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nova

T here is nothing normal about what’s happening to me right now.

My hands are in his hair. His mouth is—God. His mouth is on me.

Not just on me. He’s consumed with me.

Worshipping as if he’s memorizing every single reaction I have; the way I smell. Sound. Taste.

I’m not even in control of how I respond to him anymore.

Every time his tongue moves, I feel myself leaving my own body. Floating. Defying gravity, halfway to the ceiling, watching myself dissolve from the inside out.

Jelly.

Limbless…

Like I’m not just being touched—I’m being rewritten.

So, so good…

The logical part of my brain flails in a corner, screaming that I should pace myself so I don’t come too soon. So I don’t start moaning and groaning and forgetting the man whose head is between my legs.

Feelings. Attachment. Getting eaten out by someone who plays on the same damn team as my overprotective brother …

Bad girl.

Bad, bad girl…

The rest of me--the parts under his hands?

Do not care about any of those things. Not even a little.

My pussy is literally throbbing…

Big, baddie Luca Babineaux is on his knees in my bedroom with a mouth made of sin and hands somehow managing to make me feel grounded and weightless both at the same time.

I am losing my mind over it.

I have died and gone to heaven.

Holy hell. “Oh my God…”

Luca between my thighs and my pulse thundering in my ears, there’s only one truth I can’t deny:

I’ve never felt more wanted.

More seen.

More undone.

And for the first time in a very long time, I don’t want to be in control.

I want him to be.

“Kiss me,” I blurt out.

“I am.”

It draws a wracked laugh out of me. “I meant on my mouth.”

He hesitates.

Pulls back, wiping his mouth on my inner thigh like he’s marking me, before starting the slow ascent to my upper body.

Luca trails his hands up my waist first, palms dragging along my sides, causing me to shiver again. His lips follow the path—hip, rib cage, sternum—until he’s hovering over me, one hand braced beside my head, the other cupping my jaw.

He smells like cologne and spice and…

Like me.

Wet mouth.

It crashes into mine like he’s starving; like he’s been holding back this entire time and finally— finally —let go .

The kiss is deep and sexy, his tongue diving into my mouth without a formal invitation.

His hands grip my waist, pulling me so close I can feel every line of his body. There’s no space between us, just heat and want and the desperate urgency of two people who’ve danced around this for way too long. I arch into him, helpless under the weight of it, fingers sliding up the back of his neck and threading into his hair.

He groans, low and rough, the sound vibrating against my lips, and it sends a bolt of electricity right through me. Every nerve lights up. Every thought vanishes. There’s just him. His kiss. The way he tastes like spearmint and sin.

His mouth moves with purpose now—exploring, claiming, devouring. My breath hitches when he breaks away just enough to press kisses down my jaw, to nip at the sensitive spot just below my ear.

“I’ve wanted to do that forever, too.”

I smile against his lips. “It’s a night of firsts.”

“I can’t stop,” he breathes against my lips, and it doesn’t sound like an apology. It sounds like a promise.

My heart pounds as I tug him closer. “Then don’t.”

It’s all the permission he needs.

Luca dives back in, lips crashing against mine with so much force, I feel it all the way to my toes. It’s messy and hungry and wild and I don’t want it to end.

His hand slips under the hem of my top, the brush of his fingers against my bare skin sends sparks shooting through my bloodstream. It’s not just the kiss anymore. It’s the way he touches me. The way he’s looking at me. The way he can’t get enough…

We come up for air only when absolutely necessary, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling.

Breathing heavy…

Fingers trembling .

He tugs at the hem of my tank, eyes flicking to mine like he’s checking, making sure?—

I nod. Yes.

Yes!

And then?—

“Hey! Nova! Where you at?”

We both freeze.

My entire body locks up, panic exploding in my chest like a fire alarm.

“Shit,” I whisper, scrambling back from Luca so fast I nearly trip over the edge of the rug. “Shit, shit, shit!”

He looks just as shocked, his hair a mess, lips pink and swollen. “That your brother?” he asks, voice low and slightly hoarse.

I shoot him a wide-eyed glare. “Of course it’s my brother! Who else would walk in like he owns the place?” Because he owns the place!

The sound of footsteps patter from the kitchen. Closer.

My tank is halfway up and my heart is about to beat out of my chest.

Pants. “Where are my fucking pants?!”

Luca looks around; spots them crumpled by the end of the bed. He dives, snatches them up, and tosses them to me like we’re in an action movie and have to be on the move.

I start to yank them on so fast I nearly lose my balance, hopping on one foot.

