Page 56 of Spotlight Hearts

“Luca—I’m close⁠—”

“Come for me,” I growl against his skin. “Want to feel you spill all over us. Want to watch you lose it because of my hand.”

I twist my wrist again—harder, faster—and he breaks.

Kai comes with a choked cry, back arching, hot pulses coating my hand, his stomach, my cock. The sight and the slick heat push me over the edge right after him. I groan his name—low, desperate—and spill over his skin, mixing with his release, painting his abs and chest in thick streaks.

I keep stroking us through it, milking every last drop until we’re both trembling and oversensitive.

I collapse on top of him, careful not to crush him, forehead pressed to his. We’re both breathing hard, sticky and spent, hearts hammering against each other.

I kiss him—slow, lazy, sated.

“Fuck,” I whisper against his mouth. “You’re perfect.”

He laughs—shaky and breathless—and wraps his arms around my neck, pulling me closer.

We lie there—sticky, tangled, breathing each other in—while the ocean laps gently beneath the villa and the sun begins to set outside the glass walls.

No cameras or pretending, this was just us.

And I’ve never felt anything better in my whole fucking life.

Morning light filters through the sheer white curtains, soft and golden, painting the room in gentle hues. I wake gradually, the kind of lazy wake-up that only happens when there’s nowhere to be and no one demanding anything from you.

Kai is still asleep beside me.

He’s on his stomach, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other stretched toward me like, even in sleep, he’s reaching. The sheet has slipped low on his back, exposing the elegant curve of his spine and the dark vines of his tattoo that climb toward his neck. His dark hair is messy against the white pillow, lips slightly parted, breathing deep and even. The morning sun catches on his lashes, turning them gold at the tips.

I don’t move. I just watch him.

There’s a quiet ache in my chest as I take him in—the relaxed line of his shoulders, the faint freckle on his left shoulder blade I never noticed before, the way his fingers twitch once like he’s dreaming about reaching for something. For me, maybe.

I’ve never felt this before, not even in all the years with Whitney.

Not this heavy, warm pull that makes me want to stay right here and guard his sleep for the rest of the day. Not this quiet terror that if I blink too long he might disappear. Not this overwhelming need to make sure every single thing that touches him from now on is soft and good and safe.

I want to trace the vine on his neck with my fingertip. I want to press my lips to the spot where his pulse beats slow and steady. I want to order every breakfast item on the menu and watch his eyes light up when he realizes it’s all for him.

I want him to wake up smiling because of me.

The thought settles deep in my bones, warm and certain.

I’m falling.

Hard.

I carefully slip out of bed, trying not to disturb him. He makes a small sound and shifts, but doesn’t wake. I stand there for another moment, just looking at him—bare back, messy hair, peaceful face—and feel my heart do something ridiculous in my chest.

I pull on a pair of loose linen pants and pad barefoot out to the living area. The glass doors are open to the deck, letting in the sound of the ocean and the warm morning breeze. I find the villa’s tablet on the counter and open the room service menu.

I order everything that looks good—fresh fruit, mango and passionfruit, avocado toast, eggs however he might like them, fresh pastries, coffee, juice. I add a note for them to bring it quietly and set it up on the deck so I can surprise him with breakfast in bed.

While I wait, I step out onto the deck. The infinity pool sparkles under the sun, the ocean stretching out forever. It’s beautiful. But my mind keeps drifting back to the man still sleeping in our bed.

I want to wake up to him every morning like this.

I want to be the reason he smiles when he opens his eyes.