Between Sheets and Sighs

**Between Sheets and Sighs** The gallery smelled of fresh paint and expensive champagne. The opening of the exhibition *"Fragments of the Ephemeral"* had drawn the city’s elite—sharp-eyed art critics, collectors with calculated smiles, artists who drifted between disdain and flattery as if it were a rehearsed choreography. The pristine white walls displayed canvases that oscillated between the abstract and the visceral, brushstrokes that seemed to hold more emotion than words ever could. And amidst that sea of polished conversation and forced laughter, two bodies recognized each other without needing introductions. Lucas stood near a blown-glass sculpture, a piece that mimicked a flame frozen in time. His long, precise fingers—accustomed to drawing perfect lines in architectural projects—held a crystal glass with the same delicacy he would use to hold a sketch. He wore a slate-gray suit, impeccable, without a single crease out of place, as if even the fabric obeyed his need for control. His thin-framed glasses slid down his straight nose, and he pushed them back up with an almost imperceptible gesture, his brown eyes analyzing the artwork with the same intensity he applied to everything: as if every detail were an equation to be solved. He wasn’t a man of easy smiles, but there was something in his posture—broad shoulders slightly hunched forward, as if trying to shield himself from the world—that made him more intriguing than the other guests. Sofia, on the other hand, was a living contrast. While Lucas was the straight line, she was the unpredictable curve. Her red dress—a deep, almost scarlet shade—defied the setting with its boldness, clinging to her body like a second skin before flaring into a skirt that danced around her knees with every movement. Her black hair, loose and slightly wavy, cascaded over her shoulders as if it had a life of its own, and the lipstick matching her dress made her lips look even more inviting. She laughed too loudly, gestured with hands adorned with silver rings, and her eyes—green as bottle glass under the light—shone with a mix of challenge and vulnerability. She wasn’t one of the invited artists, but everyone knew her. Or rather, they knew her reputation: the painter who burned her canvases when she didn’t like the result, the woman who had an affair with the gallery owner last year and then dismissed him with a note scribbled on a napkin. They hadn’t seen each other since the last time their paths had crossed, months ago, at a cocktail party where she had spilled red wine on his shirt without apologizing. *"Apologies are for those afraid to get their hands dirty,"* she had said, dragging her fingers over the stained fabric as if she wanted to leave her mark there. Lucas had merely raised an eyebrow, but something in his gaze—a spark, a recognition—had made her heart race. After that, she had avoided him. Or perhaps he had avoided her. Or maybe both had pretended it hadn’t happened. Now, though, there was no escaping. It was she who saw him first. She was near the bar, flirting with an art critic who was trying to impress her with pretentious jargon, when her green eyes swept over the crowd and landed on him. Lucas had his back turned, but she would have recognized him anywhere—that way he stood as if the world revolved around him, that posture which was both a shield and an invitation. For a second, the gallery’s noise seemed to fade. The critic kept talking, but she heard nothing. Only the sound of her own accelerated breathing and the heat rising in her neck. Then he turned. It wasn’t a sudden movement, but something inside her trembled. Their gazes met in the middle of the crowd, and it was as if the air between them had thickened, too heavy to ignore. Lucas didn’t smile. He didn’t wave. He just held her gaze, his lips slightly parted in an expression that could have been surprise, or desire, or both. Sofia felt the weight of the glass in her hand, the cold crystal against her sweaty palm. The critic beside her finally noticed she wasn’t paying attention and followed her gaze, frowning. — *Do you know Lucas Viana?* — he asked, his tone making it clear he didn’t approve. — *By sight* — she replied, without looking away. — *But I think it’s time to fix that.* She set the glass on the counter with a deliberate *clink* and began walking toward him, her high heels clicking against the marble floor like a metronome marking the rhythm of something inevitable. Lucas didn’t move. He just watched as she approached, the red dress cutting through the crowd like a knife, her green eyes locked onto his with an intensity that made his chest tighten. — *You’re staring* — she said, stopping just a few centimeters away. Her perfume—something floral with a hint of spice—reached him, mingling with the scent of paint and champagne. — *You’re wearing red* — he replied, his voice low and rough. — *Again.* Sofia smiled, slow and deliberate. — *You remember.