(POV Luke)
After leaving Bianca in the kitchen, drowned in silence and her own confusion, I went up to my bedroom with a calm I hadn’t felt in a long time. I turned on my computer and logged into my usual game. I needed a distraction, something mechanical that didn’t carry the weight of the decisions I had made today. Bianca didn’t come after me. I didn’t expect her to; the shock of reality and the denial of desire had struck her ego cleanly. I played three matches and, to my frustration, lost all of them. My mind, though focused, was still orbiting the events of the day.
With time slipping away, I decided the fun was over. I closed the game and opened my economics books and class notes. Monday’s exam was a monster I had to tame on my own. I dove into graphs and formulas, letting the apartment’s silence help me absorb the material.
Time passed in a blur of turned pages and frantic notes. When night finally fell, my phone vibrated on the desk, lighting up the dark room. Sofia’s name glowed on the screen.
“Hi, Luke,” her voice came softly from the other end, but laced with that possessive edge I already knew so well. She wasn’t calling to ask anything specific; she rarely did. “I just wanted to hear your voice before going to sleep. Where were you all day?”
We talked for a long while about random things. Sofia had this need to keep me close, even if only through radio waves. I told her about studying and being tired, conveniently omitting any details about Grace and Bianca’s “restructuring.” She talked, and I simply listened, letting the sound of her voice act as a sedative after such an intense day. We hung up when sleep finally weighed in, and I collapsed into bed, falling asleep without dreams.
On Sunday, I woke up early, before the sun was fully high in the sky. The apartment was absolutely silent. I walked down the hallway and saw Bianca’s bedroom door closed; she was probably still processing yesterday’s “earthquake” under the covers. I put on my workout clothes and went out for a morning run. I ran for about an hour, feeling the cool morning air cleanse my lungs and the physical effort expel any lingering hesitation.
When I got back, as soon as I opened the front door, the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee hit my nose. The smell floated down the hallway, guiding me to the kitchen. When I got there, the scene felt like déjà vu—but with a completely different energy.
Bianca was there, as usual, wearing only panties and an oversized shirt that barely covered what was necessary, focused on the coffee maker. I approached silently, my footsteps muffled by my running shoes. Without saying a word, I stopped behind her and, casually, grabbed her ass firmly, feeling the strength of her body under my palm.
Her reaction caught me off guard—and satisfied me deeply. Instead of an acidic insult or pulling away in indignation, Bianca simply let out a soft sigh and leaned back slightly, accepting the touch. She knew it was another provocation from me.
“Good morning, Luke…” she said, her voice sweeter, almost gentle. She turned around and gave me a shy smile, without the arrogance she used to wear like armor. “The coffee’s almost ready. Do you want me to make you something to eat?”
The change was obvious. Her gaze was less defiant, more attentive to my desires. I liked how quickly she absorbed the lesson, but it wasn’t enough. Years of disdain and manipulation wouldn’t be erased with a pot of coffee and a polite smile. Bianca had a lot to make up for, and I intended to enjoy every step of that transformation.
“Coffee would be good, Bianca,” I replied, keeping my tone calm but authoritative as I watched the blush rise along her neck. “Keep it up. You look much better when you try to be… pleasant.”
I watched Bianca as she poured the coffee. There was a new softness in her movements, a hesitation replacing her former arrogance.
“I’ll try, Luke. I really will,” she murmured, unable to hold my gaze for long.
I was satisfied with her effort, but part of me remained guarded. I knew Bianca’s pride was a sleeping beast, not a dead one, and that this change could just be a reflection of the shock she’d suffered. Still, I intended to keep provoking her, maintaining control over her desires to ensure that this “feral” Bianca stayed in line.
“We’ll see, Bianca. Time will tell if you can really be that person,” I replied neutrally, taking a sip of the strong coffee.
The morning passed between final revisions and the apartment’s unusual silence. When afternoon came, I closed my books and began getting ready. I took a shower, put on something comfortable, and grabbed my notes. I had an appointment with Olivia, and tomorrow’s exam content still demanded attention.
As I left my room, I noticed Bianca sitting on the couch. She was in her usual position, scrolling on her phone, but the energy in the room was different. There was no trace of the contempt she used to radiate.
“I’m heading out,” I said, walking toward the door.
She lifted her eyes from the screen, scanning my clothes and backpack.
“Where are you going?” she asked, trying to sound casual but failing to hide her curiosity.
“I’m going to Olivia’s place. We need to finish studying for tomorrow’s exam.”
I was honest. There was no reason to hide it. Her reaction was immediate—and priceless: a flash of jealousy crossed her face, her eyebrows tightening slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t say a single aggressive word, but the discomfort was written all over her expression. Seeing Bianca—the woman who had always treated me like I was nothing—feeling jealous of me was something I never imagined would happen. It was amusing to see her so vulnerable over the mere mention of another woman.
I left her with her thoughts and exited the building. The trip was quick, and soon I was parked in front of Olivia’s building. It was a typical university student complex: hallways echoing with conversations and a persistent smell of coffee and books.
I went up to her floor and rang the doorbell. It only took a few seconds for the door to open.
“Hi, Luke!” Olivia smiled, the warmth in her eyes welcoming.
