Chapter Three: Off the Rails

She didn't recognize the sound she made when Luca's mouth slid lower and began kissing her neck — but it was hers, wild and low, caught between gasp and moan.

Gone was the Sophie who sipped wine politely at publishing partys, who nodded through lectures on narrative arcs and market trends. This new Sophie didn’t care if her tights tore, or if the bundle of blankets beneath them smelled faintly of old lavender and train grease. She only knew that she wanted — needed — to feel him.

Luca’s hands were confident, never greedy. One cradled the back of her neck and tousled her hair; the other slipped beneath her blouse, fingers tracing the curve of her breasts like he was trying to learn her body language by touch alone.

She wriggled out of the coat still tangled around her arms, tossed it somewhere behind her with a breathless laugh. “God, this is insane.”

“You want to stop?” he asked, voice rough, mouth at her throat.

“Don’t you dare stop.”

He grinned into her skin. “Didn’t plan to.”

Her blouse came off next — slowly, reverently, like unwrapping a secret. He sat back for a moment, just looking at her in the low light. Hair messy, her breasts, now covered only by her bra, rose and fell, her lips swollen from kissing. She flushed beneath the attention but didn’t cover herself. For once, she didn’t shrink from the gaze.

“You’re beautiful,” Luca said, hoarse.

“You’re trouble,” she replied, reaching for him.

She pulled off his shirt in one swift movement, fingers skimming the ink on his skin — intricate tattoos that ran across his shoulders and upper arms, meeting in a knot near his hips.

Then he pulled her aside, leaned over her, and kissed her like a starving wolf, her body arching to meet him.

The blankets cushioned them, tangled and warm. Her tights were peeled down, skirt hiked up, and somewhere in the chaos, his hand slid between her thighs, and she gasped — head tipping back, fingers clenching in his hair.

There was no music now, just the rhythm of breath, the slide of skin on skin, the quiet sounds that filled the empty station walls like their own kind of song.

She was undone — completely.

By the way he touched her, like every inch of her was something sacred and worthwhile. By the way he looked at her, like she was the only real thing in the world. By the way she said yes again and again, not with words, but with her body, her mouth, her fire.

And when he finally moved inside her, slow and sure, she bit her lip to keep from crying out too loud, clinging to him as though the floor might give way beneath them.

Every thrust was a breath stolen, every kiss a match struck.

They burned fast. Hot. Bright.

She no longer held back, no longer restrained her desires.

Sophie had spent her life observing, curating, keeping her needs pressed neatly between the lines of reason. But here — wrapped in the scent of dust and music and spring rain — something unlatched. Her body hummed, not with doubt, but with hunger. Her hunger.

Luca's urgency intensified, she could feel he was close — and she let him continue for a brief moment, enjoying the in and out of his throbbing manhood. Then she brought him to an abrupt halt.

“My turn,” she said.

She pushed him, firm but playful, until his back hit the blankets with a soft thud. His eyes widened for a heartbeat, then darkened with something that looked very much like surrender.

Sophie straddled him, her pantyhose ripped, skirt riding high on her hips, hair falling forward like a curtain. “You thought I’d melt into the blankets and blush?”

“Maybe,” Luca said, grinning, voice rough. “But this is better.”

She leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. “I don’t do well-behaved when I’m turned on.”

And then she kissed him — not sweetly, but with the ferocity of a tigress. Tongue slick, lips firm, her hands threading into his hair as she ground down against the hardness pressing up against her womanhood. His groan vibrated against her throat.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured.

Sophie smiled. “To ruin this night for everyone else who's missing out on hearing you play because of me.”

She lowered herself onto him with a gasp — one hand braced on his chest, the other clutching the edge of a blanket. The stretch, the heat — it pulled a raw sound from her throat, and she no longer cared how loud it was.

Luca gritted his teeth beneath her, hands digging into her hips. “Jesus, Sophie—”

She rolled her hips, slow and delicious, setting the rhythm. Her pace. Her pleasure. Her rules.

Every movement was a declaration: I want this. I want you. I want to remember how it feels to burn.

She rode him until he was begging beneath her, his self-control unraveling thread by thread. And when she finally tipped over the edge, it was with a sharp cry, her body clenching around him like a closing fist. He followed with a stifled groan, gripping her like an anchor.

She didn't relent until she had milked every last drop out of him.

They collapsed into each other, breathless, tangled, hearts hammering in unison.

Sophie let herself fall forward onto his chest, cheek against damp skin. “That was…”

“Insane?” he offered.

She smiled, not lifting her head. “Necessary.”

Outside, the station was quiet. Inside, all that could be heard was their breathing and the beating of their hearts.