* — *I remember everything.* The silence that followed was charged. Around them, conversations continued, glasses clinked, but in that small space between their bodies, the world seemed to have stopped. Lucas raised his hand, hesitant, and his fingers brushed her wrist, where her accelerated pulse was visible beneath the skin. Sofia didn’t pull back. Instead, she leaned slightly forward, her lips almost touching his ear. — *Then admit you missed me.* He didn’t answer. Not with words. But when his fingers closed around her wrist, pulling her closer, Sofia knew she didn’t need a response. His body had already spoken for him. And then, as if the universe had decided to intervene, someone called Lucas’s name. A collector, a middle-aged man with a slick smile, approached with an outstretched hand. — *Viana! I need to talk to you about that project in Leblon...* Lucas let go of Sofia’s wrist, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. For a second, she saw something there—frustration, maybe, or resignation. Then he turned to the man, his professional mask sliding back into place with an ease that irritated her. — *Of course* — he said, his voice smooth, polite. — *But give me a minute.* The collector nodded and stepped away, leaving them alone again. Sofia crossed her arms, the movement making her dress’s neckline open a little more. — *A minute* — she repeated, ironic. — *Is that all you have for me?* Lucas took a deep breath, as if about to dive into deep waters. — *This isn’t the place.* — *There’s always an excuse, isn’t there?* — She took a step back, but her eyes still held his. — *Or do you just like keeping me waiting?* He didn’t answer. He just watched her, his jaw tense, his fingers gripping the glass stem hard enough to make the crystal creak. Sofia smiled, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and turned to walk away. But before she could take more than two steps, she felt his hand on her elbow, pulling her back. — *Terrace* — he whispered, his voice rough. — *Five minutes.* She should have said no. Should have kept walking, let him drown in his own indecision. But his touch burned through the fabric of her dress, and the way his eyes darkened—as if he were fighting something much bigger than decorum—made her stomach clench. — *Five minutes* — she agreed, her voice low. — *Not a second more.* Lucas didn’t let go of her arm. Instead, he guided her through the crowd, bodies parting as if sensing the tension between them. Sofia followed, aware of every gaze that trailed them, every whisper that rose in their wake. When they reached the glass doors leading to the terrace, he pushed them open with a sharp gesture, and the night air enveloped them—cold, damp, laden with the scent of jasmine and asphalt. Outside, the city glittered. Lights flickered in distant skyscrapers, and the sky, despite the light pollution, still held a few stars. The terrace was empty, as if even the other guests knew that space belonged to them now. Lucas let go of her arm but didn’t step away. Instead, he leaned against the railing, his eyes fixed on the horizon. Sofia didn’t wait. She walked up to him, stopping so close she could feel the heat of his body through the fabric of her dress. He didn’t move. He didn’t touch her. But when she raised her hand and ran her fingers along the collar of his shirt, she felt him shudder. — *Five minutes* — she reminded him, her voice a whisper. — *What are you going to do with them?* Lucas finally looked at her. And then, without a word, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. The crowd around them seemed to thicken, as if the very air in the gallery had become heavier, laden with expensive perfumes and muffled laughter. Sofia felt the heat of the bodies pressed together, the way the fabric of her dress clung to her sweaty back, the chilled champagne glass between her fingers—a delicious contrast to the slow burn that had started in her chest since Lucas had kissed her on the terrace. She could still taste him in her mouth, something between the sweet alcohol of the drink and the salt of her own skin, a memory that made her bite her lower lip without realizing it. — *To art that takes our breath away* — announced the exhibition curator, raising his glass in the center of the room, his voice amplified by the microphone. The toast echoed among the guests, a chorus of clinking crystal, and Sofia followed the gesture, but her eyes didn’t leave Lucas. He was a few steps away, talking to a man in a gray suit, his long fingers wrapped around the stem of his glass with almost casual elegance. When he noticed her watching, he glanced over his companion’s shoulder, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes—something dangerous, something that promised more than words. She approached, gliding between the bodies as if dancing, until she stood beside him. The man in the gray suit was still talking, gesturing enthusiastically about some lighting technique, but Lucas no longer seemed to be listening. His eyes were fixed on her, dark under the golden light of the chandeliers, and Sofia felt her stomach clench when he tilted his head slightly, as if asking: *You came to me. Now what?