Marco lifted her, effortlessly, like he knew exactly how much she wanted to be taken—wanted to let go. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, her arms around his shoulders. Her breath fluttered against his neck as he carried her through the hallway of the cottage, past the creaky floorboards and into the bedroom still warm from the afternoon light.
He laid her down on the bed like she was made of glass—but the fire in his eyes said he wanted to break every rule written on her skin.
Elena stared up at him, lips parted, chest rising and falling as if her body was still trying to catch up with the speed of her own desire.
He hovered above her. His fingers brushed a curl from her cheek. "You're not afraid of how fast this is happening?"
She shook her head, unable to form words. Her voice would betray just how much she wanted this—him. How her entire body was humming, aching, begging to feel again what he'd awakened in her the night before.
"You feel it too," she finally whispered, almost in awe.
He nodded. "Like gravity. Like something I never saw coming but always wanted."
And then his mouth was on hers again—slow, sure, like he'd been waiting his whole life to kiss her this way. The kiss deepened, his hands sliding beneath her shirt, calloused palms skating up the smooth skin of her waist.
Their clothes became whispers—soft things lost in the heat of the moment. Skin met skin, warm and alive, every inch a story waiting to be told.
His lips traced a line down her neck, over her collarbone, and paused at the hollow of her chest, breathing her in like she was oxygen and he'd been drowning for years. She arched into him, not with desperation, but with a trust that said: I'm yours right now.
And in return, Marco worshipped her. He explored her curves like a man memorizing a map. His touch was slow, teasing, always just enough to make her tremble, never enough to let her fall completely. Not yet.
Elena clutched the sheets, heart hammering, lost in the delicious pull between longing and fulfillment.
Then he stopped.
She opened her eyes, dazed. "Why…?"
His voice was husky, lips brushing her ear. "Because when I give you everything, I want you to be ready. Not just your body, Elena. Your heart too."
A lump formed in her throat.
He was undoing her in more ways than one.
Just as she reached for him again, the sound of a knock echoed from the front door. The room froze.
Another knock.
Marco sat up slowly, muscles tense.
Elena pulled the covers over herself. "Don't."
But he was already moving.
She followed behind him, hastily throwing on a robe, heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. When Marco opened the door, there she stood again—Lucía.
This time, her expression wasn't smug. It was wounded.
"I didn't come to fight," she said quietly. "I just wanted to see you… before I leave."
Elena felt the twist in her gut. The intimacy they'd just shared cracked under the pressure of the real world creeping back in.
Marco didn't answer right away. He stood still, his hand gripping the edge of the door.
Lucía looked past him—and locked eyes with Elena.
"You're the reason," she said. "Aren't you?"
Elena's voice was a whisper. "Marco…?"
But he didn't look at her. Not yet.