Sweet Cheeks Bonus Scene Two

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9 Weeks In- Movie Night

Liv

The soft glow of the TV screen flickered across Luca’s face as he flopped down beside me on the couch, rubbing his hands together with a gleam in his eyes that could only mean trouble.

“Alright, sweet cheeks,” he declared, stretching out as if this moment had been preordained. “Tonight, it’s my pick for movie night.”

I narrowed my eyes, immediately suspicious. “And what might that be, Casanova?”

He smirked and stood, swaggering over to our makeshift DVD wall we’d erected in his apartment, where an absurd mix of action blockbusters and rom-coms jostled for space in preparation for our weekly Movie Night.

Who knew we had such a love for movies in common?

With an exaggerated flourish, Luca plucked a DVD from the shelf and waved it triumphantly.

“‘Die Hard.’ Again.” His grin widened as he saw my groan coming. “Bruce Willis kicking ass. Explosions. Christmas spirit. It’s a classic.”

I made a face, crossing my arms. “Seriously? Luca, we’ve seen that, what, four times in the two months? I can practically quote it in my sleep.”

He popped the DVD case open with one hand and shot me a grin over his shoulder. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. It’s a masterpiece, Liv. Explosions, quotable one-liners, footage of bare-chested Bruce that never fails to make your jaw hit the floor. It’s the perfect movie.” He made a chef’s kiss gesture with his fingers and I rolled my eyes.

“How about something that doesn’t involve blood or, you know, terrorists taking over a skyscraper?” I suggested. “Like, oh, I don’t know, ‘Baby Mama’? Tina Fey. Amy Poehler. Perfection.” I mimicked his chef’s kiss gesture.

Luca’s eyes sparked with amusement even as he shuddered with exaggerated disgust. “Perfection?” he echoed, sauntering into the kitchen to grab popcorn. “Liv, please. Tina Fey making baby jokes for two hours is not perfection. Aim higher.”

I gave him a flat look as he returned, heaping bowl of popcorn in hand. “And Bruce Willis in a dirty tank top is?”

“You bet it is,” he replied without missing a beat, tossing a handful of popcorn into the air and catching it with his mouth.

“Fine,” I sighed dramatically, leaning back against the couch cushions.

Luca eyed me contemplatively as he crunched. “You know you’re pretty damn cute when you pout.”

“I don’t pout.” I sniffed indignantly, but I couldn’t suppress the satisfied grin that tugged at the corners of my mouth as I added, “I get even. Since you pick ‘Die Hard,’ I pick dessert. We’re making your sad little action movie night as sweet as it deserves to be.”

Luca narrowed his eyes, catching my meaning a second too late. “Wait—what dessert?”

I shot up, heading to the kitchen. “We’ve got those raspberry scones in the fridge, right?” I teased over my shoulder.

“Raspberry scones?” He groaned, slumping into the couch as though wounded. “This is not a fucking scone kind of movie night.”

“It is now,” I quipped.

By the time I returned, balancing two plates piled with scones and a dollop of whipped cream on each, Luca had queued up the movie and was glowering at me from the couch.

“You know,” he said, grabbing one of the plates, “if you insist on pairing action movies with pastries, I may have to reconsider the current status of our relationship.”

“Oh please,” I shot back. “You adore me too much to walk away from this face. This bod.” I waved a hand up and down illustrating my curves. “And these scones.”

Luca bit into one, glaring at me through the crumbs. “I plead the fifth,” he muttered, reaching for the remote to start the movie.

As the familiar opening credits rolled, I curled up beside him, resting my head on his chest. The comforting sound of explosions and Bruce Willis one-liners filled the room, but I wasn’t really watching. Between the soft light of the TV and the warmth of Luca’s arm around my shoulders, the day’s tension started to melt away.

“You tired, sweet cheeks?” he asked, his fingers absently stroking my hair. The casual intimacy of the gesture had me all but purring into his neck.

“A little,” I admitted, snuggling closer. His scent—soap mixed with something unmistakably Luca—calmed me in a way nothing else ever has. “Long day at the office.”

He groaned in agreement, his chest rumbling beneath my cheek. “Don’t remind me. That newest pitch for the West Bay account is going to be brutal. Ryker’s already riding us like we’re behind, and we haven’t even started.”

I nodded, understanding completely. Our jobs were intense on the best days, and when a big client like Ryker West was involved, the pressure mounted quickly.

