Bonus Scene
ADAM- THE HOTEL SCENE (HIS POV)
I shouldn’t be this nervous.
Not after the places I’ve been, the things I’ve done, the nights that blur together like one long exhale.
But Luca… Luca is a sharper kind of feeling.
I stand in the hallway outside my room, heart ticking faster than it should, listening for footsteps. Not for safety. For him. For the one man whose gaze in the bathhouse burned hotter than the damn sauna.
He noticed me.
Actually noticed me.
Most attendants don’t look twice at the guests unless something needs cleaning. Luca looks at people like he’s reading them. I could feel his eyes on me every time I passed—curious, cautious… and something underneath that made my chest tighten.
I left the key because words felt too thin.
It was a stupid gamble, honestly. Men don’t follow strangers back to hotels unless they want what everyone else wants.
But Luca—God—he didn’t just want.
He hesitated.
He questioned.
He considered.
And that’s when I knew I wanted him more than I should.
When he finally appears at the end of the hallway, he stops as if needing to catch his breath. He’s wearing the same expression he had when I first saw him leaning against the bathhouse counter: trying to be unreadable, and failing spectacularly.
Every instinct in me wakes up at once.
He walks toward me. Slow. Measured. A man at war with himself.
I don’t move. If I do, I’ll give away how badly I want this.
When he stops in front of me—close enough that the air feels warmer—my mouth goes dry. His chest rises in a careful rhythm. I can tell he’s thinking too much. I can tell he’s about to talk himself out of it.
And then he steps past me. To the door. To my door.
He doesn’t look back when he slides the keycard home and opens it, but I see the tiny tremor in his fingers. He’s scared. Not of me, but of what this might mean.
Because it means something. I knew that the moment he showed up.
Inside the room, the door clicks shut behind us, sealing the quiet in place.
This is the moment I don’t tell him about, the one where my chest feels too tight and my pulse stutters because I’ve never brought anyone here before. Not to a space with a bed that isn’t rented by the hour. Not to a room with light that doesn’t flicker.
He turns around and looks at me like he’s trying to memorize something.
“Luca,” I say, because saying his name out loud does something to me I didn’t expect. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
His breath catches. Just slightly. He has no idea how beautiful that is.
What drew me to him? Everything.
The steadiness in his voice when he greeted guests.
The way he watched people without judgment.
The way he watched me.
The way I kept pretending I didn’t look back.
“I shouldn’t have,” he murmurs. “But I did.”
I move closer, slow enough that he can stop me if he wants. His eyes flick to my mouth, then away, then back again, like he’s trying not to fall off a cliff he’s already halfway down.
I reach for him. Just a hand against his jaw. He feels warm. Real. Vulnerable.
Luca leans in—just a breath, just enough that his forehead touches mine—and something in my chest loosens. A knot I didn’t realize I’d been carrying for years.
When we kiss, it’s not heat first. It’s recognition.
Not “I want you,” though I do. Not “Take me,” though I’d let him. It’s Oh… it’s you.
And that’s the moment I know:
This isn’t just steam.
This isn’t just release.
This isn’t a night I’ll forget in the morning.
Luca kisses me back like he’s stepping into something new, something that scared him, something he wanted, something he didn’t have a name for yet.
But I did. For the first time in a long time, I hoped.
He’s standing so close I can feel the warmth from his skin before he even touches me. Luca looks like he’s debating running or melting right here in front of me, and I’m not sure which one scares me more.
“Luca,” I say again, quieter this time.
He lifts his eyes to mine, and everything inside me tightens at once. That look—God. He has no idea what it does to me. There’s something careful in it, something that makes me want to cup his face and tell him he doesn’t have to pretend he’s just here for the same reasons everyone else comes.
He’s breathing too fast. I feel it before I hear it.
When I raise my hand, he flinches, just barely, but enough that I pause. Then he leans toward the touch, like he’s contradicting his own fear. My fingertips brush his jaw, and he goes utterly still.
Heat rolls through me in a way I didn’t expect.
