Crossfire

**Crossfire** The bar smelled of aged whiskey and expensive perfume, a blend that clung to the throat like forgotten cigarette smoke. The amber lights from the spotlights reflected in the crystal glasses, casting golden halos over the polished mahogany tables, while the murmur of conversations dissolved into a constant, almost hypnotic hum. It was the kind of place Clara chose by instinct: elegant enough not to seem vulgar, but busy enough that no one would notice her presence. She slid onto the high stool at the counter with the precision of someone who mastered silence, crossing her legs under the pencil skirt that hugged her thighs without revealing too much. The fabric whispered against her skin, a subtle reminder that beneath the lawyer’s armor, there was something softer. The day had been a succession of exhausting hearings, insecure clients, and a judge with the patience of a saint on a fast day. She loosened the knot of her bow tie—a detail that always made her feel in control, even when everything was falling apart—and ran her fingers through her chestnut hair, tied in a low bun that was already starting to come undone. The mirror behind the counter captured her reflection: tired but still sharp green eyes, lips painted a discreet red, almost imperceptible under the dim light. Clara didn’t smile. She didn’t need to. She ordered a gin and tonic with two lemon slices, no sugar. The bartender, a man with agile hands and a professional gaze, served the drink with the ceremony of someone who knew she wasn’t the type to tolerate mistakes. The first sip burned her tongue, but she didn’t flinch. The alcohol went down like a cold blade, easing the tension in her shoulders. She closed her eyes for a second, allowing herself the luxury of not being Clara Viana, partner at the most feared law firm in the city, for a few minutes. Just a woman alone in a bar, with sore feet in stiletto heels and a mind empty for the first time in hours. Across the room, Rafael was watching. He had been there for half an hour, pretending to be interested in the cocktail menu while his gaze kept drifting, again and again, to the motionless figure at the counter. It wasn’t just her posture—erect as if she had a book balanced on her head—or the way her long fingers wrapped around the glass, as if she were about to sign a contract instead of drinking. It was something subtler: the way she seemed to float above the chaos around her, as if the bar, the people, even the air existed only to serve as her backdrop. Rafael knew that kind of presence. He cultivated it himself. He adjusted the sleeve of his dress shirt, the silver cufflinks clinking softly against the wooden table. His charcoal-gray suit, tailor-made, fit perfectly over his broad shoulders, but he felt it like a second skin—familiar, comfortable, almost invisible. The wristwatch, a Patek Philippe he had received from a grateful client, read ten-thirty. Too late for meetings, too early to give up on the night. He had spent the entire day on construction sites, arguing about lighting angles with engineers and mentally cursing São Paulo’s traffic. Now, there, with the smell of aged leather and alcohol in the air, he felt something different: a curiosity that wouldn’t settle for easy answers. Clara didn’t see him approach. She was too busy watching her own reflection in the mirror, as if searching for something lost there. Rafael stopped a step away, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her, but without invading her space. Her perfume reached him first—something citrusy, with notes of bergamot and a hint of vanilla, as if she had just stepped out of a long bath. He smiled to himself. Women who smelled like that knew exactly what they were doing. — This place gets better after eleven — he said, his voice low but clear enough to cut through the surrounding noise. — Before that, it’s just a pretty bar with bored people. Clara turned her head slowly, as if the movement required calculated effort. Her green eyes assessed him in a second: the impeccable haircut, the stubble that gave him a controlled rebellious air, the way the shirt clung to his arms, hinting at muscles beneath the expensive fabric. She didn’t smile, but something flickered in her gaze—a spark of recognition, perhaps, or just the reflection of the light on the glasses. — And you know that because...? — she asked, her voice soft but with a thread of challenge. — Because I’ve been coming here for years. — Rafael rested an elbow on the counter, leaning slightly toward her. — And because, until now, you’re the only person who seems to be in the right place at the wrong time. A silence. Clara took another sip of her drink, her moist lips leaving a discreet mark on the glass. Rafael didn’t look away. He knew she was deciding whether it was