“We’ll nail it, though,” I said, my voice confident despite the looming stress. “We always do.”

Luca’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “You mean I’ll nail it while you take all the credit?”

“Please,” I scoffed. “You’d be lost without me, Turner. Admit it.”

He chuckled softly, his hand sliding from my hair down to my back, tracing slow circles that sent my pulse into overdrive. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “We make a pretty damn good team. Even if you do drive me batshit crazy.”

I tilted my head up to meet his gaze, catching the briefest flicker of something deeper in his eyes before he covered it with a grin. “Likewise,” I replied, my voice softer than I intended.

For a moment, the noise from the TV faded into the background. Luca leaned down, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and filled with an intensity that left me breathless. The world narrowed to just this—his warmth, his scent, the steady beat of his heart against my cheek.

When we finally pulled apart, I was surprised by the sudden weight of the silence between us. The movie droned on in the background, but we both ignored it.

“You know,” he said, his voice rougher than usual, “I’m glad fought over that damn cake at the office party.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the random shift in conversation. “What does cake have to do with anything?”

He shrugged, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Think about it. If we hadn’t argued over that last slice, we wouldn’t have ended up handcuffed together.” He tilted his head, raising a brow. “And I’d still be pretending I don’t feel this way about you.”

His words lingered in the air between us, unexpected and bold. A year ago, I would’ve laughed at the idea—Luca Turner, my rival, my constant pain in the ass, admitting something that felt dangerously close to vulnerability. But now, the weight of what he said hit differently.

I tried for humor, for deflection. “Well, you do have a talent for stealing the last slice of cake,” I murmured, my heart racing as I met his gaze.

But Luca didn’t take the bait. He held my stare, unflinching. “I mean it, Liv.”

The air between us thickened with unspoken words, the easy banter we always relied on slipping away. I swallowed hard, suddenly unsure of what to say.

“Well,” I finally managed, “if you hadn’t been such a stubborn jerk about it, I wouldn’t have fallen for you.”

A slow, satisfied grin spread across Luca’s face. He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered, “I always knew I’d win you over, Liv.”

I laughed, but the sound was softer now, more intimate. “That’s because you’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he replied, his breath warm against my skin.

This time, I didn’t argue. I didn’t need to.

As the movie played on in the background, I found myself thinking about how strange it was—how something as ridiculous as handcuffs and cake could lead us here, tangled up on a couch, trading quiet confessions.

Luca’s arm tightened around me, pulling me closer until I was wrapped up in the warmth of him. The TV screen flickered, the explosions and gunfire distant, irrelevant.

I sighed, feeling more content than I had in a long time. “You know,” I said quietly, “maybe ‘Die Hard’ isn’t so bad after all.”

Luca chuckled, his lips brushing back and forth across my forehead, feather-light. “Told you.”

And as the movie continued to play, we both gave up all pretense of watching anything. Luca’s hand, which had been resting lazily on my back, suddenly gripped me, his fingers digging into my flesh with delicious pressure as he began knead the muscles along my spine, each touch burning like a brand. His fingers raked across the line of my ribs, teasing the bare skin exposed by the loose hem of my t-shirt. My breath hitched, catching in my throat as he dipped his head, nibbling along my jawline, just below my ear.

“Luca…” His name left my lips in a whisper, half a plea, half demand.

“Mmm?” His response was a deep, guttural growl, the vibration of it against my skin sending a wave of heat pooling low in my stomach.

I turned to look at him, meeting those dark, intense eyes that always managed to consume me. His expression was unreadable for a moment, but the way his gaze lingered on my lips, the way his body subtly shifted closer to mine, left no doubt as to where this was headed.

Slowly, his hand slid beneath my shirt, his fingers splaying out across my bare skin, sending a jolt of electricity through me. He tipped his head down and when his mouth found mine again, it wasn’t teasing or tender. This kiss was deep, urgent, his lips clinging to mine with hunger.

I responded in kind, my hand coming up to grip his hair, pulling him closer. The feel of him—solid, warm, and so impossibly close—drove everything else from my mind. The lingering tensions from work, the weight of the week, all of it disappeared, replaced by the intoxicating sensation of Luca, of his skilled and talented mouth, of his hard body pressed against me.

