“I forgot your smell,” she said, her forehead pressed against his shoulder, the words muffled in the fabric of his jacket.
Lukas laughed softly, a vibration that penetrated the thick wool sweater and resonated in her chest. “And I forgot your voice. Every night in those plastic headphones—that wasn’t your voice. It lacked the warmth, the little hesitation before certain words.”
Clara lifted her head. The airport around them was a roar of rolling suitcases and hoarse announcements, but she barely registered it. His eyes were exactly as she remembered them: gray with dark rims, pupils dilated even though the neon tubes of the hall poured glaring light. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingers trembling slightly, as if touching something fragile. “Come on, let’s get out of here. This place isn’t for us.”
In the taxi, they were silent. His hand lay on her thigh, his thumb drawing small circles on the sturdy denim. She felt each touch like an electric impulse that shot from her skin to her navel, triggering a hot pulse there. The driver rambled about the unpredictable weather, but Clara only heard the soft crackle of tension between them, charging the air in the backseat with an invisible magnetic field. The city passed by: wet asphalt gleaming in the headlights, streetlights casting yellow patches on the damp sidewalks. It smelled of rain and of him, of that scent she now recognized: soap, something spicy like cedarwood, and a warm, musky note that belonged only to him and had burned itself into her memory.
The apartment was small, furnished, a temporary setup for his year abroad. He had placed candles, three of them on the low table—one white, one red, one blue. The light flickered softly over the worn wooden floorboards, casting fleeting shadows on the walls. Clara set down her travel bag and turned to him. “You bought candles? You, who always said candles were kitschy.”
“I wanted it to be nice. For you to feel welcome.” He stood there, hands in the pockets of his chinos, suddenly uncertain. She didn’t know him like this. Lukas, who always knew what he wanted, who never hesitated. “I’ve imagined this so often,” he said quietly, his gaze fixed on her feet. “You here. But now it’s different.”
“Different how?” She stepped closer, feeling the warmth radiating from him.
“More intense. You smell different. More real. Not like in my memory, but more present.” He lifted his head, looked into her eyes, and his gaze was open, vulnerable. “May I kiss you?”
She didn’t answer, just placed her hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under the soft cotton. It pounded fast, irregularly. Then she tilted her head, and their lips met. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was a collision after months of deprivation, hungry and demanding, a thirst that couldn’t wait. His tongue found its way, and she opened up, let him in, tasted coffee and a hint of mint from his toothpaste. Her fingers clawed into his shirt, pulling him closer until there was no gap between them. He groaned softly into her mouth, a deep, throaty sound that sent a wave of heat through her body, gathering in her breasts and making her nipples hard.
“I want you,” she whispered between kisses, her lips barely leaving his. “Now. Here.”
He took her hand and led her into the bedroom. The bed was unmade, the sheets rumpled and tangled, as if he had lain down and gotten up again, driven by the restlessness of anticipation. She pulled him onto the mattress, and they landed in a tangle of arms and legs, their bodies seeking purchase. His hands slid under her sweater, fingers cool on her warm skin, gliding over her ribs and the gentle curve of her waist. She flinched at the first touch, but then his palms grew warm, and he massaged her side, slowly, in circles, as if wanting to explore every spot individually.
“I thought of you every night,” he murmured against her neck, the words a hot breath on her skin. “Of your skin. Your taste. The way you moan when I touch you in the right place.” He nibbled on her earlobe, and she tilted her head to the side, offering him more space, a silent invitation. His lips traveled lower, over her neck, her collarbone, until he reached the edge of her bra. He pushed the fabric aside with his tongue and took her nipple into his mouth—first a gentle suckling, then a firmer nibbling that made her gasp.
Clara panted, the sound echoing in the small room. The month of separation, the hours on the phone, the lonely nights when she had touched herself but never enough—all of it condensed into this one point where his tongue circled and sucked, where an electric surge shot from her breast straight to her core. She grabbed his hair, pressing him harder against her, feeling his jaw work. “Lukas…”
He lifted his head, lips glistening wet, eyes dark with desire, pupils so wide they almost swallowed the gray of his irises. “Tell me what you want.” His voice was deep, rough, a growl that ran down her spine.
“You. Everything. I want to feel you inside me.”
He sat up and pulled his shirt over his head, the movement fluid, determined. The streetlight filtering through the window cast shadows on his chest, which tensed with every motion. She let her gaze wander over him, over the sharp line of his jaw, his broad shoulders, his narrow waist, his flat stomach rising and falling with his breath. He was more beautiful than she remembered, or longing had sharpened her perception, charging every line, every muscle with meaning.
“Turn around,” he said, and his voice sounded deeper than usual, a command wrapped gently in tenderness.
She rolled onto her stomach, her face pressed into the pillow that smelled of him—of shampoo, of sleep, of absence. His hands pushed up her sweater, and she helped him pull it off, arms obediently over her head. Then the bra, whose clasp he opened with a deft, practiced motion. The cool air hit her bare skin, and she shivered, but then she felt his lips on her shoulder blade, warm and soft. “You’re so beautiful. Every detail. The little scar on your hip where you fell off your bike as a child. The freckles on your shoulders.”
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