worth responding, whether he deserved her attention. It was an old game—this one of who would give in first. But Clara wasn’t the type of woman who gave in easily. — Or maybe I’m the only one who knows the right time doesn’t exist — she said finally. — Just people who convince themselves otherwise. Rafael laughed, a deep, raspy sound that made a few loose strands of her bun sway slightly. He extended his hand as if to touch her arm but stopped halfway, leaving his fingers hovering in the air between them. — Can I buy you a drink? — he asked, though he already knew the answer. — Or do you prefer to keep philosophizing about time? Clara looked at his hand, then at his face. There was something dangerous there, a promise she wasn’t ready to accept—but also wasn’t ready to refuse. — It depends — she said, her voice almost a whisper. — Do you usually philosophize with all the women you meet in bars? — Only with the ones who seem to need a good distraction. She didn’t answer. Instead, she pushed her empty glass toward him, a gesture as subtle as an invitation. Rafael understood. He ordered another gin and tonic for her, a whiskey for himself, and when the bartender placed the drinks in front of them, their fingers brushed by accident—or perhaps it wasn’t an accident. The touch was quick but enough to leave a trail of heat on Clara’s skin. She didn’t pull away. Across the room, the music changed to something slower, a saxophone melody that snaked between the tables like smoke. Rafael leaned in a little more until his breath brushed her neck. — Do you always get like this after work? — he murmured. — Or only when you’re trying to convince yourself you don’t want company? Clara turned her face, her lips almost touching his. Her green eyes shone with something he couldn’t decipher—anger, desire, or just the reflection of the alcohol. — I don’t need to convince myself of anything — she said. And then, without warning, she smiled. Not a broad smile, not an obvious invitation, but something more dangerous: a smile that said she knew exactly what she was doing, and that he would have to work much harder if he wanted to find out how far she was willing to go. Rafael felt his blood run faster. He knew how to recognize a woman who didn’t give in easily. And, for some reason, that only made everything more interesting. Outside, the city continued its frenetic rhythm, oblivious to the game beginning there, between two glasses and a silence heavy with possibilities. The bar was fuller now, the murmur of conversations blending with the clinking of glasses and the muffled sound of jazz music coming from the speakers. Rafael didn’t take his eyes off Clara as he stood up from the counter, his body moving with the confidence of someone who knew every step was calculated. He picked up a low glass with two fingers of whiskey—the same she was drinking—and crossed the room as if the space between them were a tightrope he mastered with ease. Clara saw him approach in the mirror behind the counter. She didn’t turn around. She kept her posture erect, her fingers playing with the edge of the glass, as if deciding whether this was an intrusion or an invitation. His scent reached her even before he stopped beside her—something woody, with a hint of spices, warm like the skin of someone who had just stepped out of the shower. — Is this place yours? — Rafael asked, resting an elbow on the counter with a naturalness that bordered on provocation. The glass in his hand swayed slightly, the amber liquid reflecting the bar’s golden light. Clara slowly raised her eyes, as if each centimeter of the movement required deliberate effort. The green of her irises seemed darker there, almost black in the dim light. — The bar? — She arched an eyebrow. — No. But if it were, I’d charge for company. He laughed, a low, raspy sound that vibrated in her chest even before he leaned in a little more, closing the distance between them. The heat from his body was palpable, as if it radiated its own energy. — Then it’s good I brought payment. — He slid the glass toward her, his fingers lightly brushing the polished wood of the counter. — Twelve-year-old whiskey. I thought you deserved something better than that poison you were drinking. Clara didn’t touch the glass. Instead, she brought her own to her lips, taking a slow sip, her eyes fixed on him as she swallowed. The alcohol burned her throat, but she didn’t blink. — And if I don’t like being presumptuous? — Presumptuous? — He feigned offense, placing a hand on his chest. — I’m just being polite. A man offers a drink to a beautiful woman in a bar. It’s almost a law. — Almost. — She smiled, this time more openly, but still with that trace of challenge. — But laws were made to be broken. Rafael leaned in closer until his knee lightly brushed her leg under the