“Why are you just sitting there?” I hiss, throwing my arms up in frantic disbelief. “You’re not being helpful!”

I am straight-up freaking out and it’s painfully obvious—from the panic in my voice to the way I keep darting around the room like a cornered squirrel.

Luca just blinks at me, hands lifted in surrender. “I found your pants,” he says, as if that absolves him of everything. “That feels pretty helpful!”

He runs his palms down the front of his wrinkled shirt, calm and put-together, but his tousled hair and kiss-swollen lips tell a very different story.

“Relax, okay? It’s going to be fine.” My date pauses. “What’s he doing here, anyway? Does he always drop by unannounced?”

I groan, yanking my hoodie down like it’ll somehow hide the mess that is my entire life .

“Not usually,” I grumble. “He probably texted me and I didn’t respond, then saw I was home on Life360 and got suspicious. So, of course, he would decide to just show up and ‘check on me’ like a nosy little?—”

A new sound echoes from the kitchen. A drawer. Silverware clinking.

Shit. He’s staying.

“I swear, if he stays for dinner…” I mutter, pacing now. “I love him, but I want to kill him right now.”

Luca chuckles under his breath.

“Oh.” I whirl on him. “You think this is funny? ”

“I do. You should see the look on your face.”

I stop.

Inhale.

My heart races, my cheeks are flushed, the buzz of everything we were doing only moments ago lingering on my skin. I should be flustered and furious and focused on not getting caught.

But instead, I step toward him.

His smile falters as he watches me with curiosity flickering in his eyes.

“I’m really sorry.” I rise up on my toes and kiss him.

It’s fast but soft, a whisper of a kiss—an apology, a thank you, a don’t move, don’t make a sound, and please still like me after this chaos all wrapped into one breathless second.

His hands catch my hips instinctively, but he doesn’t deepen the kiss, doesn’t pull me in—not this time. He just holds me there, steady, like he knows I’m balancing on the edge of disaster .

When I pull back, he’s looking at me like I’ve flipped some internal switch he didn’t know existed.

“Stay put,” I murmur, brushing my thumb lightly along his jaw. “I’ll get rid of him as fast as I can.”

“Should I be naked when you get back?”

I hesitate. Give my head a little shake.

No.

I crack the door and step out into the hallway, heart slamming against my ribs. Ba boom, ba boom, ba boom…

Force my legs to move toward the door, one foot in front of the other toward the kitchen as if I was on my way to my own execution.

My brother is already digging through the takeout bag at the counter, the smell of lo mein and bad decisions fills the air. He gives me a cursory glance.

“Took you long enough.” Looks me up and down. “What the hell were you doing? Getting laid?”

Gio laughs.

“Maybe I was napping,” I snap, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “What are you doing here?”

“I had a meeting and thought I’d swing by.” He begins digging through the contents of the paper bag he placed in the center of my island. “Brought you dinner—orange chicken and fried rice, just like old times. That’s true love, right?”

Right.

So much love I could scream.

I’m about to fake a smile when Gio frowns and begins sniffing the air.

“Wait. What is that smell?” More sniffing. “Is something cooking?” he asks, moving toward the oven. “Did you already make dinner?”

My brain short-circuits.

“Oh—uh…”

THE CHICKEN!

WE FORGOT ABOUT THE DAMN CHICKEN !

My brother pulls open the oven door with the flair of someone expecting surprise cookies. Instead, he’s greeted by a sizzling tray of lemon chicken that I had forgotten existed.

The smell wafts out, citrusy and damning and delicious.

Gio turns to me. “Since when do you cook?”

“Uh,” I say. “I mean, yeah—sort of. I threw something in earlier and forgot?”

Gio squints. “Forgot? Are you trying to burn this entire building down?”

“No! I just…drifted off.”

“Drifted off? Are you okay?” he asks, mild concern etched across his brows. “This looks like a full meal. Were you expecting someone?”

I laugh.

Bad move; it comes out high-pitched and panicked. “Pfft, no. Hilarious. I was meal prepping.”

He blinks. “You made lemon chicken for meal prep?”

“Yes,” I lie. “For the week.”

“Can we eat?” I grab the carton and a fork from the food he was gracious enough to bring over. “I’ll put the chicken in containers after you leave.”

Hint hint.

“This is awesome.” I furiously chew. “Just great.”

But it’s not great, is it?

But it’s not great.

It’s the opposite of great.

It’s a disaster .

Because a full-grown man is currently trapped in my bedroom with no food, no dignity, and nothing to do to keep himself occupied.