Page 83 of Can't Always Get What You Want

My hands slip under the hem of his shirt, searching, needing skin. I find it—warm and solid and smooth. He groans into my mouth like I’ve shocked him with the touch, like it wasn’t expected, butwelcomed.

And then his mouth moves.

From my lips to my jaw, down to the slope of my neck, where he lingers. His teeth scrape, his lips soothe,and I swear to God I could black out from the way he breathes my name.

“Nova…”

Yes.

Yes…

Luca groans deeper this time, almost like I’ve broken something loose inside him. His hand slides under my thigh, then the other follows, and before I can fully process what’s happening?—

I’m lifted.

Effortlessly.

He hoists me like I weigh nothing and sets me on the edge of the counter with a soft thud. The cool surface sends a momentary jolt of shock through me, but it’s nothing compared to theheat of his hands settling on my knees, spreading them just enough so he can step between them.

We’re eye level now.

Breath mingling.Lips inches apart.

“Hi,” I whisper, dazed.

His mouth quirks. “Hi.”

And then we’re kissing again—hungry, greedy, both reaching the breaking point and too far gone to care.

His hands grip my thighs, my waist, my hips, grounding me and setting me on fire all at once. My hands roam too, up his chest, around his neck, into his hair.

His body presses closer, and I swear I feel every unspoken word he’s ever wanted to say pour into that kiss.

When his lips move to my neck again, his hands slide under the hem of my shirt. Not pushing. Not rushing. Holy hell, I want more.

I want all of it.

The tension between us hums like electricity in a thunderstorm. It’s not just lust—it’s something heavier. Something like need, wrapped in vulnerability and layered with the kind of affection I didn’t expect to find here. In my kitchen.

On my counter.

Withhim.

I lean back slightly, bracing my hands behind me on the counter for balance. He takes the hint, trailing kisses down my collarbone and over the neckline of my shirt. His palms flatten against my bare thighs and slide upward, slow and reverent.

“You’re unreal,” he murmurs against my skin.

“You’re overdressed,” I breathe back.

He lets out a low and wicked chuckle and kisses me again. “So are you.”

His hands find the hem of my shirt, thumbs brushing bare skin as he waits—always giving me space, always letting me choose. I nod, slow and sure.

He lifts the fabric over my head, careful, like he’s unwrapping something sacred.

The moment the shirt is gone, his eyes roam. They’re open, honest, reverent. Like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and he’s not trying to hide it.

“You’re…” Luca exhales pressing his forehead briefly to mine before kissing me again. Slower this time.

---