counter. The contact was brief, almost accidental, but enough to make the air between them thicker. — So you’re the type who likes to break rules. — Depends on the rules. — Clara finally took the glass he had offered, her fingers brushing his for a second longer than necessary. — And the consequences. He watched as she brought the whiskey to her lips, the way her throat moved as she swallowed, how her tongue quickly passed over her lower lip afterward. Every detail was a silent provocation. — And if I said the consequences could be... interesting? Clara didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she swirled the glass between her fingers, letting the light dance over the amber liquid. — Interesting how? — Like a night you won’t forget. She laughed, a soft, dangerous sound. — Are you always this direct? — Only when it’s worth it. The silence that followed was charged with something neither dared to name. The bar around them seemed to have disappeared—the sound of conversations, the clinking of glasses, even the smell of alcohol and perfume dissipated, leaving only the electric tension pulsing between them. Clara finally turned to him, her knees brushing his under the counter. The contact was deliberate this time, and Rafael didn’t pull away. — And what makes you think I’m interested in an unforgettable night? — It’s not a matter of thinking. — He leaned in, his voice dropping to a raspy whisper. — It’s a matter of knowing. Her lips parted as if she were about to respond, but instead of words, she just held his gaze, her green eyes burning with an intensity that made Rafael’s chest tighten. — You’re dangerous — she murmured. — Only for those who like to take risks. Clara didn’t answer. Instead, she brought the glass to her lips once more, taking a slow sip, as if savoring not just the whiskey but the game unfolding between them. When she lowered the glass, her fingers traced a slow path along the rim, as if drawing something invisible. — And if I said I don’t take risks? — Then you’d be lying. — Rafael took her glass before she could set it back on the counter, his fingers wrapping around hers for a moment. — Everyone takes risks. The difference is whether you have the courage to admit it. She didn’t pull her hand away. Instead, she let him hold it, his fingers warm against hers. — And you? — she asked, her voice low. — Do you admit yours? — Always. His thumb brushed the soft skin of her wrist, feeling the accelerated pulse beneath the surface. Clara didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned in a little more until her breath brushed his face. — Then admit something to me. — What? — That you didn’t come here just out of politeness. Rafael smiled, slow and predatory. — I never do anything just out of politeness. She laughed, a low, satisfied sound, as if he had just confirmed something she already knew. — Good. Because neither do I. The bar around them suddenly seemed to come back to life, the sound of conversations and music flooding the space between them like a wave. But neither cared. Rafael still held her wrist, his thumb tracing slow circles on her skin, and Clara made no move to pull away. — So — he murmured, his voice rough —, what do you suggest we do now? Clara looked at him for a long moment, as if weighing her options. Then, with a deliberate movement, she leaned back, releasing his hand with a slow, provocative touch. — I suggest we get out of here. Rafael didn’t hesitate. He took her glass and set it on the counter next to his, both now empty, as if drained not by the alcohol but by the tension burning between them. — After you. Clara stood up, the black dress clinging to her body as she moved, the high heels making a soft sound against the wooden floor. Rafael followed, feeling the weight of her gaze on him as she walked ahead, her hips swaying in a way that made his blood boil. Outside, the night was cool, the air thick with the scent of recent rain and wet asphalt. Clara stopped on the sidewalk, turning to him with a smile that promised things neither dared to say aloud. — Where to? Rafael didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a step forward, closing the distance between them until their bodies almost touched. He could feel her heat, the way her breath quickened slightly. — Wherever you want. She laughed, a low, raspy sound, and then, without warning, grabbed the lapel of his jacket, pulling him closer. — I want to go somewhere we can make noise. Rafael felt his entire body react to those words. He took her hand, their fingers intertwining with an urgency neither tried to hide. — Then let’s go. And without another word, they began walking down the city’s illuminated streets, their steps quickening, their bodies brushing with every movement, as if they couldn’t wait until they reached