* — *Do you agree, architect?* — the man finally asked, noticing Lucas’s distraction. He blinked, as if waking from a dream, and nodded without conviction. — *Of course. Light is everything* — he murmured, but his voice sounded distant, as if the words were just a pretext to keep his lips moving while his eyes didn’t leave Sofia. She smiled, provocative, and brought the glass to her lips, letting the cool liquid slide down her throat. The champagne tasted of green apple and something metallic, perhaps her own nervousness. When she lowered the glass, her fingers brushed against Lucas’s—*accidentally*, or maybe not. The touch was brief, almost imperceptible, but enough for him to turn his hand, capturing hers between his for a second longer than etiquette allowed. It was as if an electric current had run up her arm. Sofia held her breath, feeling the heat of his palm against hers, the slight roughness of his fingertips, the way his fingers closed around hers as if he didn’t want to let go. When he finally did, the air seemed to vanish between them, and she had to lean against the edge of the nearby table to keep from losing her balance. — *Sorry* — he said, but his tone carried no regret. It was more of a confirmation, a warning that it hadn’t been accidental. His eyes gleamed, and Sofia realized he was as affected as she was. — *I’m not* — she replied, her voice low enough for only him to hear. — *I don’t regret anything.* Lucas let out a short laugh, almost a sigh, and stepped closer. His scent enveloped her—sandalwood and something deeper, like freshly cut wood, an aroma that made her head spin. He leaned in, his lips almost brushing her ear when he spoke: — *There’s a terrace upstairs. Empty. Want to see the works up close?* The words were a whisper, but they echoed inside her like a shout. Sofia felt her heart beat so hard she was sure he could hear it, the blood pulsing in her temples, between her legs, everywhere her skin felt more sensitive. She looked around, as if searching for an excuse, a reason to say no, but the truth was she didn’t want any. She just wanted to feel his fingers intertwined with hers again, wanted the weight of his body against hers, wanted to know if the kiss on the terrace had been real or just a champagne-induced delusion. — *Five minutes* — she repeated, as if she still needed convincing. — *Just to look at the works.* Lucas smiled, slow and dangerous, and held out his hand. — *Then let’s go.* She didn’t hesitate. She set the glass on the table, ignoring the clink of crystal against marble, and took his hand. Their fingers intertwined with a naturalness that surprised her, as if they had been made to fit together. He guided her through the crowd, bodies parting as if sensing the urgency consuming them. Sofia felt the gazes of some people on them—curious, envious, speculative—but she didn’t care. She was too busy feeling the pressure of Lucas’s hand in hers, the heat of his palm against hers, the way his thumb caressed the back of her hand in slow, deliberate movements. When they reached the elevator, he pressed the button and turned to her, his eyes burning. — *You’re trembling* — he observed, his voice rough. Sofia didn’t answer. She just lifted her chin, defiant, and stepped closer until their bodies were almost touching. The elevator arrived with a soft *ding*, the doors opening to reveal an empty, illuminated space. Lucas entered first, pulling her with him, and as soon as the doors closed, he pinned her against the mirrored wall. Their reflection was a blur of lights and shadows—her black dress clinging to her body, her loose hair cascading over her shoulders, her parted lips; his impeccable suit, his slightly crooked tie, his dark eyes fixed on her as if nothing else in the world mattered. — *Five minutes* — he repeated, his voice a growl. — *Do you think that’ll be enough?* Sofia didn’t answer. She just cupped his face in her hands and kissed him. The elevator ascended in silence, the only sound the electric hum of the cables and their ragged breathing. Sofia felt the weight of Lucas’s gaze burning her skin, even through the fabric of her dress. When the doors opened, he didn’t let go of her hand. Instead, he intertwined his fingers with hers with a firmness that made her pulse quicken, pulling her out with a decisive motion. Sofia’s apartment was exactly as he had imagined: messy, alive, full of color. Unfinished paintings leaned against the walls, brushes dipped in glass cups, the scent of oil paint and old coffee lingering in the air. She turned on a floor lamp, bathing the room in an amber light that softened the shadows. Lucas took off his jacket and tossed it over the arm of the sofa, his eyes scanning the space with curiosity. — *I like