Luca
Elena's body trembles, her breath coming in short gasps.
I didn't come here expecting this. Dinner, conversation, maybe some answers about her father, that was the plan.
Not having her melt against me like the years between us never happened. But I’m not complaining.
All I’ve wanted for the last seven years is to regain what we lost.
How many nights did I spend trying to forget this? Forget her sweet scent.
The sound she makes when she comes undone.
Wondering if she ever thought of me. And now she's here, pressed against me, her body remembering mine even as her mind seems determined to keep us apart.
"Elena."
Her eyes flutter open, dark with desire but clouded with uncertainty.
Unable to lose this moment, I kiss her again, deeper this time.
I probably should be seeking answers about her father, about why she’s so afraid, about her children, but right now, with her body warm and pliant against mine, those questions recede.
My hands slide lower, cupping her ass, lifting her slightly. "Let me take you to bed. Let me show you what I've been missing."
She hesitates, that shadow crossing her face again. I can almost see the war behind her eyes, desire versus caution, the past versus whatever she fears in the future.
"Just tonight.”
I want to argue, to tell her I want more than just tonight. But I've waited seven years. I can negotiate for more time tomorrow.
I lift Elena into my arms. She wraps her legs around my waist, clinging to me as I carry her down the hallway.
"Which room?" I murmur against her neck.
She points, and I push the door open with my shoulder, revealing a simple bedroom with a stack of books on the nightstand, a framed photo of her triplets, a small vase of winter flowers.
I lay her gently on the bed, hovering above her. "I've dreamed about this. About you."
I’m almost afraid to look her in the eyes, afraid of what I’ll see in response to my confession.
So I focus on undressing her, discovering again the woman who stole my heart all those years ago.
My fingers slide under her sweater, pushing it over her head to reveal soft, warm skin.
She's different now, subtle changes that only someone who once knew every inch of her would notice.
"You're even more beautiful." I press my lips to the curve of her neck, the hollow of her throat, the swell of her breast.
She arches beneath me, her fingers tangled in my hair. "Luca…"
I take my time relearning her body, the places that make her gasp, the sensitive spot just below her navel. Seven years ago, we were younger, more frantic. Now I savor each moment, each touch.
Her clothes fall away beneath my hands, and mine soon follow.
When we're finally skin to skin, I pause, looking down at her.
She’s carried three children, built a life without me, but she still responds to my touch like no time has passed.
"You're still mine," I tell her, though I know I have no right to claim her. Not yet.
For tonight, she doesn't argue. Her eyes flutter closed as she surrenders to the moment, to us. I know this one night is all she’s willing to give, but as I lower my mouth to hers again, I make a silent promise that I won't let her slip away a second time.
I lose myself in the taste of her, the scent of her skin. My lips trail down her body.
Seven years dissolve as my tongue traces patterns against her inner thigh, moving higher with deliberate slowness.
Elena's fingers tighten in my hair, her breath catching as I pause at the apex of her thighs.
I inhale the scent of her. My mouth waters to taste her sweet essence.
"Please.” She arches under me, like she’s offering up her pussy. For a moment, I think of the man who gave her the children.
Did he touch her like this? Make her want like this?
I give my head a quick shake to rid it of the thoughts.
She’s mine. Always been mine.
I look up the length of her body, seeing the flush spreading across her skin, her eyes dark and desperate. This is what I've dreamed of on lonely Italian nights. This is what was stolen from us.
"I want to remember every sound you make," I murmur against her heated flesh before giving her what we both need.
Her back arches off the bed at the first touch of my tongue. I take my time, savoring her. Each gasp, each tremor of her thighs around my head is a victory, a reclaiming of what was ours.
"Luca… God…" Her voice breaks as my fingers join my mouth, curling inside her, finding that one spot I know drives her wild.
She cries out, her sweet nectar coating my tongue. Her hips rock, thighs tremble, as I continue to feast on her, continue to hear my name from her lips as I drive her up and make her shatter again.
You’re mine, plays like a mantra in my head.
Whatever stands between us—her fear, my past, her children—this connection remains unbroken.
I grab the condom I’d tossed on the bed when we undressed and quickly sheathe myself.
Moving up her body, I position myself between her thighs.
Desire claws at me, urging me to drive into her.
But I resist. I look down on her, our eyes locking.