wherever they were going. Their intertwined hands burned. Clara felt the weight of Rafael’s gaze on her as they walked, the pressure of his fingers against hers like a silent promise. The night was cool, but the air between them seemed charged with electricity, each breath hotter than the last. The bar was left behind, along with unnecessary words, leaving only the rhythm of their steps on the damp sidewalk and the muffled sound of the city around them—distant engines, scattered laughter, the clink of a bottle being discarded somewhere. Rafael was the first to break the silence, but not with words. With a smooth movement, he pulled her closer, pressing her against the wall of an old building where the amber light from a streetlamp barely reached. Clara’s back met the rough brick, and she arched slightly, as if she already knew what was coming. He didn’t hesitate. He leaned in, his lips first brushing the corner of her mouth, then sliding down the line of her jaw until they found the sensitive spot just below her ear. A sigh escaped Clara’s lips, and she felt his fingers tighten around hers. — Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me? — Rafael’s voice was a rough murmur, his lips still pressed against her skin. Clara smiled, turning her face to capture his mouth in a slow, deep kiss. Rafael’s tongue invaded her with controlled urgency, as if he were tasting something forbidden. She responded with the same intensity, her nails lightly digging into the back of his hand, drawing a low groan. When they pulled apart, both were breathless. — I have a pretty clear idea — she replied, her voice husky, her eyes half-closed. — But I think you like pretending you don’t know. Rafael laughed, a deep sound that vibrated against her chest. He held her chin between his fingers, tilting her for another kiss, this one more voracious, more demanding. His hands roamed her body, tracing the curve of her waist, her hips, before settling on the back of her thighs, pulling her against him. Clara felt his hardness pressing against her, and a shiver ran down her spine. — I like pretending a lot of things — he whispered against her mouth. — But not now. She didn’t respond with words. Instead, she lightly bit his lower lip, drawing a growl of pleasure. Rafael let her go for a moment, just enough to hold her hand again, pulling her back onto the sidewalk. They walked a few more meters, their bodies brushing with each step, their fingers intertwined as if afraid to let go. The tension between them was almost palpable, a taut rope ready to snap. It was Clara who stopped this time, pulling him into the doorway of a closed shop, where the darkness enveloped them like a cloak. Rafael didn’t need an invitation. He pressed her against the wall, his hands sliding under the thin fabric of her blouse, finding the warm, soft skin. Clara gasped when his fingers brushed the lace of her bra, her nipples already hard under his touch. — You’re beautiful — he murmured, his lips now on her neck, sucking lightly, leaving marks she knew would last until the next day. — And I want to see you completely. Clara didn’t respond with words. Instead, she pulled his shirt out of his pants, her eager fingers exploring the defined muscles of his abdomen, the trail of hair disappearing beneath his waistband. Rafael groaned when she went lower, finding the evidence of his desire, already throbbing under the fabric. He grabbed her wrists, pinning her against the wall. — If you keep doing that, we won’t get anywhere — he warned, his voice rough. She smiled, defiant. — And who said I want to get anywhere? Rafael didn’t resist. He captured her mouth again, this time with a hunger that left no room for games. His hands moved down to her skirt, lifting it slowly, his fingers brushing the bare skin of her thighs. She moaned against his lips when he found the lace of her panties, already damp. — Rafael… — his name escaped as a broken whisper. — What? — he asked, his fingers tracing slow circles over the fabric, teasing. — I… — she swallowed hard, her whole body trembling. — I want you. He didn’t need more encouragement. With a quick movement, he pulled her panties to the side, his fingers sliding inside with an ease that made Clara arch her back, her nails digging into his shoulders. Rafael watched her, his dark eyes fixed on hers as he touched her, slow, deliberate, as if he wanted to memorize every reaction. — Like this? — he asked, his voice a growl. — More — she begged, her breath ragged. He obeyed, quickening the pace, his fingers plunging deeper, curving inside her. Clara bit her lip to stifle a moan, but Rafael wouldn’t allow it. He leaned in, capturing the sound with his mouth, swallowing it as he continued to move them, faster and faster, until she was trembling, her legs weak, her whole body