She was wearing a light white shirt, slightly loose, and short shorts that highlighted her well-shaped legs. The contrast between the sweetness of her face and the casual sensuality of those exposed legs made me wonder whether studying with her was a blessing or a curse.
“Come in, hurry,” she said, stepping aside as her soft perfume enveloped me.
I stepped into Olivia’s apartment and immediately felt a drastic shift in atmosphere. It was the classic university refuge: a small living room integrated with a kitchenette, a bathroom, and a single bedroom. But unlike the chaos I dealt with at home, Olivia’s space was impeccable. Every book on the shelf seemed placed with a ruler, and a refreshing scent—somewhere between lavender and expensive fabric softener—hung in the air, bringing a peace I didn’t even know I needed.
She led me to her bedroom, a sanctuary of light tones and delicacy. A few plush toys rested on the perfectly made bed, and the level of organization bordered on perfectionism. In the center of the soft rug was the low table Bianca had helped provide. There were no chairs; the invitation was to sit on the floor, on the rug, creating an intimacy that academic environments rarely suggest.
“Make yourself comfortable, Luke. I’ll grab some cold juice so we don’t fry our brains,” she said, with that sweet smile that always disarmed me.
I sat cross-legged in front of the table. When she returned, studying began in earnest. We sat facing each other, leaning over stacks of papers and graphs. The focus lasted for hours, but fatigue eventually took its toll. I was stuck on a macroeconomics concept that might as well have been written in Greek.
“I’m not getting the logic here, Olivia. The more I read, the less sense it makes,” I complained, dropping my pen onto the paper.
She let out a soft giggle and, instead of explaining from where she was, she scooted across the rug and sat beside me. Our knees brushed lightly. She leaned over my notebook, and the scent of her hair—a sweet, clean aroma—hit me hard. Her white shirt, slightly transparent under the bedroom light, revealed the delicate curve of her shoulders as she pointed at the numbers.
“Look, Luke… if demand rises here…” she began, but her voice faded into the background.
I couldn’t look at the paper anymore. My eyes were fixed on her profile, on the way her lower lip caught between her teeth when she thought. Olivia noticed my silence and turned her face toward me. Our faces were inches apart. The air between us grew heavy, charged with an electricity that had nothing to do with economics.
The pause in studying became permanent. I didn’t plan it, but my hand acted on its own, sliding up the back of her neck, feeling the softness of her skin. Olivia didn’t pull away; instead, she tilted her head toward my touch, her eyes shining with an expectation she tried to hide.
I kissed her. It started slow, almost like an apology for breaking the study rule, but quickly evolved into something visceral. Olivia let out a muffled sigh against my lips and gave in, her hands sliding up my chest and tangling in my hair, pulling me closer.
The bedroom floor—once a place of discipline and scattered pens—became the stage for restrained desire. Our bodies pressed together, and the heat radiating from Olivia was suffocating in the best possible way. I felt the softness of her legs against mine, the firm grip of her hands… and suddenly, tomorrow’s exam was the last thing on my mind.
The kiss broke for a moment, but the electricity continued to vibrate between us. Olivia’s face was deeply flushed, her breathing uneven, her lips parted, still tingling from our contact. I looked at her, feeling the weight of desire filling every inch of that room.
“That was payback for the kiss you gave me after that party,” I murmured, my voice rougher than I intended. I tried to regain some sanity. “We should… we should get back to studying, Olivia.”
But the words were hollow. My body didn’t want books; it wanted her warmth. Olivia saw the lie in my eyes. She gave a shy smile, but one filled with a courage I’d never seen in her before.
“We can take a longer break…” she whispered, and before I could respond, she closed the distance and kissed me again.
This time, there was no shyness. The kiss became deep, urgent, and shamelessly dirty. Her tongue explored mine with an audacity that caught me off guard, while her small hands gripped my shoulders tightly. I felt the pressure of her body against mine, the brush of her short shorts against my thighs on the floor, and the control I tried to maintain began to crumble.
“Olivia,” I said, pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes, my hand sliding up her thigh. “If we don’t stop now, I’m going to lose my head. And you might regret it later.”
For a second, I wanted to be the “good guy,” to give her an out. But Olivia only smiled—a smile mixing sweetness with absolute determination—and shook her head as she sealed our lips again, making it clear there was no room for regret in her vocabulary tonight.
We stood up in a slightly clumsy movement, never breaking contact. Our mouths seemed glued together, feeding off each other. I guided her to her bed, that refuge of plush toys and clean sheets that was about to host something far less innocent.
When I laid her down on the soft mattress, I paused for a moment, supporting myself on my arms, hovering over her. The soft light traced the curves of her body, highlighting the whiteness of her skin and the desire glowing in her eyes.
“Are you sure about this?” I asked, wanting to hear the final confirmation.
Olivia didn’t speak; she simply nodded, her eyes locked on mine, surrendering completely. I needed nothing more. I slid my hands to the waistband of her short shorts and slowly pulled them down, revealing her intimacy. The contrast between her delicate black panties and the pale skin of her legs was a sight that erased any remaining trace of economics or logic from my mind.
This break is going to be long.