Luca swallows hard. My thumb traces the edge of his cheek. He leans in, about to confess something without speaking.
“Tell me to stop,” I murmur.
His answer is a whisper. Just two syllables, cracked open. “Don’t.”
That’s all I need. I tilt his chin up and kiss him.
It’s not gentle. It’s not rushed. It’s… inevitable.
He exhales into my mouth like he’s been holding his breath all night. His hand curls around the front of my shirt, tightening, pulling me closer than close. His lips part, inviting, uncertain, hungry in a way that hits me straight in the chest.
I try to go slow, but fail immediately.
There’s something about the way Luca kisses—cautious at first, then suddenly brave—that pulls me under. He makes a soft sound, barely there, and it lights me up from the inside. My other hand finds his waist, fingers pressing in, guiding him closer until he’s flush against me, warm and wanting.
He kisses like a man who’s been waiting his whole life to be touched the right way.
My pulse trips. My breath stumbles. And for a moment, I forget where the room ends and Luca begins.
He breaks the kiss first, just an inch, just enough for our breaths to mingle. His forehead touches mine. His eyes stay closed as if he’s afraid the moment will disappear if he looks at it directly.
And when he finally opens them—
That’s when I know I’m in trouble.
Because that look? That’s not heat. That’s connection.
Strong enough to terrify me.
Strong enough to keep me wanting.
The first kiss steals my breath. The second threatens to take something far more dangerous.
Luca’s still close enough that I can feel each rise of his chest against mine. His fingers are twisted in my shirt like he forgot how to let go. His pink lips are slightly parted, as if he’s waiting for whatever comes next.
And then he looks up.
It’s instinct—pure, reckless instinct—that makes me reach for him again. I slide a hand behind his neck and pull him in. This time there’s no hesitation, no careful testing of boundaries. His mouth meets mine with intent, and the sound he makes, quiet but sharp, ruins me.
He steps into me fully. His body lines up against mine in a way that makes my pulse trip. My hand slides to the small of his back, guiding him closer.
The kiss deepens fast. Too fast maybe.
But he leans into it like a man starved, as if he’s been holding himself together for years and finally found someone safe enough to unravel with.
He opens his mouth to me, slow and certain. Heat rushes down my spine.
I grip his waist, thumb brushing the edge of his hip, and he shivers. It’s barely noticeable unless you’re holding him.
I notice everything.
He kisses me harder. Bolder. As if he’s suddenly aware of how much power he has and isn’t afraid to use it.
When I break away for air, Luca chases me—actually chases my mouth—afraid the contact will end if he lets even a second pass.
It hits me like a punch. Not lust. Not want.
Need.
He touches his forehead to my chin, breath uneven, eyes darting between my mouth and my throat like he’s overwhelmed and trying not to show it.
Then he steps back. Just one small step. But enough that the space between us feels wrong.
His fingers slowly unclench from my shirt. He looks at them as if he doesn’t remember grabbing me in the first place.
“I… shouldn’t have done that,” Luca whispers.
My chest tightens. “Which part?”
He swallows, eyes flicking to the door as if he’s weighing escape. “The way I… wanted it.”
The way he says it, quiet, almost startled, makes something deep inside me lock into place.
I don’t want him to leave.
I don’t want to pretend this was casual.
I don’t want this to be a blur tomorrow.
I take a step forward, closing the tiny gap he created. “Luca,” I say, softer than I intend, “I want it too.”
His eyes snap up. There’s hope in them he’s trying desperately to hide. And that’s when it hits me.
It’s not enough. Not tonight. Not once.
I want more.
More than this room.
More than the heat between us.
More than a body in my bed and silence in the morning.
I want every expression he makes. Every guarded thought he tries to swallow. Every time he hesitates, every time he reaches back in any way.
I want him.
Not for a night. For something longer. Something that terrifies me and thrills me all at once.
He’s still breathing hard, chest rising unevenly, lips swollen from kissing me. And all I can think is: One night could never be enough.