tense. — Come for me — he ordered, his voice a rough whisper. And she did. Clara unraveled against him, the orgasm washing over her in waves, her inner muscles clenching around his fingers. Rafael didn’t stop until she was completely limp in his arms, his lips still pressed to hers, swallowing every sigh. When he finally pulled away, Clara’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, her eyes still glazed. Rafael brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them slowly, not taking his eyes off her. — You taste like sin — he murmured. Clara smiled, still breathless. — And you taste like trouble. Rafael laughed, pulling her into another kiss, this one softer but no less intense. When they pulled apart, he held her face between his hands, his thumbs caressing her cheeks. — My apartment is three blocks from here — he said, his voice low, laden with promises. — Are you coming? Clara didn’t hesitate. — I’m coming. And, hand in hand again, they started walking, their steps now faster, their bodies still vibrating with what had just happened. The city around them seemed to have disappeared, leaving only them, the heat between their bodies, and the certainty that the night was far from over. When they reached Rafael’s building, a modern structure with a discreet lobby, he entered the access code with one hand, the other still intertwined with hers. The elevator took them to the top floor in silence, but the air between them was charged, as if every second were a countdown to something inevitable. The apartment door opened to a spacious room with floor-to-ceiling windows revealing the illuminated city. Rafael didn’t turn on the lights. Instead, he pulled Clara inside, closing the door with a kick, and pressed her against it before she could look around. — Finally — he murmured, his lips finding hers again. This time, there was no rush. No need to hold back. Rafael’s hands explored Clara’s body with a torturous slowness, as if he had all the time in the world to memorize every curve, every reaction. She responded in kind, her fingers unbuttoning his shirt with a patience that didn’t match the urgency they both felt. When the shirt fell to the floor, Clara ran her nails down his chest, drawing a low groan. Rafael lifted her into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist, and carried her through the apartment to the couch, where he laid her down carefully, as if she were made of something precious. But Clara didn’t want care. She wanted fire. She pulled him down, her lips finding his in a hungry kiss, her hands already working on his belt. Rafael groaned when she freed him, her fingers wrapping around him with a firm grip, moving in a rhythm that made him clench his teeth. — Clara… — her name escaped as a warning, but also as a plea. She smiled, pushing him so he lay down, and then positioned herself over him, her lips tracing a path of kisses down his chest, his abdomen, until she reached where he wanted her most. Rafael arched his back when she took him into her mouth, his fingers tangling in her hair, guiding her without words. But he wouldn’t last much longer. With a quick movement, he flipped their positions, pinning her beneath him, his dark eyes burning into hers. — I want to be inside you — he said, his voice rough. — Now. Clara didn’t answer. She just lifted her hips, inviting him. Rafael didn’t need more encouragement. With a fluid motion, he entered her, filling her completely. Clara moaned, her nails digging into his back as he began to move, slow at first, then gaining speed with each thrust. The couch creaked beneath them, the city outside a blur of lights, but none of it mattered. There were only their intertwined bodies, the muffled moans, the feeling that, in that moment, they were the only ones in the world. And when Rafael took her to the edge again, Clara knew that night would be just the beginning. The apartment door closed with a soft click, but the sound reverberated between them like an invitation. Clara felt the weight of the moment even before she turned around—the thick air, laden with unspoken promises, the heat radiating from his body behind her. When Rafael pulled her by the waist, she didn’t resist. His lips found hers in a kiss that was no longer urgent but deliberate, as if they had all the time in the world to lose themselves in each other. Clara’s hands slid over his chest, feeling the accelerated rhythm of his heart beneath the still-buttoned shirt. Rafael groaned against her mouth, a low, guttural sound, before pulling away just enough to murmur: — You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this. She smiled, her fingers already working on the buttons of his shirt, one by one, revealing the warm, tanned skin beneath. The soft light from the living room lamp cast dancing shadows over