Page 7 of Charming Villain

He jabs the button. A low mechanical clunk echoes behind the doors as though the elevator’s deciding whether it wants to wake up for us. My pulse hasn’t slowed once since we left the bar. If anything, it’s doubled. The knowledge of what I’m about to do—a reckless, brilliant, horrifying something that I can’t quite name—sends another hot spike of anticipation through me.

The elevator dings and slides open, revealing a cramped, mirrored interior. He gestures me in first, and I step inside, hugging his jacket around me. In the reflection, I see a bedraggled version of myself—hair in damp waves around my shoulders, cheeks flushed, eyes lit with the kind of wild spark I never thought I’d possess. This morning, I was Gianna Lucatello. Tonight, I’mAllegra, the girl who wants to ruin herself before anyone else can.

Luca steps in after me and hits the button for the fifth floor. The doors wheeze shut. We don’t move right away. The elevator’s gears creak as if it’s gathering its strength. We’re suspended in a pocket of time, surrounded by cold mirror walls that reflect two strangers teetering on the edge of something undeniably intimate.

His gaze meets mine in the reflection, and a flicker of amusement ghosts across his expression. “You sure about this?”

I swallow, nerves and excitement tangling inside me. “I’m not sure about anything,” I admit. “But I’m tired of being sure.”

He turns slightly, just enough to face me instead of our reflections. There’s a haze of whiskey in his dark eyes, a promise of something dangerous and thrilling. “I won’t stop you if you want to leave,” he says, though his tone suggests he hopes I won’t.

My fingers tighten on the lapels of his jacket. The faint smell of soap and rain clings to the fabric, mixing with the lingering scent of him. “Don’t ask me to go.”

He gives the slightest nod. Then, just as the elevator lurches upward with a jolt, he steps forward, closing the space between us. My back bumps gently against the mirror. In an instant, his mouth is on mine—hot, insistent, every bit as reckless as the part of me that wants to obliterate who I was an hour ago.

I kiss him back without hesitation, sliding my arms around his neck and tangling my fingers in his hair. It’s surprisingly soft, even though everything else about him seems rough and hard. A low sound rumbles in his chest, fueling the warmth that’s been building in my core since we left Finn’s.

The elevator makes a soft hum as it ascends. My heart thuds in my ears, outpacing any mechanical whir. He presses closer, one hand curling around my waist, the other braced against the mirrored wall behind me. Our bodies mold together, the damp silk of my dress catching on his shirt. When his tongue brushes mine, I let out a muffled gasp that he swallows, deepening the kiss until I’m dizzy with it.

I swear the elevator’s moving in slow motion, taking far longer than five floors should. Or maybe I’ve slipped into some alternate dimension where each second stretches out, thick with breathless want. My stomach flips, and I laugh softly into the kiss—a laughter laced with nerves and euphoria.

Luca pulls back just enough to search my face, lips parted, breath coming fast. “What’s so funny?”

I shake my head, biting my lip to stifle another giggle. “I don’t know. Everything.” I kiss him again, letting the laughter turn into a whimper against his mouth. “I just feel alive.”

His grip tightens on my waist. “We are alive,” he mutters, the words rough against my lips. “Might as well remind ourselves how it feels.”

The elevator dings, announcing our arrival. The jolt of stopping is abrupt, and we both stagger. He breaks the kiss, adrenaline flaring in his eyes. Without waiting for the doors to open fully, he punches the button to keep them from shutting again, then takes my hand and leads me out.

I realize I’m trembling, but not from cold. My entire body thrums with an urgent desire I’ve never felt before. The corridor is bathed in low, flickering light from outdated sconces. Faded floral wallpaper peels at the corners, but I barely notice. All my senses are locked on him—on the steady pull of his hand and the silhouette of his shoulders shifting under his shirt.

We pass a couple who do a double-take at our disheveled appearance. I’m certain my hair is wild, my lipstick smudged, and Luca’s collar half-turned up from where I grabbed him. But I can’t bring myself to care. This might be the only moment of true rebellion I ever get.

Luca stops in front of a door with chipped paint around the frame. The number plate dangles precariously, proclaiming a crooked 514. For a heartbeat, his eyes flick to me, and he arches a brow, silently asking for confirmation one last time.

I exhale shakily. “Yes.”

He slides the key card into the lock, and the light flashes green. The door clicks open. My pulse explodes in my ears as we step inside. The overhead light is dim, casting flickering shadows on a battered dresser and a lopsided lampshade.

The second the door shuts, my back is against it. This time, there’s no polite preamble. Luca’s mouth is on mine, devouring any chance I have to think. A shiver of pure want ripples through me, and I arch against him, dragging my nails lightly down his chest through his shirt. He makes a low sound of approval, nipping at my bottom lip, then soothing the slight sting with a leisurely, open-mouthed kiss.

My entire body feels alive, every nerve ending dancing. I can’t remember the last time I felt this untethered from guilt or fear or the looming weight of my father’s demands. Even if this is temporary—an hour, a night—it’s mine. This choice is mine.

With a groan, he grips my hips, pulling me flush against him. The spark of contact sends an electric jolt through my system. I gasp, tilting my head back, and he takes the opportunity to trail heated kisses down my jaw and across the sensitive slope of my neck. I let out a breathless laugh, fingers twisting in his hair as I tug him back up to my mouth, unable to stand even a second without his lips on mine.

He walks me backward toward the bed—though it’s more of a clumsy shuffle, neither of us willing to break the kiss. One of my heels catches on the edge of the carpet, and I stumble, but he’s there, strong arms steadying me. We both laugh, the sound muffled against each other’s lips, sharing recognition of how completely insane this is.

Some part of me wonders who he is outside this room, outside this night. But that thought flickers and dies, overshadowed by a more primal need. This is about me, about wanting to reclaim my body, my choices, and my life in the only way I know how.

Luca shrugs out of his shirt with a frustrated yank when I start pulling at it. The collar resists for a moment, then slips free. I let my hands roam over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin. There’s a scar over his chest—an ugly, jagged expanse of skin that’s the size of my hand. For a fraction of a second, I think of asking how he got it, but the thought vanishes under another wave of urgent desire.

He slides a hand beneath the hem of my dress, fingertips brushing my thigh, and I can’t bite back the moan that escapes. A gentle buzz from the air conditioner kicks on, pushing tepid air across us, but it does nothing to cool the heat spiraling in my veins.

I fumble for the zipper at the side of my dress. My breath hitches as I find it, tugging it down inch by agonizing inch. The silky fabric loosens around my torso, and Luca helps me push it off my shoulders. My pulse jumps under his gaze, but the vulnerability is part of the thrill.

He takes a moment to stare, his gaze raking over me with blatant hunger. I can’t help the rush of pride that floods my chest. Here I am, standing before a man I barely know, yet wanting him to see every part of me—even the flaws, the bruises that aren’t visible but exist inside.

His voice is a ragged whisper when he finally speaks, “You’re beautiful, Allegra.”

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