Note:

Before we dive into this chapter, I wanted to include a quick Content Warning.

This update contains explicit intimate scenes (Rated 18+) 

If you are under 18 or feel uncomfortable with adult content, please feel free to skip the middle section of the chapter, otherwise, enjoy 😉.

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Miu's POV

Lena's private apartment wasn't a fortress, and it wasn't an echo. It was a tucked-away space in a quiet corner of the city, far from the gleaming spires of the central business district. 

It wasn't as grand as the penthouse we'd fled, and it lacked the airy, artistic height of my studio, but as I stood in the center of the living room, I realized it was the first place I had ever been that felt entirely real.

There were books on the shelves that hadn't been curated by an interior designer. There was a worn leather chair in the corner with a reading lamp, and a small balcony overflowing with neglected ferns. It was big enough to breathe in, but small enough that I could always hear Lena's heartbeat if I leaned close enough.

It was truly ours. Or it was supposed to be.

We spent the first morning unpacking. Or rather, I tried to.

Every time I reached for a box of my books or tried to haul my heavy camera case toward the corner I'd claimed as a makeshift darkroom, Lena was there. She was a blur of frantic, silent efficiency.

"I've got that, Miu. It's heavy," she'd say, gently prying the case from my fingers before I could even grip the handle. "Sit down, Miu. I'll make the coffee." "Don't worry about the dust, I'll scrub the floors later. Just stay on the rug."

At first, my heart ached with the sheer tenderness of it. I watched her—this woman who used to command boardrooms with a single glance, scrubbing a countertop with a focused intensity that bordered on obsessive. 

I felt cherished. I felt seen.

But as the hours ticked by, the tenderness began to feel like a cage.

I stood in the kitchen, watching her hover over a single bag of groceries we'd bought at a small local market. She was meticulously washing every piece of fruit, her back rigid, her movements almost mechanical. She hadn't stopped for six hours. She hadn't even looked me in the eye.

"Lena," I said softly.

She didn't turn around. "I'm almost done here. I'll clear the bedroom next so you can lie down. You look pale."

"I'm not pale, Lena. I'm bored." I walked over to the counter and reached for a bag of rice, intending to put it in the pantry.

Lena's hand shot out, blocking mine. "I'll do it, Miu. You shouldn't be lifting things."

The snap happened before I could stop it. It wasn't loud, but it was sharp. I pulled my hand back and slammed it down on the counter, not hard enough to break anything, but enough to make the ceramic jars rattle.

"Stop it," I said, my voice vibrating with a sudden, hot frustration. "Just stop."

Lena froze. She finally turned to look at me, and the expression in her eyes nearly broke me. It wasn't the look of a lover; it was the look of a woman waiting for a sentence to be passed. 

It was the look of someone drowning in a debt she didn't think she could ever repay.

"I'm just trying to make it comfortable for you," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I know this isn't what you're used to. I know the bed is smaller and the street noise is louder and—"

"And you think I'm a porcelain doll," I interrupted, stepping into her space until our chests were almost touching. "You're not taking care of me, Lena. You're compensating. You're running around like a servant because you're terrified that the second I have to do something for myself, I'll realize I made a mistake. You think every speck of dust is a reminder of the life I lost."

"Miu, you had a staff of fifteen," she argued, her voice rising in a desperate defense of her own guilt. "You never had to think about where your meals came from or who cleaned your sheets. I brought you here. I took you out of that palace and put you in... in this. I have to make up for that."

"By treating me like I'm incapable?" I countered. I felt the heat rising in my cheeks, the same fire I'd felt when I told my father I was free. 

"Lena, look at me. What makes you think I can't do this? I lived in London for four years. I did my own laundry in a cramped flat while the rain pounded on the roof. I cooked for myself, I navigated the Tube, I fended for myself while you were halfway across the world. I survived four years without a Taechamongkalapiwat driver, and I didn't die."

Lena opened her mouth, but no words came out. 

"I didn't choose you because I needed a new manager," I said, my voice softening but remaining firm. "I chose you because I wanted a partner. If you keep trying to fix my life, you're not letting me live it. You're just building a different kind of cage, one made of your guilt instead of my father's rules."