it here* — he said, finally. Sofia smiled but didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped closer to him, her hands sliding over his broad chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt. She undid the first button, then the second, her trembling fingers brushing against his prominent collarbone. — *You talk too much* — she whispered, pulling him into another kiss. This time, there was no rush. There was no audience, no gallery opening, nothing but the two of them and that apartment that smelled of her. Lucas pushed her gently against the wall, his large hands cradling her face as he kissed her as if he wanted to memorize the taste of her mouth. Sofia moaned against his lips, her nails lightly scratching the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. — *Take this off* — she demanded, her voice thick, as her hands moved to his belt. Lucas obeyed, unbuttoning his shirt with slow movements, revealing his sculpted chest, the defined muscles beneath his tanned skin. Sofia couldn’t resist: she leaned forward and ran her tongue over his nipple, feeling it harden under her touch. He groaned, his hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer. — *Fuck, Sofia…* She laughed, a low, satisfied sound, and continued her exploration, descending with wet kisses down his abdomen until she reached the button of his pants. Her fingers worked with a haste that didn’t match the slowness of their earlier kisses, and soon the pants fell to the floor, followed by his briefs. Lucas was hard, his erection pulsing against the fabric of her panties when she stood up, her dark eyes locked onto his. — *Your turn* — he said, his voice rough with desire. Sofia didn’t need further encouragement. She turned her back to him, offering the zipper of her dress. Lucas pulled it down slowly, his fingers brushing against her exposed skin, feeling the shivers that arose under his touch. When the dress fell at her feet, revealing the black lace set that barely covered her body, he couldn’t contain a sigh. — *You’re beautiful* — he murmured, his hands sliding down her back, feeling the curve of her spine, the softness of her skin. Sofia turned around, her eyes shining with desire and something more—something that looked like vulnerability. — *So are you* — she said, her hands exploring his chest, descending to his hard cock, wrapping her fingers around it. Lucas groaned, his head falling back as she stroked him, slow and deliberate. — *If you keep doing that, I won’t last* — he admitted, his voice ragged. Sofia smiled, a slow, dangerous smile, and pushed him toward the sofa. Lucas sat down, his eyes fixed on her as she knelt between his legs. Her lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, her tongue swirling in slow circles, and Lucas groaned loudly, his hands tangling in her hair. — *Fuck…* — he whispered, his hips moving instinctively, seeking more. Sofia took him deep, to the back of her throat, her eyes watering slightly with the effort. She savored him, the silky texture of his skin, the salty taste of pre-cum, the way he shuddered under her touch. When he pulled her hair, drawing her away with a rough groan, she knew he was close. — *Enough* — he said, his voice harsh. — *I want you in bed.* Sofia stood up, her knees trembling, and held out her hand to him. Lucas took it and pulled her into the bedroom, a small space dominated by an unmade bed and heavy curtains that blocked the streetlight. He laid her down on the sheets, his eyes roaming every inch of her body—her small, firm breasts, her slightly scarred belly, the soft thighs that parted for him. — *You’re perfect* — he murmured, leaning down to kiss one of the scars, then another, as if he wanted to memorize each mark. Sofia shivered, her fingers tangling in the sheets. She had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable—and, at the same time, so desired. — *Lucas…* — she whispered, her voice trembling. He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he descended her body, his lips leaving a trail of fire on her skin. When he reached the apex of her thighs, he pulled her panties aside and tasted her for the first time, his tongue sliding between her swollen lips, savoring her with a torturous slowness. Sofia arched her back, a loud moan escaping her lips. — *That…* — she whispered, her hands tangling in his hair. — *Like that…* Lucas licked her as if she were the most delicious thing he had ever tasted, his fingers joining his tongue, penetrating her slowly as she moaned and writhed under his touch. He could feel her taste growing more intense, her body tensing, her inner muscles clenching around his fingers. — *Come for me* — he murmured against her skin, his voice vibrating against her clit. — *I want to feel you come in my mouth.* Sofia couldn’t resist. With a muffled cry, she shattered, the orgasm washing over her in hot waves, leaving her limp and trembling beneath him. Lucas didn’t stop, licking her until the last tremor, until she pulled his hair, her eyes pleading. — *Now* — she said, her voice hoarse. — *I need you inside me.