The next evening, Isla returned to the studio long after the academy had emptied. The dim light from the overhead lamps reflected off polished floors, casting shadows that seemed to follow her every step. She tried to focus on her sketching, but her thoughts kept drifting to Adrian—his touch, his voice, the way he looked at her with that smoldering intensity.
"You're staying late again," came the familiar low voice behind her.
Isla froze, pencil hovering over paper. She turned slowly, cheeks flushing, and found him standing near the doorway, his eyes dark with intent. "I… I just wanted to finish my work," she murmured, though even she knew it was an excuse.
He stepped closer, closing the distance between them, and she felt the heat of his body brush against hers. "You know this is dangerous," he said, fingers brushing hers as he reached to adjust her sketchbook again. "One wrong move, and it could all end."
"I like danger," she whispered, lips parting slightly, leaning subtly into his touch.
A slow smile curved his lips. "I know," he murmured, moving closer until his chest nearly pressed against hers. He tilted her chin gently with his fingers, eyes scanning her face as if memorizing every line, every flutter of her pulse.
Their lips met in a slow, exploratory kiss. It was teasing at first—soft brushes of tongue, gentle nibbles—but the tension built quickly. Adrian's hands slid around her waist, pressing her against him, and she gasped into his mouth, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt.
"Do you want this?" he asked, voice low and husky, lips brushing the shell of her ear.
"Yes…" she moaned, "so badly."
Without breaking the kiss, he lifted her effortlessly onto the drafting table. Her legs straddled his hips, and she could feel the growing hardness pressing into her. His lips traveled down her neck, trailing kisses across her collarbone and teasing the edge of her bra. She arched into him, hands roaming his chest, tasting the tension and desire coiled in his body.
Clothes became unnecessary distractions. His fingers traced the curve of her waist, slipping beneath her blouse, and her back arched under his touch. She could feel the heat pooling between her thighs, every nerve alight with desire.
"I shouldn't," he murmured against her skin, voice rough. "But I can't stop."
"Then don't," she whispered, trembling as his mouth found hers again. Tongue met tongue, teeth nipping gently, sending shivers down her spine. Every brush of his hand, every press of his body, was electric.
Their bodies moved together in the quiet, empty studio. Fingers traced skin, lips explored, and every gasp, every moan, was amplified by the thrill of the forbidden. Isla clung to him, heart pounding, as he teased and coaxed her, learning exactly how to drive her wild with desire.
Hours passed in a haze of whispered names, heated kisses, and slow, deliberate exploration. The danger—the thought of being caught—made every touch sharper, every sigh more urgent. By the time they paused, she was trembling, sweat-slick and flushed, yet already craving more.
Adrian rested his forehead against hers, breaths mingling. "We shouldn't… but I can't resist you," he murmured.
"I know," she breathed, her body still humming, "and I don't want you to."
The world outside could wait. In the private, stolen moments of the empty studio, they existed only for each other—a forbidden, consuming heat that neither could deny.