I reached out, taking the wet sponge from her hand and dropping it into the sink with a splash.

"I'm not fragile, Lena. I'm the woman who walked away from an empire. Give me the credit I deserve for being strong enough to be here."

The kitchen was silent, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant, rhythmic honking of a city that no longer knew our names.

I watched the realization sink into Lena's eyes. She looked down at her empty hands, the hands that had been trying to scrub away a debt that didn't exist and then back at me. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice thick. "I just... I look at you in this kitchen, with that light, and I keep waiting for the moment you look around and realize there's no one coming to take the tray. No one to bring the car around. I'm so terrified that one day, the normal will be too heavy, and you'll realize I'm the one who put it on your shoulders."

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around my waist, burying her face in the crook of my neck. This wasn't the polished, untouchable Director Schuett. This was just Lena—flesh, bone, and a heart that was beating far too fast against mine.

"I'm not scared of the work, Miu," she breathed into my skin, her grip bruisingly tight. "I'm just scared of not being enough to make the sacrifice worth it."

I wrapped my arms around her neck, my fingers tangling in the hair she'd kept so perfectly pinned for years. I held her with every ounce of the strength I'd cultivated in those rainy London streets, anchoring her to the present.

"You aren't a consolation prize, Lena," I said, my voice vibrating against her temple. "You are the prize. The sacrifice was for the freedom to be here, with you. Not for a bigger house or a better staff. Just this. Just us."

I pulled back just enough to look at her. Her eyes were red-rimmed, stripped of all the corporate armor. 

She looked beautiful in the messy, unscripted light of our new kitchen. The kind of beauty that didn't need a high-rise view or a designer suit to validate it.

A sudden, wicked thought crossed my mind, a bit of the old Miu sparking back to life. I reached up, tracing the line of her jaw with my thumb, a small, teasing smirk playing on my lips.

"You know," I started, my voice dropping into a playful lilt. "Maybe my father was actually right about one thing."

Lena blinked, her brow furrowing in confusion. "About what?"

"About me being manipulated," I whispered, stepping even closer until I could see the golden flecks in her irises. "I think I was, Lena. I was completely and utterly brainwashed by this face. Look at those eyes. That nose. It's actually quite unfair, isn't it? How was I supposed to stay the Vice President when you were walking around looking like a literal masterpiece?"

Lena let out a startled, breathless huff that was half-laugh, half-sob. "Miu, stop. I'm serious."

"I am too!" I laughed, poking her cheek. "I'm a woman of art, Lena. I see a perfect structure and I want to live in it. Honestly, you should be ashamed. You used your top-tier German genetics to lure me away from my inheritance. I'm basically a victim of your bone structure."

I paused, my gaze sinking into hers. "These big, brown orbs. Honestly, it's a hazard. I could just stare into them and be lost forever. I'd forget my own name if you looked at me long enough."

Lena's breath hitched, her pupils dilating as she searched my face.

"Sometimes," I continued, my voice dropping to a vulnerable trill, "when you look at me like this... it feels like you're seeing me completely naked. Like you've stripped away my soul and you're just looking at all my truths, bare and shivering. It's terrifying, Lena. And it's the most beautiful thing I've ever felt."

A slow, predatory grace returned to Lena's posture. The vulnerability in her eyes didn't vanish, but it was joined by a sudden, playful heat, the kind that reminded me she wasn't just a builder of buildings, but a woman who knew exactly how to dismantle a person.

She reached out, her fingers hooking into the belt loops of my jeans and pulling me firmly between her knees as she sat on the counter.

"Well," she murmured, her voice dropping an octave, honey-thick and dangerous. "If it feels like I'm seeing you naked, Miu, it's probably because every time I look at you... that is exactly what I'm imagining."

She tilted her head, a smirk finally playing on those lips I'd been dying to kiss all morning. "Truths are fine, but let's be honest, I have a very specific interest in stripping you bare. All of you. Repeatedly."

