Page 55 of The Slug Crystal

Without withdrawing from me, he lifts me off the counter, a hand supporting my weight beneath my butt as he carries me toward the still-steamy shower and cranks the knob to hot.

It's a feat of strength and coordination that shouldn't be possible, yet he manages it with the same effortless grace he brings to flying.

The warm water hits us as we enter the glass enclosure, adding another layer of sensation to my already overloaded nervous system.

Steam swirls around us, clouding the glass as Luca presses me against the tiled wall.

The contrast of cool tiles against my back and his hot body against my front sends shivers down my spine.

Water streams over us, turning his skin slick beneath my fingers as I trace the muscles of his shoulders and back.

"Hold on," he instructs, shifting his grip to lift me slightly higher. The new angle sends him deeper, hitting a spot inside me that makes my vision blur at the edges.

I cry out, my voice echoing in the enclosed space.

"That's it," he encourages, his rhythm never faltering. "Let me hear you."

Unlike my other encounters, there's a performative quality to this.

Luca clearly enjoys eliciting reactions and watching me come undone beneath his skilled attention.

It should feel less intimate, perhaps, but instead it's liberating.

There's no pretense between us, just pure physical pleasure and the honest pursuit of satisfaction.

His hand slides between us, finding the center of my pleasure again with unerring accuracy. The dual sensation of his fingers and his continued thrusts quickly pushes me toward the edge for a second time.

"Luca," I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders as tension coils tighter within me.

"I've got you," he promises, his voice rough with his own approaching climax. "Let go, Emma. I want to feel you tightening around me. Bring me over the edge with you."

The command, delivered in that accent that thickens with his arousal, shatters my control.

Release crashes through me in waves, my body clenching around him as I cry out his name for a second time.

He follows right after, his rhythm faltering as he presses deep inside me, his face buried against my neck as he groans his completion.

He stands there, holding me while buried deep inside, for long moments with water streaming over us, as our breathing gradually slows.

Luca presses soft kisses along my shoulder, gentler now that the urgency has passed.

When he finally withdraws and sets me carefully on my feet, my legs tremble with the aftermath of pleasure.

He reaches past me to adjust the water temperature, then takes a bottle of shower gel from the built-in shelf.

"Allow me," he offers, pouring the liquid into his palm.

His hands move over my body with thorough appreciation, washing away the evidence of our passion while occasionally pausing to revisit places that make me gasp.

By the time we emerge from the shower, wrapped in the hotel's plush robes, the room has grown dark, the city lights spread out below our window like fallen stars. We collapse onto the nearest bed. My body is pleasantly exhausted, with the last of the adrenaline-forced fatigue dissipated.

Luca props himself on one elbow beside me, his finger tracing idle patterns on my robe-covered shoulder. "Next time we fly," he says with a playful grin, "I'll try to schedule at a time with some more turbulence. Seems to have interesting side effects."

I swat his chest, laughing despite myself. "You're terrible."

"Terribly good," he corrects, his expression smug but not unattractive for it. "As you've just thoroughly discovered."

“I’m worried that agreeing with you will make your ego impossibly larger,” I respond, slowly, “then you wouldn’t be able to fly me anywhere again. We wouldn’t fit on the plane together.”

Luca guffaws, tugging me closer to him and wrapping a warm arm around my back. He tugs one of my legs over his, wrapping us together.

I glance toward the desk where Alex's terrarium sits, the blue snail thankfully on the far side of his enclosure, facing away from our activities.

The guilt I expect to feel is strangely muted.

Perhaps because this feels like part of the journey we're all on together, complicated and messy but somehow right.

Or perhaps because the guys have given me a much needed break from snail care.

"The others will be back soon," I observe, making no move to get up or get dressed.

"Plenty of time," Luca assures me, his hand sliding beneath my robe to cup my breast. "Unless you'd rather wait for dinner?"

His meaning is clear, and despite my recent satisfaction, I feel my desire stirring again at his touch. "Dinner can wait for a bit," I decide, pulling him down for another kiss.

Milan, Sarah, and our quest… All of it can wait, at least for another hour in this high-rise sanctuary where the only turbulence is the kind we create ourselves.

