The Luna Café was left behind, along with their last doubts. Sofia and Miller walked silently through the quiet evening streets, their fingers intertwined. Words were unnecessary. They knew where they were headed—to his apartment, a few blocks from the university. The air was cool, but their bodies burned with closeness, with unspoken desire.
In his small apartment, the scent of books and coffee lingered. Miller closed the door, and silence enveloped them. Sofia stood by the window, gazing at the city lights, her silhouette fragile in the soft glow. She turned to him, her eyes shimmering—not with defiance, but with turmoil. The overwhelming emotions frightened her.
David stepped toward her, his hand slowly brushing her shoulder. His thoughts were a tangle. He'd had women before, even a wife once, but none had ever looked at him like this. None had been so genuine, so real, so free from pretense. Everything before her seemed like a black-and-white film—old, distant, faded.
"Sofia," he whispered. "If you're not ready…"
"I'm ready," she interrupted softly, but with certainty.
He nodded, understanding her fear because he felt it too. He drew her close, slowly, giving her a chance to pull away, but she didn't. Their lips met again, the kiss tender yet deep, filled with the kind of pain that comes with uncontrollable desire.
They moved toward his bedroom, their steps slow, as if hesitant to cross into the inevitable. Sofia slipped off her long-sleeve top. Her fingers unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his chest, and she pressed herself against him, feeling the warmth of his skin. Tears stung her eyes, and she didn't understand why she was crying.
Miller laid her on the bed, his movements careful, almost reverent. He didn't take his eyes off her, as if afraid she might vanish again. His fingers slid to her jeans, slowly unfastening them, and she helped, pulling the fabric away.
He leaned down, kissing her neck, her collarbone, slowly moving lower. She let out a sob as his lips brushed her breasts. With unbridled awe, he traced her curves with his fingertips, kissed her nipples, then pulled back to admire them, blowing gently and watching as she arched toward his lips.
His cheek pressed against her soft stomach, kissing her navel, his hands caressing her strong thighs. Her hands, trembling and timid, stroked his hair.
He gently parted her legs, exploring the delicate skin of her labia, soft as rose petals. Then he found her clitoris—the magical key to her pleasure.
With his long fingers, he played her erogenous zones like a violin, reverently, savoring the music of her body.
When tears streamed down her cheeks again, he kissed them away.
He entered her slowly, smoothly, their bodies merging. Their movements were deliberate, cautious, as if both feared breaking the moment.
The lovers found their rhythm, their eyes locked on each other. At the peak, when pleasure overwhelmed them, Sofia felt her body shudder, tears flowing harder. And then—a flash. For a split second, it seemed they weren't here, not in his bedroom. Another room, another bed, unfamiliar shadows on the walls. She blinked, and the vision vanished. Miller froze, his breathing heavy, his eyes wide, as if he'd seen it too.
They collapsed onto the pillows, their bodies still trembling, silence hanging in the air. Sofia turned to him but couldn't bring herself to ask. He stared at the ceiling, his chest heaving, and she felt certain—he'd seen it too. But neither spoke, too stunned, too shaken by what had just happened.