I felt the heat rush from my neck to my forehead, my heart doing a frantic pound against my ribs. Lena didn't give me a chance to recover from my outburst. She leaned in, her nose brushing against mine, her eyes dark with a hunger that had nothing to do with the meal I want to start.

She kissed me then. It was slow. Deliberate. 

Her hands moved from my waist, sliding under the hem of my shirt. Her palms were cool against my skin, a perfect contrast to the fire she was starting in my blood. I gasped into her mouth, my knees turning to water. 

I had spent twenty-four years being handled like a delicate antique, but Lena's touch was different. She held me like I was the foundation of her entire world, firm and essential.

With a low, guttural groan, she pulled me closer, her legs wrapping around my waist as she sat back on the counter, hauling me flush against her. There was only this woman, breathing my name like a prayer between kisses, her hands mapping the truths I had offered her moments before.

"Miu," she whispered, pulling back just an inch to look at me. Those big, brown orbs were wide, searching mine with a raw, stripping honesty that made me feel like the only person left on earth. "Are you sure? No more staff, no more marble. Just me. Just this."

I didn't answer with words. I couldn't. 

Instead, I took her hand and pressed it against my heart, letting her feel the frantic, undeniable rhythm of a woman who had finally found where she belonged. Then, I leaned in and captured her lips again, her hands tightening on my back as she pulled me away from the kitchen and toward the hallway, toward the bedroom that didn't have a view of the city, but finally had a view of our future.

"Miu," Lena breathed, her voice a ragged, broken thing as my name left her lips. Her hands, usually so steady and precise with her blueprints, were trembling as they slid under my shirt, seeking the heat of my skin.

When the fabric finally fell away, she didn't move immediately. She looked at me, in the soft, dappled light filtering through the curtains. 

It was that look again, the one that made me feel bare long before my clothes were gone.

"You are so beautiful," she whispered, her big brown orbs shimmering with a mix of awe and a desperate, aching hunger. "I used to dream about this. In the quiet hours at the office, when I was supposed to be thinking about steel and glass... I was thinking about the curve of your shoulder. The way you breathe when you're focused."

I leaned down, capturing her lips to silence the talk of the past. This kiss was deeper, a slow-burn exploration that tasted of promises kept. I felt her hands map the arch of my back, her touch firm and possessive, anchoring me to her.

As I moved against her, the friction sparked a low moan from the back of her throat—a sound of pure, unadulterated want that sent a jolt of electricity straight to my core. I reached for the buttons of her shirt, my fingers clumsy in my haste, until the silk gave way.

Lena kissed my mouth intensely, her lips crushing mine as if she were trying to pull the very soul out of me. I responded with a desperation that made my head spin, my hands tangling in her hair.

"Miu... god, Miu," she rasped against my lips, her voice a broken thread of what it usually was. She parted my lips, her tongue sliding over mine with a deep, starving hunger. She trailed her lips from my mouth down to the elegant curve of my neck, then lower still, to the valley of my breasts.

I gasped, my back arching off the bed when I felt her mouth close around my nipple. Lena sucked with an immense want, and I couldn't help the high, thin sound that escaped my throat.

"Lena... please," I whimpered, my fingers digging into her shoulders.

"I've wanted you since the first day," she murmured against my skin, her breath hot and damp. "Every meeting... every time you walked into my office... it was torture."

She didn't speak more; she just let her tongue slide over my soft skin, nibbling at the peak while her hand massaged my other breast with a firm, possessive roughness that made me writhe beneath her.

She moved her path downward to my stomach, distributing small bites and kisses across the surface. Her lips traveled lower, past the boundary of my hips until she reached my wet center. She kissed my inner thighs slowly, biting the tender skin of the area softly, savoring the way I trembled.

"You're so beautiful, Miu," she breathed, her eyes finding mine for a fleeting, burning second before she dove in.

Lena sucked me with every ounce of want she had in her. My nails dragged over her shoulders, the sharp sting causing a pleasurable pain that only made her grow bolder. She slid her tongue over my clit, circling that bundle of nerves incessantly. With the tips of her fingers, she separated my wet folds and licked slowly.