His tongue teased at the seam of my lips, moving to bite the lower one and hold it between his teeth before releasing. The faint sting shot need straight to my core as I squirmed against him. He groaned into my mouth, a low, rough sound that had me clenching my thighs together. His other hand, still resting on my hip, tightened its grip as if he were trying to pull me even closer—though there was barely any space between us as it was.

Before I knew it, I was being shifted onto my back, Luca hovering above me on the couch, his weight pressing down, his lips never leaving mine. His hands roamed now, more insistent, sliding under the fabric of my shirt to explore every inch of bare skin he could reach. Each touch was a spark, igniting something hot and undeniable between us. His rough, callused hand slid up to palm my breast, lightly pinching and tweaking the small bud before moving on to the other one. I gasped into his mouth, my hips lifting to grind against his.

Impatient, I tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, needing to feel him, to touch him. He lifted just enough for me to pull it over his head, revealing the hard lines of his chest, the lean, defined muscles that indicated he took care of himself. My fingers traced the hard ridges and contours, relishing the way he shuddered at my touch.

“Liv…” he breathed, his voice rough, strained. His hands found the edge of my own shirt, and in one swift, fluid motion, it was gone, tossed aside. His eyes darkened as they swept over me, taking in every detail. The heat and appreciation in his gaze made my heart pound, made my skin feel suddenly too tight, too hot.

He lowered himself back down, his lips finding my collarbone, then the hollow of my throat. He grazed his teeth down, down, before taking a nipple in his mouth, giving it a tiny bite before sucking and soothing the slight pain. He gave the same attention to the other and a small whimper escaped me, prompting a faint grin to cross his lips.

His hands slid down my sides, fingers tracing the curve of my waist before slipping lower, gripping the waistband of my leggings. I arched into him, my body practically begging for more, for him.

There was nothing rushed about the way he undressed me. Every movement was deliberate, slow, as though he wanted to savor every second of this, every touch, every breath. The anticipation built with every brush of his fingers, every inch of fabric that fell away, until I was lying beneath him, completely bare.

He rocked up onto his knees, shoving his own shorts down and fisting his hard length as his gaze devoured me. I bit my lip as I stared back, my gaze equally as hungry. Letting my thighs fall open, I stared at him beneath heavy lids. Had he been anyone else, I would have been embarrassed to be so exposed, but not with him.

With him, I felt powerful, beautiful.

Sexy.    

Luca paused for a moment, his eyes locking onto mine, something unspoken passing between us. We both knew this was more than just lust—there was something deeper here, something that had been simmering between us for months, probably longer. He leaned forward, his hand cupping my cheek, his thumb stroking my lips in a tender, almost reverent gesture.

“You’re so fucking incredible,” he whispered, his voice a barely audible rasp over the sound of my pounding heart.

I didn’t have a chance to respond before his lips were on mine again, this time softer, slower, but no less intense. My hands explored the hard planes of his back, reveling in the feel of him, the way his muscles flexed beneath my fingers. His skin was warm, the heat between us building until it was almost unbearable.

When he finally moved against me, pressing his body fully into mine, a soft gasp escaped my lips. The sensation of him—skin on skin, the weight of him, the heat—was almost overwhelming, yet not enough. I needed more. He moved his hard length against my wet core, sliding back and forth teasingly but not entering.

My body arched into him, silently urging him on, silently begging.

He ignored my pleas, continuing to tease me, his hot mouth trailing down my neck, his hand moving lower, fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns down my belly and along my inner thighs that left me trembling beneath him. His touch was firm yet careful, like he was learning every reaction, every place that made me gasp, made me tremble, made me need him even more, touching me everywhere except where I needed him most.

And then, there was no more space between us. Luca gripped and centered himself, then slid inside me with one powerful thrust. My eyes rolled back at the sweet friction and full sensation as my lips parted on another gasp. His own breath hissed between his teeth, a look of  pure concentration on his face as he moved against me, slow at first, his movements deliberate and controlled, as if he were holding back, trying to savor the moment.

Quivering, I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer, feeling every inch of him, feeling him claim me in ways that went beyond the physical.

Something that felt a lot like love.

He must have felt it too because his pace quickened, and so did my pulse, our movements becoming more frantic, more urgent, as if we were both desperate to close any last remaining gaps between us.

Every kiss, every touch, every pant and groan became a shared rhythm, an unspoken language that communicated more than words ever could. There was nothing but us, the way he moved inside me, the way our bodies fit together.

Like maybe they were always meant to.