his defined muscles, and Clara couldn’t resist: she leaned in to leave a trail of wet kisses from his neck to his chest, tasting the salty flavor of his skin, the scent of soap mixed with the woody perfume she already associated with Rafael. — I have an idea — she replied, her voice husky, her teeth lightly grazing his nipple. Rafael inhaled sharply, his hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer. — Then show me. They moved as if dancing, a slow, instinctive rhythm that didn’t need music. Rafael guided her to the couch but didn’t lay her down—instead, he sat and pulled her onto his lap, her legs straddling his. Clara felt his hardness pressing against her, even through their clothes, and a shiver ran down her spine. Rafael’s hands slid up her thighs, his thumbs tracing slow circles over the thin fabric of her pants, while his lips explored her neck, his teeth lightly nipping the sensitive skin. — You’re beautiful — he murmured, his voice a whisper against her ear. — Every inch of you. Clara arched her back, offering herself, her fingers digging into his shoulders. She wanted more—needed more. With a quick movement, she unbuttoned her own shirt, letting it fall to the floor, revealing the black lace bra that barely contained her breasts. Rafael didn’t waste time: he leaned in to capture a nipple between his lips, his tongue tracing slow circles before pulling it with his teeth. Clara moaned, her nails scratching his back, feeling the heat spread between her legs. — Rafael… — his name escaped as a plea, and he smiled against her skin. — What do you want, Clara? — he asked, his fingers now sliding inside her pants, finding her already wet, ready. — Do you want me to stop? Or do you want me to keep going? She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she pulled him into a hungry kiss, their tongues tangling as her hands moved down to the waistband of his pants, unbuttoning them with urgency. Rafael helped, lifting his hips so she could pull everything down, freeing him. Clara wrapped her fingers around him, feeling the pulsing heat, the silky texture of the skin stretched over his hardness. — Fuck — he groaned, his eyes closing for a second before opening again, dark and hungry. — You’re going to kill me. — Only if you stop — she whispered, squeezing him lightly, teasing. Rafael didn’t let her. With a quick movement, he laid her on the couch, covering her body with his. His hands explored every curve, every inch of exposed skin, as if he wanted to memorize every detail. Clara writhed beneath him, her hips lifting in search of more contact, more friction. When his fingers finally found the most sensitive spot between her legs, she arched her back, a moan escaping her parted lips. — Like this — he murmured, his fingers moving in slow circles, pressing, teasing. — Let me feel you. Clara bit her lower lip, trying to contain the sounds that threatened to escape, but it was useless. Every touch, every kiss, every light bite on her nipples or neck brought her closer to the edge. Rafael seemed to know exactly what to do, as if he already knew her body better than she did. — I want to taste you — he said suddenly, pulling away just enough to slide down her body, his lips leaving a trail of fire from her breasts to her navel, to the edge of her panties. Clara held her breath when he pulled them down, exposing her completely. His eyes met hers for a second, dark and full of desire, before his mouth covered her. She moaned loudly, her hands tangling in his hair as his tongue explored, slow and deliberate, every fold, every sensitive spot. Rafael took his time—he savored her as if he had all the time in the world, his fingers joining his mouth, penetrating her while his tongue continued its relentless work. — Rafael, I… — she couldn’t finish the sentence. The orgasm hit her like a wave, her whole body trembling as she clenched around his fingers, her moans echoing through the room. He didn’t stop. He kept going until she was limp, powerless, his fingers still moving inside her, prolonging the pleasure until Clara pulled his hair, begging: — Enough… I can’t take any more. Rafael smiled, licking his lips before climbing back up her body, leaving wet kisses on every inch of skin. When he reached her face, Clara pulled him into a kiss, tasting herself on his tongue, and that excited her even more. — I want you inside me — she whispered against his lips, her hips lifting, seeking contact. Rafael didn’t need more encouragement. With a fluid motion, he positioned himself between her legs, the tip pressing against her entrance. Clara held her breath, her eyes fixed on his, as he entered her slowly, inch by inch, filling her in a way that made her feel complete. — Fuck, you’re so tight — he groaned, his fingers digging into her hips as he began to