Chapter Four: Sin Feels Like This
845 Words
Serafina realised too late that being near Alessio De Luca was a mistake her body made before her mind could object.
They stood outside the bar, the night thick with salt air and cigarette smoke. The streetlight cast sharp shadows across his face, carving him into angles that made her chest feel tight. He was too close—not touching her, but close enough that she could feel his heat.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, her voice unsteady despite her effort.
“I did,” Alessio replied.
She scoffed. “You always say that.”
“Yes,” he said calmly. “Because it’s always true.”
She crossed her arms, trying to put distance between them, but the movement only drew his attention lower—her wrists, her throat, the soft rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.
His gaze lingered.
Not leering.
Assessing.
As if committing her to memory in pieces.
“You enjoy control too much,” she said.
His jaw tightened. “You confuse control with restraint.”
“Is there a difference?”
“There is,” he said. “And you’re standing in it.”
The words sent a slow, dangerous warmth through her.
She hated that.
She turned away, starting down the street, but after three steps she felt it—his presence again, silent, inevitable. He walked beside her without asking, his shoulder brushing hers once, deliberately.
Her skin reacted instantly.
“Stop following me,” she muttered.
“If I stop,” he said quietly, “you’ll notice how exposed you feel.”
She swallowed.
He was right.
They reached a narrow street where the noise of the city dulled into something more private. Old stone walls trapped sound. The air felt intimate, almost invasive.
She stopped walking.
“So what now?” she demanded. “You scare off men. You cancel my travel. You watch me like I’m about to disappear.”
His eyes darkened.
“Because you could,” he said. “And because I would not survive that.”
The honesty in his voice unnerved her more than any threat.
“You don’t know me,” she whispered.
“I know the way you look over your shoulder when you think you’re alone,” he replied. “I know you don’t sleep through the night. I know your hands shake when you’re angry instead of afraid.”
She stared at him. “How?”
“Because I’ve been paying attention,” he said. “Long before you noticed me.”
That should have terrified her.
Instead, something inside her leaned forward.
“Then tell me this,” she said, stepping closer, invading his space now. “Why don’t you touch me?”
His breath hitched.
It was subtle—but she felt it.
The air shifted.
Alessio looked down at her hand, hovering inches from his chest, then back to her eyes.
“Because,” he said slowly, “if I touch you without permission, I will never forgive myself.”
Her heart thudded painfully.
“And if I give permission?”
His voice dropped, rougher now. “Then I will never let go.”
Silence wrapped around them, thick and heavy.
She should have stepped back.
Instead, she whispered, “You talk like you’re already ruined.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw.
“I was ruined the moment your name entered my prayers,” he said. “I just didn’t know what shape the ruin would take.”
Her breath trembled.
“You’re dangerous,” she said.
“Yes.”
“And you don’t care.”
“No,” he corrected softly. “I care too much.”
She reached out then—slowly, deliberately—and placed her palm flat against his chest.
His heart was racing.
So much for control.
Alessio closed his eyes for a brief second, as if bracing himself against a storm.
“Serafina,” he warned.
“Just this,” she whispered. “Don’t make it more.”
He opened his eyes again, dark and burning.
“I don’t know how to give you less,” he said.
His hand came up—not to grab, not to claim—but to cup her wrist gently, thumb brushing the inside where her pulse betrayed her.
The touch was light.
It felt like sin.
Her breath caught, her body responding traitorously, warmth pooling low in her stomach. She hated herself for it. She hated him for knowing.
“See?” he murmured. “This is why I keep my distance.”
She pulled her hand back, shaken.
“Take me home,” she said suddenly. “I don’t trust myself anymore.”
Alessio nodded once.
“That,” he said quietly, “is the first honest thing you’ve said to me.”
As they walked towards the car, Serafina understood something terrifying:
This wasn’t desire that burned fast and died.
This was the kind that waited.
And when it finally consumed you—
There would be nothing left untouched.
- Writer