"Lena! Lena!" I screamed her name, my head tossing back against the pillows. I dipped a finger into her damp center, and I cried out at the heat of it, before she moved back up to massage my swollen clit with a rhythmic, heavy pressure.

She sucked without stopping while her fingers began to pump in and out hurriedly. My body began to tremble violently, my breath hitching into broken sobs. "Please... I'm—I'm close, Lena, please!"

"I've got you," she whispered, her voice thick with her own rising heat. "Just let go, Miu. Give it to me."

My body shattered. I cried out her name one last time as the climax hit, a white-hot wave that left me sobbing and gaspsing for air.

But I wasn't finished. In a surge of my own strength, fueled by a sudden, desperate need to feel her the same way, I pushed Lena back onto the bed, pinning her down. I boldly lifted one of her legs, fitting myself between them until our centers were totally glued together, flesh to flesh.

"Miu... oh god," Lena gasped, her eyes blowing wide as I rubbed against her with so much want. A kind of frenzy hit my body until I was writhing, completely losing control.

I lay down over her, peppering sweet, reverent kisses on her neck before trailing down to her breasts. "You're mine now," I whispered against her skin. "Not the Group's. Not Mak's. Mine."

"Always," she choked out, her hands clutching my waist. "Always yours. Only yours."

I went down over her stomach, licking every part of her until I reached her center. I placed my lips there delicately, kissing her lovingly before my tongue finally flicked over her swollen clit. I licked fast, my pace unwavering. Lena let out a raw, high-pitched gasp, a sound of pure, unadulterated surrender as the pressure increased.

"Miu! Miu, stop—no, don't stop!" she cried out, her back arching so high her head left the mattress. With the tips of my fingers, I spread her slick folds, and she choked on my name as I immersed the tip of my tongue inside her in an incessant, thrusting motion.

"Look at me, Lena!" I commanded, needing to see her in this moment.

She forced her eyes open, her big brown orbs clouded with pleasure and tears. "I love you," she sobbed out, the words finally breaking free just as her body convulsed under mine. "I love you, Miu!"

It was a landslide. The world fell away, the name Taechamongkalapiwat, the office, the shame—it all burned up in the heat of her. As we collapsed into each other, tangled and slick, the silence of the room was heavy with the weight of our shared truths.

The silence that followed was the heaviest I had ever known, but for the first time, it didn't feel like a burden. It felt like a blanket.

The afternoon sun had shifted, casting long, honey-colored rectangles across the bed, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air of our new sanctuary. We lay tangled together, skin slick and cooling, the only sound the synchronized, frantic thudding of our hearts slowly finding a shared rhythm.

Lena was completely undone. Her hair, usually a masterpiece of corporate precision, was a wild, dark silk sprawled across the pillows. She looked up at me, her big brown orbs heavy-lidded and glazed with a mixture of shock and profound peace. 

She opened her mouth, her lips parted as if she were trying to form a coherent sentence, to say something about the ruin of us, or the risk we'd taken, or the I love you that was still vibrating in the air between us.

But no words came. She just let out a long, shaky breath that ended in a faint, tired smile. She looked vulnerable in a way that made my chest ache.

I didn't need her to speak. I reached out, my fingers tracing the soft curve of her jaw, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. I watched her adoringly, memorizing the way her eyelashes fluttered and the way her chest rose and fell. 

I had photographed the most beautiful things in the world, but nothing compared to the sight of Lena Schuett lying beside me, eyes full of love, hair messy, and looking at peace.

I stayed awake for a little longer, just holding her. I looked around the room, at the half-unpacked boxes and the plain white walls. It wasn't the palace I was born in, but as I felt Lena's warmth seeping into my skin, I realized I had never been more home in my entire life.

Lena's POV

I woke up to a silence so profound it felt like a physical weight on my chest. For a moment, my brain tried to glitch back into its old rhythm, scrolling through a mental checklist of 8:00 AM briefings and contractor meetings that had long since passed.

Then, I felt the warmth. And I realized the light hitting the back of my eyelids wasn't the pale gray of dawn it was the heavy, golden amber of a late afternoon.