move, slow at first, then gaining speed. Clara wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. The sounds escaping Rafael’s lips were primal, guttural, and that only excited her more. She dug her nails into his back, feeling his muscles tense beneath her fingers as their bodies moved in perfect sync. — Harder — she begged, her voice husky, and Rafael obeyed. He flipped her onto her stomach, pulling her up so she was on her knees on the couch, his hands gripping her hips as he entered her from behind, each thrust deeper, more intense. Clara moaned, her face buried in the couch cushion, feeling him hit that spot that made her see stars. — That’s it — Rafael murmured, one hand sliding down her spine, the other gripping her hair, pulling her back as he continued to move. — Come for me, Clara. And she did. The orgasm hit her with force, her body trembling as she clenched around him, her moans muffled against the couch fabric. Rafael didn’t stop, continuing until she felt his heat spread inside her, his movements becoming slower, softer, until he collapsed on top of her, their sweaty bodies entwined. For a moment, there was nothing but their ragged breathing, Clara’s heart pounding against his chest. Rafael kissed her shoulder, his lips soft against her damp skin. — We’re not done yet — he murmured, echoing the words from the night before. Clara smiled, nestling against him. — I know — she replied, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. — And I don’t want it to end. The first light of morning filtered through the linen curtain’s gaps, drawing golden stripes over their entwined bodies. Clara woke slowly, as if emerging from a deep dream, her limbs heavy, her skin still tingling with the remnants of pleasure. Rafael’s warmth behind her was a solid presence, his arm wrapped around her waist with lazy possessiveness, his hot breath against her nape. For a moment, she stayed still, absorbing the sensation—the weight of his body against hers, the scent of sex and sweat mixed with the citrusy aroma of his cologne, the soft sound of the city outside, already stirring. Rafael murmured something incomprehensible, his lips brushing the curve of her shoulder, and Clara smiled. She turned slowly, the sheet sliding between them, revealing marked skin—light bites on her breasts, scratches on his back, the lingering flush on her cheeks. Rafael’s eyes were half-open, sleepy, but the smile that spread across his face was one of pure satisfaction. — Good morning — he said, his voice rough from sleep and hours of use. — Good morning — she replied, running her fingers through his tousled hair. — What time is it? Rafael stretched his arm to grab his phone from the nightstand, the muscles in his arm flexing under his tanned skin. — Six-thirty — he announced, lying back down beside her. — Still early. Clara yawned, snuggling closer, his body molding to hers as if they were made to fit together. Rafael ran his hand down her back, tracing lazy circles on her skin, and she shivered—not from cold, but from residual pleasure, that tingling that lingered even after everything. — Are you hungry? — he asked, his lips finding her neck in a soft kiss. — A little — she admitted. — But I’m in no hurry. Rafael chuckled, lightly nipping her collarbone. — Neither am I. But I think we need coffee. And water. And maybe a shower. — Together? — she teased, arching an eyebrow. — Of course — he replied, pulling her up. — Saves water. The bathroom was spacious, with dark tiles and a large shower that took up almost an entire wall. Rafael turned on the water and adjusted the temperature while Clara watched, leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her bare chest. He turned to her, his eyes roaming her body with deliberate slowness, as if memorizing every curve. — Come — he called, extending his hand. She stepped into the shower, the hot water cascading over her skin, washing away the sweat from the night before. Rafael took the liquid soap and poured a generous amount into his palm before beginning to lather her with slow, almost reverent movements. His fingers glided over her shoulders, her arms, her stomach, pausing only when they reached her breasts, where he lingered, massaging with delicious pressure. Clara tilted her head back, letting the water run down her face, her lips parting in a sigh. Rafael leaned in, capturing her mouth in a wet kiss, his tongue exploring with an intimacy that went beyond the physical. When he pulled away, his eyes were dark with desire. — You’re beautiful — he murmured, his fingers moving lower, between her legs. Clara grabbed his wrist, stopping him. — Coffee first — she said, her voice slightly shaky. — Then we’ll see. Rafael laughed, kissing her again before finishing washing her, his movements now quicker, more efficient. When they