* Lucas stood up, his lips glistening with her taste, and removed her panties with a quick motion. Sofia spread her legs for him, her eyes locked onto his as he positioned himself between her thighs, the tip of his cock brushing against her entrance. — *Are you sure?* — he asked, his voice tight with desire. Sofia nodded, her nails digging into his shoulders. — *I’ve never been more sure in my life.* And then, with a rough groan, Lucas entered her—slowly, so slowly that she felt every inch of him filling her, stretching her, marking her in a way she knew she would never be the same. Sofia cried out, her body adjusting to him, her inner muscles clenching around him tightly. — *Fuck, you’re tight…* — Lucas groaned, his hips beginning to move in a slow, deep rhythm. Sofia wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. She could feel every movement, every breath, every accelerated heartbeat of his against hers. And when Lucas tilted his head to capture her lips in a hungry kiss, she knew she was lost. — *Faster* — she begged, her voice ragged. Lucas obeyed, his hips moving with more urgency, her moans mingling with his. Sofia felt the pleasure building again, a hot pressure in her belly, her muscles tightening around him. — *I’m going to…* — she managed to say before the orgasm hit her with force, making her cry out and writhe beneath him. Lucas didn’t stop. He kept moving, prolonging her pleasure until his own groans grew louder, more desperate. And when he finally came, it was with a rough grunt, his body tensing as he spilled inside her, both of them sweaty, panting, entwined in a dance that had no end. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their mingled breaths, their slowing heartbeats, their still-joined bodies. Sofia ran her fingers down his back, feeling the old scars, the tense muscles. — *That was…* — she began, but couldn’t finish. Lucas smiled against her neck, placing a soft kiss on her damp skin. — *Just the beginning* — he murmured. And Sofia, her body still trembling with pleasure, knew he was right. The bedroom was bathed in a golden penumbra, broken only by the amber light of the bedside lamp, casting long shadows over the rumpled sheets. Sofia felt the weight of Lucas’s body on hers, not as something oppressive, but as an anchor—something that kept her grounded while the world around them dissolved into sensations. Her fingers still trembled slightly, marked by the memory of his touch, by the way he had explored her with almost cruel patience, as if every inch of her skin were a map to be deciphered. Now, though, there was no more room for hesitation. Lucas propped himself up on his elbows, the muscles of his arms defined beneath his warm skin, and looked at her with an intensity that made the air between them vibrate. There was something predatory in the way he looked at her—as if he were calculating every movement, every reaction. But there was also a tenderness that disarmed her. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Sofia’s parted lips, the way her legs spread a little more as if inviting him to fill the space that already ached for him—all of that was answer enough. He positioned himself between her thighs, the tip of his cock brushing against her deliberately, slowly. Sofia arched her back involuntarily, a low moan escaping her throat. The anticipation was almost unbearable. She had felt him before, in fleeting touches, in kisses that trailed down her belly, but now, now he was there, hard and throbbing, ready to invade her. — *Please* — she whispered, her voice hoarse, her nails digging into the sheets. Lucas smiled, a slow and dangerous smile, and then, with a smooth motion, began to enter her. The sensation was overwhelming—not just the pressure, the stretching, but the way he did it, as if every millimeter were a promise. Sofia bit her lower lip, her eyes closing for a moment as her body adjusted to the intrusion, to the fullness that made her feel complete in a way she had never experienced before. — *Breathe* — he murmured, leaning down to kiss her temple, her jaw, the corner of her mouth. She obeyed, letting out a shaky sigh, and then he moved. It wasn’t a sudden thrust, not a desperate lunge. It was something calculated, almost torturous in its slowness. Lucas pulled out almost completely, leaving only the tip inside her, before filling her again with a deep, deliberate stroke. Sofia moaned loudly, her nails now digging into his back, feeling his muscles tense beneath her fingers. Each movement was a wave of pleasure, each withdrawal a deprivation that made her arch her hips, seeking more. — *Do you like that?* — he asked, his voice low, his lips brushing her ear as he moved in a steady, relentless rhythm. — *Yes* — she managed to say, the word coming out broken. — *More.