoy it again. Giving up sex, no. I don’t want to give that up.”
He took a long sip of his espresso to what I can assume was to leave that statement lingering in the air between us. It definitely was the elephant in this small space. I can’t believe I just brought up sex before six in the morning. My body was starting to feel warm, yet I still had some goosebumps on my arms from morning chill. I could feel my heart beating lower in my chest, the pulse making it’s way down my body and between my legs. Clearly, I’ve not had sex in way too long. The reality is Luca speaks my very own personal sex language, one that I didn’t even know existed. I was definitely feeling a sexual awakening. I don’t remember ever feeling this way.
He set his cup down and leaned back in his chair, a sly smile on his lips. “And you?”
he asked, turning the tables on me. “What would you choose?”
I hesitated, trying to keep my cool. “If the food tastes this good…”
Before I could finish, he cut me off, his voice low and blunt. “Am I to believe such a beautiful woman has never experienced sex good enough to compare with a pastry?”
His words hit me like a jolt, and for a second, I couldn’t think of a single witty comeback. He wasn’t teasing now—he was dead serious, and the way he looked at me made it clear he wasn’t just talking about hypothetical sex. There was a challenge in his eyes, and something told me he wasn’t the type to back down.
“I guess,”
I said slowly, my voice barely above a whisper, “I just haven’t met the right baker.”
The corner of his mouth curled into a smirk, but his eyes were darker now, like he was barely holding something back. His fingers drummed lightly on the edge of the table, a subtle rhythm that matched the quickening beat of my heart. He leaned in closer, and I could feel the warmth of his body, the scent of him mingling with the aroma of espresso and pastries. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, and I had to remind myself to keep breathing.
“That guy from the other day didn’t know how to satisfy you,”
he inquired with disappointment, even offended.
“It was okay. He never invested much in my experience, if that makes sense. It was always about him. I hardly remember it after just a few months. Another lesson for me is to be more open with my needs,”
not sure if I felt embarrassed or exposed.
“Charlie…You’re just as affected by this as I am.”
He allows those words to hang in the air, a challenge with them, but also a soft admission. “The question is…how much longer do we let this linger?” He stayed silent so the words resonated in me.
My heart shuttered in my chest. I had to force myself to remain unaffected, calm. It was a losing battle. “You really think it’s that simple? That this…this tension can just be ignored until we both can’t stand it anymore?”
My fingers brushed the rim of my cup, purposeful and slow, testing the limits of the space between us. “I don’t think either of us is that patient.”
“Voglio scopare,”
Luca confessed.
I felt entranced by him. All I could say was, “Yes.”
“Ti mostrerò. Ti adorerò,”
he said softly, the words almost a growl and I bit my lip, trying to keep my growing need in control. But it was impossible to ignore. The desire between us was becoming feral, a raw, unchecked force that seemed to grow stronger with each passing second.
The air between us thickened, heavy with the tension that was rapidly building. It wasn’t just attraction; it was something far more primal, a pull that neither of us could resist. My skin tingled, every nerve on high alert as his gaze swept over me, lingering on my lips, my throat, the way my chest rose and fell with each breath. I could feel the pulse in my neck, and I knew he could see it too. I was quickly spiraling out of control. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this way—if I’d ever felt this way. It was as if the world outside had faded, leaving just the two of us in this small, sun-dappled space.
His hand moved, just barely, as if he was about to reach for me, but then he hesitated, his fingers stopping short of touching mine. The small distance between us felt unbearable, like an itch I couldn’t scratch. My body was tense, coiled, every muscle tight with anticipation. I wanted him to close the gap, to feel his hands on me, his mouth, his body pressed against mine. The thought of it made my breath hitch, and I saw his eyes flicker, noticing the small shift.
His expression darkened, and I could see the restraint fraying at the edges. The way he looked at me now was almost possessive, like he wanted to devour me right there. And God, I wanted to let him.
“Trust me,”
he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through me.
I craved him. I needed him. His words sent a fresh wave of heat through me, pooling low in my belly, and I had to suppress a shudder. The playful morning had morphed into something else entirely—something dangerous, consuming. I could feel my resolve weakening, the rational part of my mind screaming at me to slow down, to think this through. But my body wasn’t listening.
His hand moved again, this time more decisively, brushing against my fingers where they rested on the table. The contact was sensual, and I nearly gasped at the jolt it sent through me. I looked up, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, everything else fell away. There was nothing but the two of us, and the knowledge that whatever happened next, there was no going back.
“No games,”
I said quietly, though my voice was husky with the desire that was thrumming through me. “No teasing.”
The challenge was out there, hanging between us like a live wire. Luca’s eyes flashed, and his grip on my hand tightened, just for a second. It was enough. Enough to tell me he wasn’t backing down, enough to make my heart race faster, enough to make me realize just how close we were to crossing a line we couldn’t uncross.
“I don’t play games, Charlie,”
he murmured holding the last syllable of my name so long, his voice low and deliberate, each word sinking into me like a promise.
“You’re going to ruin men for me, Luca,”
I said quietly. “What are you thinking about?”
Luca’s eyes darken, his expression unreadable for a moment—almost like a fight behind closed doors. “All the ways to make you forget everything buy me.”
There it was—a dare wrapped in a promise, and I felt a thrill run through me, equal parts excitement and trepidation. The tension between us had reached a boiling point, and I knew that whatever happened next would be unlike anything I’d ever experienced.
But as much as I wanted to see where this would go, a small part of me knew that once we crossed that line, there would be no turning back. The attraction, the chemistry, it was more than just physical—it was a pull, a force that demanded to be reckoned with. And I wasn’t sure either of us was ready for what would happen when it finally exploded.
The vibration of Luca’s phone breaks the moment, the sound jarring in the otherwise quiet space. His body stiffens, and he sighs, a look of irritation crossing his face as he looked at his phone.
“I have to take this,”
he said, but his eyes never leave me.
Luca moved away to answer the phone. From his body language it seemed urgent. He pointed to his phone and the door, letting me know that he needed to take the call but wanted to make sure I knew.
That was unexpectedly thoughtful. He left my room, walked across the hall and I heard his door shut.