Only then do I push slowly into her. Fucking hell, the sensation nearly undoes me.
The tight heat of her body welcoming mine feels like coming home.
I groan, struggling for control.
I want to ask her if she feels the same.
Does she recognize how we’re meant to be?
But words fail me as I begin to move.
Each thrust pushes away the emptiness, the loneliness of our separation, and instead reconnects the bond we had. I can’t, I won’t, let her go again.
Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me deeper, her fingernails scoring lines down my back, telling me she’s as lost in this moment as I am.
We find our rhythm quickly, our bodies remembering each other.
Her pussy pulses around my dick, and I practically see stars, but I grit my teeth, holding off. I don’t want to come yet. Not until she does.
“Oh, God… Luca…” Her fingernails dig deeper into my back. Her thighs tighten around my hips.
“Come, Elena. Come now, baby.” My own release is teetering on the edge.
She lets out a sharp hitch of breath.
Her body arcs under me.
Her pussy clamps down on my dick like a vise. I’m shot like a rocket into ultimate pleasure.
“Fuck!” I lever up on my hands and drive into her, again, and again, and again as my orgasm rocks through me.
My arms give out. I collapse over her, my breaths ragged as I bury my face in her neck.
Not wanting to crush her, I wrap my arms around her and adjust our bodies, not willing to let her go even as reality seeps back in.
Happiness mingles with uncertainty, especially when Elena’s body tenses next to mine. I can feel the walls rebuilding between us.
I glance at her. Her eyes are open, staring at the ceiling, thoughts clearly racing behind them. She's already slipping away from me.
"Don't.” My voice comes out rougher than I would have liked.
Her gaze flicks to mine, guarded. "Don't what?"
"Don't start thinking about all the reasons this was a mistake." I trace my finger along her collarbone, feeling her pulse jump beneath my touch. "Don't start planning how to push me away again."
She opens her mouth, likely to argue, but I press my finger gently to her lips.
"Please, Elena. Just… can we have tonight?” The man in me hates that I’m begging. I’m not a piece of shit. I’m a man worthy of her love.
Something in my plea must reach her because the tension in her shoulders eases slightly. "Just tonight.”
Relief washes through me. I pull her closer, tucking her head beneath my chin where it fits perfectly, just like it always did.
"Tell me something I don't know about you now," I murmur against the top of her head. "Something simple."
She's quiet for so long I think she might have fallen asleep. Then she says, "I learned to make cannoli from scratch. The kids love them."
I smile against her hair. "I'd like to try them sometime."
"Your turn," she says, her breath warm against my chest.
"I have a vineyard in Tuscany. Small, but the wine is good."
Her arm tightens around my waist. We exchange these small confessions in the darkness.
Favorite movies we've seen, places we've been, mundane details that build bridges across our seven-year divide, but we avoid anything deep, anything that can remind us of what broke us apart.
For now, we're just a man and a woman rediscovering each other, pretending tomorrow won't come and ruin everything again.
I trace lazy circles on Elena's bare shoulder as we lie tangled in her sheets.
"What's this from?" Elena's fingertip trails along a jagged scar running across my ribs, her touch feather-light.
"Disagreement about territory," I say, keeping my tone casual. No need to tell her how close that knife came to ending me. "Just business in Italy."
She nods, accepting the sanitized version.
Her fingers continue their exploration, mapping the changes in my body.
Each touch stirs something in me, not just desire, but a longing for what we lost.
I realize I haven’t dealt with the condom.
I don’t want to because I’m afraid by getting up, I’ll break the spell.
But things are going to get messy here if I don’t.
“Let me deal with this,” I say, gesturing to my dick. She nods, and I rise from the bed.
I don’t bother to dress as I go to the ensuite bath.
I remove the condom, tie it off, and toss it in the trash.
I wash my hands and return to the bedroom, afraid she’ll be gone.
But she’s not.
She’s still in bed looking so fucking perfect, my heart aches with the need for her to love me again.
Her eyes track me, and while she might not still love me, she finds me appealing if the appreciation in her expression is any indication.
I lie beside her, pulling her back into my arms with no intention of ever letting her go again.
"I'm surprised no Italian beauty snatched you up while you were there," she says, her voice light but her eyes not meeting mine. "No countess or model waiting for you back in Tuscany?”
I've had women, of course. I'm not a monk. But marriage? The thought never crossed my mind after Elena.