I didn't open my eyes immediately. I just breathed in. The memory of the morning flooded back, not as a dream, but as a vivid, skin-searing reality. The way she had looked under me, the way her voice had broken when she said my name... it was all still vibrating in the air.

I shifted slightly, and that's when I felt her. Miu was a tangle of soft limbs and steady heat. She had her legs draped possessively over mine, her arm hooked around my waist as if she were afraid I might evaporate if she let go.

I finally opened my eyes. The sun was beginning its descent, casting long, honeyed shadows across the white walls of my private apartment. 

In this light, Miu looked like a painting. Her dark hair was fanned out across the white pillowcase, and there was a soft, flushed glow to her skin that made my heart ache.

I looked at her, and a lump formed in my throat.

I thought about the penthouse I'd left behind. I thought about the boardrooms, and the relentless, suffocating pressure of being Director Schuett. I thought about the scandal currently tearing through the headlines of Bangkok's elite, and the bridge I had effectively nuked from orbit when I walked out of that palace with her hand in mine.

I would trade it all again.

I would experience every second of that agony, every hour of repressed longing, all over again if I knew it was the exact path that led to this moment. To this bed. To this woman breathing softly against my skin while the world outside wondered where we'd gone.

Miu stirred, a small, unconscious hum vibrating in her throat. She tightened her hold on me, her eyelashes fluttering against my skin as she slowly began to rejoin the world.

"Hey," I whispered, my voice thick with sleep and a reverence I didn't know I was capable of.

Miu's eyes fluttered open, the amber sunlight catching the dark honey of her irises. She looked dazed for a moment, her gaze drifting from the ceiling to the unfamiliar walls, before finally settling on me. 

A slow, sleepy smile spread across her face, the kind of smile that made me feel like I was the only person in the world who mattered.

"Hi," she murmured, her voice a low, gravelly rasp that sent a fresh shiver down my spine.

"Hi," I whispered back, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her forehead. "How are you feeling?"

She hummed, snuggling deeper into my side, her nose rubbing against my collarbone. "Like I got ran over by a truck. My body is so sore, it hurts everywhere. What time is it? The light looks... different."

I glanced at the window, where the sun was beginning to dip behind the neighboring rooftops, painting the sky in bruises of purple and gold. "It's nearly five, Miu. In the afternoon."

Miu bolted upright—well, as much as one can bolt while tangled in a heap of sheets and limbs. Her eyes went wide. "Five?! Lena, we slept through the entire day. We haven't done anything. We haven't unpacked the kitchen, we haven't checked the mail, we haven't—"

"We've done plenty," I teased, reaching up to pull her back down. "I'd say we've had a very productive first day of freedom."

She laughed, the sound bright and musical, and leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to my lips. "You're a bad influence, Director. You're teaching me how to be lazy. My father would have a heart attack if he knew I was still in bed at—"

Gurgle.

The sound was sudden, violent, and unmistakably loud. It echoed in the small, quiet room like a thunderclap.

Miu froze. I froze.

We stared at each other for a beat of pure silence, and then it happened again. An even louder, more demanding growl erupted from Miu's stomach, vibrating against my hip.

The Princess of the Taechamongkalapiwat empire turned a shade of crimson I hadn't known was humanly possible. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

"Oh my god," she muffled into her palms. "That was... that was so unrefined. I am so sorry."

I couldn't help it. A laugh bubbled up in my chest, a real, raw laugh that felt like it was shaking the dust off my soul. "Don't apologize. I think your body is officially protesting the lack of a private chef."

"Well, lucky for you," I said, finally untangling myself and swinging my legs over the side of the bed, feeling the cool air hit my skin. "We have one very high-end, artisanal box of dried penne sitting on a counter in there. And if I recall correctly, a certain London-trained chef promised to show me how the real world eats."

Miu sat up, tossing her hair back with a newfound determination, despite her blushing cheeks. "Fine. But you're on water-boiling duty. And don't you dare try to take over, Lena Schuett. I'm the boss of the kitchen tonight."