* He laughed, a dark and satisfied sound, and then sped up slightly, his thrusts becoming deeper, more urgent. The sound of their bodies meeting echoed in the room—skin against skin, sweat dripping, ragged breaths. Sofia felt every inch of him, every movement that brought her closer to the edge. Her breasts swayed with each thrust, her hard nipples brushing against his chest, heightening the sensation. — *Look at me* — Lucas ordered, his voice rough. She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze—dark, intense, full of a hunger that made her shudder. He held her chin with one hand, keeping her still as he continued to move inside her, each thrust deeper than the last. Sofia felt the orgasm approaching, a hot pressure in her belly, her muscles clenching around him. — *I’m going to…* — she managed to say before the wave hit her. Pleasure exploded inside her, a searing heat that spread through every nerve, every cell. Sofia cried out, her body writhing beneath his, her nails digging deeper into Lucas’s back as the orgasm consumed her. He didn’t stop. He kept moving, prolonging her pleasure, his groans growing louder, more desperate, until she felt her own muscles clenching around him with force, as if she didn’t want to let him go. Lucas groaned, his rhythm becoming more erratic, his thrusts shorter, more intense. Sofia felt when he reached his limit—his entire body tensing, the muscles in his back contracting beneath her hands, his groans turning into a rough grunt. With one last deep movement, he came, the heat spreading inside her as they both lost themselves in the sensation. For a long moment, neither of them moved. They just breathed, their hearts beating in the same accelerated rhythm, their bodies still joined. Then, Lucas propped himself up on his elbows and kissed her forehead, his lips lingering there as if he didn’t want to pull away. — *That was…* — she began, but the words died in her throat. Lucas smiled against her neck, placing a soft kiss on her damp skin. — *Just the beginning* — he murmured. And Sofia, her body still trembling with pleasure, knew he was right. Because now, there, entwined in the sheets, with sweat drying on their skin and his scent embedded in every fiber of her being, there was no going back. That night had changed something between them—something neither of them could ignore. Outside, the sky was beginning to lighten, the first hints of dawn creeping into the room through the half-open curtains. Sofia closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of Lucas’s body on hers, the slow rhythm of his breathing. He was still inside her, as if neither of them wanted to be the first to pull away. — *Stay* — she whispered, not entirely sure if she was asking him to remain there, in that moment, or if she was talking about something more. Lucas didn’t answer with words. He just rolled to the side, pulling her with him, their bodies fitting together as if they had been made for it. Sofia nestled against him, feeling the warmth of his skin, the scent of sex and sweat mixed with the citrusy perfume he wore. His fingers traced lazy circles on her back, as if memorizing every curve. — *I’m not going anywhere* — he murmured, his voice rough with sleep and satisfaction. And, for the first time that night, Sofia believed that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t just a casual encounter. That maybe, between sheets and sighs, something more was beginning. The first light of morning filtered through the half-open curtains like a shy invitation, painting golden stripes on Sofia’s still-warm skin. She woke before Lucas, her lashes fluttering against the brightness as his body enveloped hers from behind, a heavy arm draped over her waist, his fingers intertwined with hers. The sheet had slipped down to their waists, revealing the marks of the previous night—light scratches on his back, a purple bite on her shoulder, her breasts still sensitive to the touch of the morning air. Sofia smiled before even fully opening her eyes. The scent of sex and sweat had softened into something gentler, mingling with the aroma of coffee that began to fill the apartment from the kitchen—someone, probably her last night, had set the coffee maker. But what made her catch her breath was the sensation of Lucas’s lips brushing against the nape of her neck, lazy, as if he were still dreaming. — *You’re awake* — she murmured, slowly turning to face him. His eyes, once so intense under the gallery’s artificial light, now shone with a satisfied languor, his pupils dilated just enough to reveal that the desire from the previous night hadn’t faded with sleep. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulled her closer, fitting her body against his, and brushed his nose against hers in a gesture so intimate it made Sofia’s heart skip a beat. — *I’ve been awake since you started moving* — he confessed, his voice raspy with sleep, his fingers tracing a slow path down her spine. — *And since then, I’ve been trying to decide whether to wake you up or let you sleep a little longer.