Thursday 9:01AM. The gauzy hotel curtains filter the incoming sunlight, casting the suite's sitting area in a soft glow that feels far too gentle for the tension humming in the air.

I sit cross-legged on the plush couch. Alex's terrarium is beside me on the coffee table, his blue shell shining as he methodically explores a fresh lettuce leaf.

The five of us haven't been in the same room since before Luca and I.

.. well, since before the shower. And the missed dinner last night.

The silence feels heavier than it should, and I feel guilty.

Jake leans against the window frame, arms crossed over his chest, his blue eyes occasionally flicking to Luca, who lounges in an armchair with the casual confidence of someone who knows exactly what he did and isn't remotely sorry about it.

He texted the guys fifteen minutes before our meeting time letting them know we were ordering room service, but there still seems to be a few hard feelings .

Marco sits at the small writing desk, his scholarly posture betraying none of the passion we shared under the stars at the villa. Ben perches on the arm of the couch near me, close enough that I can smell his cologne but not so close that it seems like a claim.

No one has mentioned last night. No one has mentioned the pavilion, or the museum closet, or the midnight kitchen.

But everyone knows. The knowledge circles the room like a current, charging the air with something that isn't quite jealousy, isn't quite acceptance, but exists somewhere in the tension-filled space between.

"So," Ben says finally, breaking the silence with his trademark smirk. He pulls his phone from his pocket, tapping the screen with exaggerated purpose. "I've been thinking about our... situation."

"Dangerous," Jake mutters, though there's less bite in it than there would have been a week ago.

Ben ignores him, turning his phone to show us a color-coded calendar displayed on the screen.

"Google Calendar rotation for 'Emma time.

' Very organized, very equitable." He swipes to show different views.

"I've assigned colors based on personality.

Jake is sensible blue, Marco is scholarly green, Luca is?—"

"Let me guess," Luca interrupts, leaning forward with a grin. "Ferrari red?"

"I was going to say 'overcompensating red,' but sure," Ben replies without missing a beat. "I've given myself purple. Regal, mysterious, clearly the best choice."

Jake pushes off from the window, his face darkening. "Are you serious right now? This isn't a joke, Ben. This is—" He gestures vaguely at all of us, words failing him. "This is people's feelings. Real emotions. Not some goddamn scheduling exercise, where we only share because we made a calendar. "

"Relax, Martinez," Ben says, though his smirk falters slightly under Jake's glare. "I'm just trying to?—"

"You're just trying to make everything a joke," Jake snaps, crossing the room in three quick strides. "Some things aren't funny." He reaches for Ben's phone. "I swear to God, I'll throw this out the window."

Ben holds the phone away, surprise replacing his usual calculated amusement. "Hey, easy?—"

The tension spikes, and I find myself laughing. It’s not a polite chuckle, but a genuine, slightly hysterical laugh that catches everyone off guard. Four pairs of eyes swing toward me, expressions ranging from confusion to concern.

"I'm sorry," I manage between breaths, wiping at my eyes.

"It's just—this is so absurd. All of it.

My ex-boyfriend is a snail, we're chasing a witch across Italy, and now you're fighting over a shared Google Calendar for.

.. what, exactly? Dating me? Taking turns having sex? When did this become my life?"

The question hangs in the air, rhetorical but somehow demanding an answer. Marco removes his glasses, cleaning them methodically on his shirt hem.

"Ben's approach is characteristically inappropriate," he says carefully, "but it does raise a practical question of... parameters."

"Parameters," I repeat, the word tasting strange on my tongue. "That's what we're calling this?"

"Structure," Jake offers, stepping back from Ben, his anger deflating. "Boundaries. Whatever makes this... manageable."

I shake my head, still smiling despite the absurdity—or perhaps because of it.

"Why not just let it happen? We need honesty, trust, and grace.

" The words come out stronger than I expected, surprising even me with their certainty.

"I don't want to check a calendar to see who I'm allowed to talk to or.

.. or be with. I just want to be honest about what I'm feeling, when I'm feeling it. And I want the same from all of you. "

The men exchange glances. Marco is thoughtful, Luca looks amused, Jake appears relieved, and Ben is calculating. It’s as if they’re having a silent conversation about my proposal, which makes me grin.