"Yes, Chef," I said, giving her a playful wink.

I reached for my discarded shirt on the floor, my back turned to her. As I stretched, the cool air hitting my skin, the room went oddly silent. I didn't hear the sheets rustling anymore.

I glanced back over my shoulder. Miu was frozen, her eyes wide as she stared at my bare back and shoulders. 

In the unforgiving clarity of the afternoon sun, the marks were impossible to hide, vivid red blooms and shallow scratches that told the exact story of how she had clung to me just a few hours ago.

Heat rushed over Miu's face, turning her ears a deep, panicked pink. 

"Lena!" she gasped, her voice trembling with genuine horror. "Oh my god, your back... and your neck! I—I did that? I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to be so... so feral. I must have hurt you. Please tell me I didn't actually hurt you."

I turned around fully, still comfortably naked, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. I hadn't even noticed the sting until she pointed it out, and honestly? I wore those marks like a badge of honor.

"Hurt me?" I hummed, stepping closer to the bed. I leaned down, my face inches from hers. "Miu, that wasn't pain. That was the best architecture you've ever designed."

She groaned, hiding her face in her hands again. "I'm a monster. I've bruised the Director of the Schuett Group. My father was right, I'm unhinged."

"If you think I'm in bad shape," I whispered, my voice dropping into a playful, dangerous lilt, "you might want to take a look at yourself before you start the apology tour."

Miu peeked through her fingers, confused. "What?"

I gestured toward the full-length mirror leaning against the wardrobe, the one piece of furniture I'd actually managed to unpack. "Go on. Have a look, Chef."

Reluctantly, Miu slid out from under the duvet, wincing at the soreness in her thighs as she padded across the wooden floor. She stood in front of the glass, and for a second, the silence was absolute.

Then, a tiny, strangled squeak escaped her.

If my marks were blooms, hers were a full-blown garden. My fingerprints were ghosted around her waist in faint, blooming shadows, and her neck and collarbone were painted in a map of deep, dark crescents where I had lost my own composure. 

It was way worse. It wasn't just a few scratches; it was a visible declaration of exactly how much I had wanted her.

"Lalina Schuett!" she shrieked, spinning around to face me, her hands instinctively flying to cover her neck. "I look like I've been tackled! How am I supposed to go to the market like this? I look... I look completely claimed!"

I laughed, a low, triumphant sound as I finally pulled my shirt on, though I left it unbuttoned. I walked over to wrap my arms around her waist from behind, pulling her back against my chest and meeting her wide-eyed gaze in the mirror.

"Well," I said, my voice dropping into a low, satisfied hum as I looked at the dark marks blooming against her pale skin. "At least now the world will know exactly how taken you are. I don't think anyone in this neighborhood would dare to even look at you, let alone try to flirt, once they see those."

Miu's breath hitched, her eyes shimmering in the reflection as she leaned her head back against my shoulder. "You're so possessive, Director. Is this how you treat all your best investments?"

"You aren't an investment, Miu," I whispered, my lips grazing the very marks we were discussing. "I just want to put a mark on what's mine. And I've never been very good at sharing."

A shy, beautiful glow settled over her features, replacing the panic. She reached up, her fingers tangling with mine where they rested over her stomach. "Good. Because I don't think I have enough energy left to belong to anyone else anyway. You've officially exhausted the Heir."

"Then let's go get some fuel," I said, giving her waist a final, firm squeeze before stepping back. "Put on one of my oversized hoodies. We're going to the kitchen."

Ten minutes later, we were standing in the small, galley-style kitchen. It was a far cry from the industrial-sized workspaces of our families' estates. Here, if we both moved at the same time, our hips bumped. If I reached for a glass, I was practically leaning over her.

"Okay, Chef," I said, leaning against the counter and watching her with crossed arms. "The water is in the pot. The stove is on. I have successfully completed Water-Boiling Duty. What now?"

Miu looked at the box of pasta, then at the single, slightly dented pot I owned, and then back at me. She looked like she was preparing to lead a military campaign.

