Chapter Seven: Truth and Consequences
643 Words
Emery couldn’t sleep.
Not after the decision Luca had placed in her hands, not with her nerves wired and her skin still buzzing from the way he’d looked at her—like she was more than just a choice.
She sat at the edge of his bed, wrapped in one of his oversized hoodies, bare legs curled beneath her. The apartment was quiet except for the rain tapping against the windows and the steady rhythm of Luca in the kitchen—pouring bourbon, probably trying to calm his thoughts the same way she was.
When he came back, he didn’t say anything. Just held out a glass.
Their fingers touched.
That spark again.
Emery took a sip. “So… we’re just going to sit here and pretend none of it’s happening?”
He leaned against the wall, still shirtless from earlier, tattoos cutting through the shadows like lines in a story she hadn’t finished reading.
“No,” he said. “I’m pretending this is the last night we get before everything changes.”
Her breath caught. “That sounds… final.”
“It’s not,” he said. “Unless you want it to be.”
She didn’t. God, she didn’t.
He stepped closer, slowly, carefully—like he was waiting for her to pull away.
She didn’t.
“You looked at me different tonight,” he said.
“You were different.”
“Still scared of me?” he asked, voice low.
“I’m scared of everything but you,” she whispered.
That did something to him. His jaw tensed, but his eyes softened like storm clouds breaking.
He sat beside her on the bed, close enough to feel her warmth, his hand resting lightly on her knee.
She leaned into him.
“I’m tired of being afraid,” she murmured.
“So stop running.”
“I’m not. Not anymore.”
Her fingers slid up his arm, over the ink on his bicep. He watched her—every movement, every breath—like she was both holy and dangerous.
She touched the raven on his shoulder. “Why this one?”
“It’s what I used to feel like. Surviving the chaos.”
“And now?”
He leaned closer, so close she could feel the heat of his skin. “Now I feel like I’ve got something worth surviving for.”
Then he kissed her.
And this time, it wasn’t soft.
It wasn’t shy or slow or cautious.
It was everything they’d held back—every look, every almost, every brush of skin that begged for more. His hands gripped her waist, dragging her into his lap, her legs wrapping around him like it was instinct. He kissed like a storm, like he’d been waiting years, not weeks, to taste her.
She tugged off the hoodie, tossing it somewhere into the dark. His mouth followed the curve of her shoulder, teeth grazing her skin like a secret. She gasped, fingers threading into his hair, tugging him closer, grounding herself before she shattered.
“You sure?” he murmured against her neck.
She nodded. “Yes. I want this.”
Luca’s hands were reverent—strong, but gentle, as he laid her back. They moved together like they’d been made for this, like every fire between them had been leading to this one moment of letting go.
It wasn’t perfect.
It was better.
It was raw, breathless, aching and full of unspoken promises.
When it was over, they lay tangled together, her head on his chest, his fingers tracing soft circles into her back like he never wanted to stop touching her.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered.
“I know,” she said. “That’s what scares me.”
But for the first time, it didn’t feel like fear.
It felt like falling—and finally being caught.
- Writer