stepped out of the shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and tossed another to her, which she tucked between her breasts, her wet hair dripping onto her shoulders. The kitchen was modern, with marble countertops and stainless steel appliances. Rafael made coffee while Clara sat on one of the high stools, watching him. He moved with natural confidence, as if the space were an extension of himself—the way he grabbed the cups, measured the grounds, turned on the machine with a precise click. — Do you cook? — she asked, accepting the cup he offered. — A little — he replied, leaning against the counter beside her. — Nothing elaborate. But I make a decent omelet. — I survive on delivery — she confessed, taking a sip of coffee. — And coffee. Lots of coffee. Rafael smiled, brushing his thumb over her lower lip, wiping away a drop of coffee. — Busy lawyer? — Always — she sighed. — But today… today I don’t want to think about work. — Great — he said, leaning in to kiss her. — Because I have other plans for you. Breakfast was simple—toasted bread, butter, raspberry jam, sliced fruit. They ate in silence, exchanging knowing glances, smiles that said more than words. Clara watched Rafael as he bit into a slice of apple, the movement of his jaw, the way the morning light highlighted the contours of his face. There was something intimate about sharing a meal like this, after everything they had done, as if this moment were a natural extension of the night before. — What are you thinking? — Rafael asked, noticing the way she looked at him. Clara hesitated for a second, then smiled. — How strange this is — she admitted. — I barely know you, and yet… it feels like I’ve known you for years. Rafael reached out, intertwining his fingers with hers. — Sometimes, connection doesn’t need time — he said, his voice low. — Sometimes, it just happens. Clara felt a warmth spread through her chest, something beyond desire. It was a sense of recognition, as if, in some way, they had been made to find each other. — And now? — she asked, squeezing his fingers. — What do we do? Rafael brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles. — Now — he said, his eyes fixed on hers —, we see how far this can go. Breakfast was forgotten when Rafael pulled her to him, his hands sliding over her waist, pulling her onto his lap. Clara laughed, but the sound turned into a moan when he kissed her, his tongue invading her mouth with renewed hunger. She clung to his shoulders, feeling her body respond instantly, the heat pooling between her legs. — You said you weren’t in a hurry — she murmured against his lips. — I lied — Rafael replied, lifting her off the stool and carrying her back to the bedroom. The sheets were still rumpled, the scent of them lingering in the fabric. Rafael laid her down carefully, as if she were something precious, and positioned himself between her legs, his eyes roaming her body with an intensity that made her shiver. — I want to taste you again — he said, his voice rough. — I want to feel you come in my mouth. Clara didn’t have time to respond. Rafael was already moving down, his lips leaving a trail of kisses over her stomach, her thighs, until he reached her center. When his tongue touched her, she arched her back, her hands tangling in the sheets. Rafael licked her with torturous slowness, exploring every fold, every sensation, until she was panting, her hips moving against his face. — Please — she begged, her voice broken. — Please, Rafael… He didn’t make her wait. He moved up her body, kissing her hard, letting her taste herself on his lips. When he entered her, it was slow, as if he wanted to memorize every inch, every sensation. Clara wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, their bodies moving in an ancient, perfect rhythm. — You’re amazing — Rafael murmured, his lips against her ear. — So beautiful, so mine… Clara closed her eyes, letting his words envelop her, letting the pleasure consume her. When she came, it was with a muffled cry against his shoulder, her body trembling, her muscles clenching around him. Rafael followed soon after, her name escaping his lips in a rough groan. For a long moment, they lay like that, entwined, their sweaty bodies, their breathing gradually calming. Rafael kissed her forehead, his lips soft, before lying down beside her, pulling her close. — We’re not done yet — he murmured, echoing the words from the night before. Clara smiled, nestling against him. — I know — she replied, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. — And I don’t want it to end. Outside, the city continued its routine, indifferent to what was happening within those four walls. But there, in that apartment, time seemed to have stopped. And for the first time in a long while, Clara didn’t want it to start again.