"Now," she said, pointing a wooden spoon at me with faux-seriousness. "You find us something to sit on. Because if I have to stand for another twenty minutes while this cooks, I am going to collapse right onto this linoleum, and I don't think the Director wants to eat her first meal off the floor."

I looked around the empty living room. "Miu... I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the dining chairs don't arrive until Thursday."

Miu paused, the spoon mid-air. She looked at the empty space, then at the bed we'd just vacated, and then back to me. "Lena Schuett. Are you telling me we're about to have a candlelight dinner on a cardboard box?"

"Cardboard boxes are the new marble, Miu. Very minimalist," I joked, though I was already moving toward the linen closet.

I returned to find the pasta bubbling away, Miu standing over the steam with a look of intense concentration. I didn't find a tablecloth, but I did find a couple of oversized towels we could use as cushions. I tossed them onto the kitchen counter, which was thankfully wide enough to serve as a makeshift table.

Miu drained the pasta with the grace of someone who had practiced this in a secret life, tossed it with a jar of sauce we'd found in the grocery bag, and brought the pot over. 

"We are eating straight from the pot," she noted, her eyes wide as I handed her a fork. "If my mother saw this, she'd be in a coma for a week."

"Then it's a good thing she's not invited," I said, twirling a clump of noodles and offering them to her.

Miu leaned in, taking the bite. She hummed, her eyes fluttering shut. "It's actually good. Or maybe I'm just so hungry that anything would taste like a Michelin star."

She swallowed and turned her head toward me, a stray drop of red sauce caught on the corner of her lip. 

"You have something right here," I whispered, leaning in closer until the scent of her skin, warm and floral drowned out the smell of the marinara.

"Where?" she asked, her hand coming up to fumbling blindly at her cheek.

"No, lower," I murmured.

Instead of reaching out with my hand, I leaned in. My heart gave a sharp, triumphant thud against my ribs as I watched her pupils dilate. 

I didn't stop until my lips brushed against the corner of her mouth, capturing that stray drop of sauce with a slow, lingering kiss.

I felt Miu's entire body go rigid, her breath hitching in a tiny, strangled gasp as my tongue flicked out, tasting the salt of the sauce and the sweetness of her skin in one sweep. 

I didn't pull away immediately; I let my lips linger there, grazing the sensitive edge of her mouth, my thumb coming up to hook under her chin to hold her steady.

"Lena," she breathed, the word vibrating against my lips. Her fork clattered back into the pot, forgotten. "We... we are supposed to be eating. You're supposed to be refueling the exhausted heir, remember?"

I pulled back just an inch, my eyes dropping to the dark, fresh marks on her neck that were still peeking out from her collar like a silent confession. I let out a low, predatory hum.

"I am refueling," I whispered, my voice dropping into that dangerous, honey-thick register. "I'm just deciding which part of the meal I like best. And right now? You're looking much more appetizing than the pasta."

Miu's face turned that beautiful, dusty rose color again, a stark contrast to the golden hour light hitting her skin. She nudged my shoulder with hers, a small, shy smile playing on her lips even as she tried to look indignant.

"You're impossible," she laughed, her voice a little shaky as she leaned her forehead against mine. "One minute you're a cold, calculating architect, and the next you're... this."

"This?" I asked, tilting my head so our noses brushed.

"A menace," she whispered, her fingers tangling in the front of my unbuttoned shirt. "A beautiful, possessive German menace who made me walk away from a billion-dollar inheritance for a bowl of box pasta and a bruised neck."

I caught her hand, lacing our fingers together over the edge of the pot, the metal still warm between us. "Best deal you ever made, Taechamongkalapiwat."

"Best deal I ever made," she whispered back, and this time, she was the one who leaned in to finish the kiss.

****

Note:

So, tell me... how was it? 

I have to be honest with you guys, this was actually a challenge for me to write! I literally had to go back and reread some old Camren fanfics just to figure out how to capture that specific kind of chemistry and detail. 

I've read so many of those scenes over the years, but I really didn't know what it felt like to actually write one until it was finally my turn to do it. It's a lot harder than the pros make it look 😅