HIS POV
I’ve never felt like this before. Not with anyone. Not even close. It’s not just desire—it’s her. The way she looks at me, the way she moves, the way her hand brushes against mine… it’s like every part of me wakes up and refuses to ignore it.
When I left for Italy, every night, I couldn’t sleep. Every thought, every second, it was her. I imagined her laughing, imagined her frowning when she’s annoyed, imagined her soft voice calling my name. I tossed and turned, my mind racing, heart pounding, wishing I could hold her, wishing I could tell her everything I felt—but I couldn’t. Not yet.
And then… that night. Before the call. Her arm wrapped around my waist, her body close to mine, her warmth pressing into me. For the first time in months, I slept. I slept peacefully. And when I woke, I realized it wasn’t just comfort—it was her. She’s the first thought I want in the morning and the last one at night. She’s… everything I didn’t know I was missing.
I can’t lose her. Not now, not ever. And I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that I’m not just here for a fling, not here for the rush, not here for the game. I’m here for her. All of her. And that… that terrifies me, because I’ve never wanted someone like this before.
Her POV
His room looked like something out of a dark luxury magazine—black sheets, black walls, cold edges—but somehow it still felt like him. Clean, controlled, masculine. I showered, letting the steam wrap around me as I washed with his body wash. The scent was intoxicating—dark, fresh, addictive. It was him.
I put on a black shirt of his that hung loose above my thighs and pulled on a pair of his boxers. His clothes felt big but safe. Safe in a way that made my chest tighten.
I got into his bed and turned on Gilmore Girls, trying to distract myself from wondering if he’d really come back.
Twenty minutes later, his bedroom door opened. He scanned the room, eyes landing on me once. “You awake?” he asked, but he didn’t wait for an answer. He went straight into the bathroom.
Something was wrong.
I got up and walked to the bathroom. He stood with his hands pressed into the counter, head hanging low like he was wrestling demons inside his chest.
“Gio?” I stepped in softly. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he said without looking at me. “Go to sleep, angel.”
“You can talk to me, Gio.”
His voice changed—colder. “Go to bed, Sierra.”
The way he shut me out stung. I walked out, feeling stupid for trying. Maybe I didn’t belong in his world after all. Maybe I never would. I slipped my pants back on, grabbed my phone and heels, and headed for the door.
But before I could leave, Gio stepped out of the bathroom.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Home.”
He walked toward me, slow and intense. “Why.”
“You’re clearly mad. I’m giving you space. Maybe tonight wasn’t the right time for me to stay.”
He cupped my face gently, his voice softer now. “I’m sorry, angel. Yes, I’m mad—but not at you. I just… had a rough night. And I didn’t want you to see me like that.”
He kissed my cheek. Something in him cracked open then—vulnerability.
“Don’t leave,” he whispered. “You’re the only thing tonight that feels right. Please stay.”
I looked up at him. “Are you sure?”
His thumb stroked my cheek. “I’m sure. You always put me in a better mood, baby.”
I kissed him—and he kissed me back like he needed it. Needed me.
I laughed softly against his lips. “Do I?”
“Mhm,” he answered, kissing me deeper, hungrier.
His lips moved to my neck, slow at first, then needy. When he sucked my skin, a soft moan escaped me.
And then I froze.
I had just called him something I never had before. “Baby.”
He stopped. His eyes locked on mine. Then his lips curved into a dangerous smile. “Baby?” he repeated, way too happy with himself.
“Sorry, I—” I didn’t finish.
He kissed me—hard, possessive—like he had just been handed oxygen after drowning.
“You have no idea what you just did to me when you said that,” he murmured against my mouth. “You just turned me the fuck on.”
He bit my bottom lip and I moaned again.
He growled low in his throat. “I want to taste you, angel. Until your legs shake.”
I gave him a smile that was nothing but pure challenge. “I don’t think you can make my legs shake, baby.”
He went still. Dangerous still.
“Oh, really,” he said, stepping closer.
“Yes,” I smirked. “Really.”
Something changed in his eyes. Control snapped.
He lifted me like I weighed nothing and threw me onto the bed. He ripped off my pants and slid his boxers down my legs slowly, like he wanted to watch me beg for it.
“You look so fucking good in my clothes,” he said, voice low and rough. “But right now?”
He grabbed the hem of his shirt on my body.
“I need to take my clothes off you—to prove you wrong.”
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