* Sofia laughed softly and playfully bit his lower lip. — *And what was the conclusion?* — *That I prefer to wake you up like this.* And then he kissed her, not with the urgency of the night before, but with a deliberate slowness, as if he had all the time in the world to explore her mouth. Sofia moaned against his lips, her body reacting instantly—her nipples hardening, the heat spreading between her legs. She pressed herself against him, feeling his morning erection brush against her thigh, and Lucas let out a rough sigh, his hands sliding down to squeeze her ass. — *You’re insatiable* — he murmured, but there was no complaint in his voice, just amusement and something deeper, something that made Sofia’s stomach clench. — *And you like it* — she retorted, running her tongue over his lower lip. Lucas laughed, a deep and delicious sound, and rolled on top of her, pinning her between his arms. The sheet finally fell away, leaving them completely naked under the sunlight, and Sofia couldn’t help but shiver when he positioned himself between her legs, the tip of his already wet cock brushing against her clit. — *I like you* — he corrected, his voice low, his eyes locked onto hers as he slowly buried himself inside her, inch by inch, until he filled her completely. Sofia arched her back, her nails digging into his shoulders, and moaned loudly, the sound echoing through the room. There was no rush this time. There was no need to explore, to discover—they already knew each other’s bodies, the curves, the spots that made muscles clench, the sighs that preceded climax. Lucas moved in a slow, almost lazy rhythm, his hips rolling in circles as his mouth found her breast, his tongue playing with her nipple before sucking it hard. — *Fuck, Lucas…* — she gasped, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper. He smiled against her skin, his teeth grazing lightly before lifting his head and capturing her mouth again. The kiss was long, wet, their tongues entwining as their bodies moved in perfect sync. Sofia could feel the sweat trickling between her breasts, the heat of the sun on her back, his weight on her—everything blending into an overwhelming sensation of pleasure and belonging. When he sped up, she was already close. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, and Lucas covered her mouth with his hand, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. — *Shhh…* — he whispered, his voice rough. — *The neighbors.* Sofia bit the palm of his hand, her orgasm exploding in hot waves that made her entire body tremble. Lucas didn’t take long to follow, burying himself deep with a muffled groan against her neck, his body shuddering as he came. For a long moment, neither of them moved. They just breathed, their hearts beating in the same accelerated rhythm, their bodies still joined. Then, Lucas propped himself up on his elbows and kissed her forehead, his lips lingering there as if he didn’t want to pull away. — *Good morning* — he murmured, finally. Sofia laughed, running her fingers through the sweat-damp hair at the nape of his neck. — *Good morning to you too.* He rolled to the side, pulling her with him, and Sofia nestled against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow down. The sun now flooded the room, illuminating the walls covered in unfinished paintings, the sketches scattered across the worktable, the crumpled clothes on the floor—her black dress, his dress shirt, shoes abandoned halfway. — *I should’ve taken you to my place* — Lucas commented, his fingers playing with a strand of her hair. — *At least there I have decent coffee.* Sofia lifted her head, surprised. — *Are you complaining about my coffee?* — *I’m complaining that you distracted me before I could take a sip* — he corrected, smiling. — *But I admit the distraction was worth it.* She playfully slapped his chest but couldn’t contain her smile. Then, suddenly, she turned serious, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his skin. — *And now?* Lucas didn’t pretend not to understand. He tilted his chin down, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made Sofia’s stomach tighten. — *Now we see where this goes* — he said, simply. — *I’m not in a hurry. And you?* She slowly shook her head. — *Neither am I.* And it was true. For the first time in a long while, Sofia didn’t feel the need to plan, to control, to anticipate every step. She just wanted to stay there, in that messy apartment, with the scent of coffee and sex in the air, her body still tingling, her heart light. Lucas leaned in and kissed her again, a long, slow kiss, as if he wanted to seal that silent promise. When he pulled away, her lips were red, her eyes shining. — *Then it’s settled* — he murmured. — *Today we stay here. Tomorrow… we’ll see.* Sofia smiled, pulling him into another kiss. — *Tomorrow* — she agreed, knowing that, somehow, that tomorrow had already begun.