Sex in Venice

Orion

The next day followed Holly's perfect honeymoon plan, every moment a scripted performance. I woke to the scent of strong coffee and the faint hum of Venetian traffic filtering through the open window.

The sun painted golden streaks across the room, but none of it pierced the fog in my mind. The bed beside me was empty, the sheets cool. Ava was already playing her part.

By the time I joined her on the balcony for breakfast, she was the picture of effortless grace, sipping orange juice in a white sundress that caught the breeze just right. She looked... different. Softer. Dangerous, in a way I couldn't place.

"You're late," she said, not looking up.

"Didn't realize we were on a schedule," I muttered, taking a seat across from her.

She finally met my eyes, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. "We are now."

***

The dark theater was a welcome reprieve from the relentless sun and the suffocating charade. The film was a melodramatic Italian romance—star-crossed lovers, tearful goodbyes, the works. I barely watched. Ava, though, was absorbed, her eyes flickering in the dim light, reflecting scenes of heartbreak and passion.

How can she look so innocent and yet dangerous at the same time. Watching her as she got engrossed in the movie made me see a side of her that is hidden behind the glamor and corporate duties.

She looked so…young.

At one point, our hands brushed on the armrest. I didn't pull away. Neither did she.

It was just part of the act.

---

The afternoon passed in a haze of forced smiles and carefully measured words. We sat near the Rialto Bridge, a perfect backdrop for Holly's vision of romance. Ava's laughter came easier now, lighter, almost real. I found myself watching her more than I should have.

"You're enjoying this," she teased, catching me staring.

I shrugged. "Don't get used to it."

She leaned closer, her voice low. "You think I'm dumb?”

I didn’t have a response for that.

Ava’s dress flowed in the breeze, soft and beautiful. We shared bruschetta and wine, our conversation surprisingly easy, the barbs less sharp.

I found himself laughing, genuinely, for the first time in weeks. Ava’s laughter was infectious, and for a fleeting moment, I forgot about Chloe, the will and the web of lies we were entangled in.

Yet, each time my phone buzzed with a call from Chloe, guilt clawed at my chest. I’d make it up to her—somehow.

---

Twilight draped the city in gold and purple as we boarded the gondola later that same day. The water was smooth, the quiet broken only by the soft lapping against the boat. Ava’s shoulder brushed mine, and I tensed.

"You can relax, I don't bite," she murmured, her eyes on the passing buildings.

"You don't?"

She didn’t answer, but for a moment, it felt like neither of us were pretending.

The sky was clear and the air felt refreshing. I could feel myself slipping further into a hole I didn't want to be in. A hole Ava was digging.

This wasn't supposed to go this smoothly but it did. I rejected Chloe's call again for the One hundredth time, not wanting to ruin the peace of mind I seem to be enjoying.

Well, this is all part of the plan and I'm sure Chloe willunderstand. This is to get Ava comfortable around me, so that when I strike, she won't know what hit her.

---

By the time we got back to the hotel, Ava had disappeared. I paced the suite, frustration gnawing at me. She wasn’t in her room. I dialed her number—no answer. Dressed casually in a black shirt and jeans, I headed to the reception.

“She’s at the bar,” the receptionist informed me, pointing down the hall.

I found her perched on a stool, swirling a glass of wine. A man leaned too close, his voice low and insistent. Ava’s eyes were distant, unbothered, but the man didn’t seem to take the hint.

Without thinking, I strode over and landed a punch square on the man’s cheek. Blood trickled as the man stumbled back, cursing in rapid Italian before the security approached and led him out.

I took the seat next to Ava. She didn’t acknowledge me, her gaze fixed on the swirling wine.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she muttered.

“Of course not,” I murmured. Why did I even do that?

I ordered more wine. We drank in silence. The bitterness between us had shifted into something heavier, something I couldn’t name.

Back in the room, the air felt different. Charged. Ava swayed slightly, her laughter softer now, almost fragile. We were both drunk but I was still aware. Still so much aware of how her hands teased my nipples and chest.

"You're drunk," I muttered, more to myself than her.

She shook her head, her eyes locked on mine. "I'm very very drunk,” she said amidst hiccups. I just couldn't resist anymore.

I closed the little distance in a heartbeat. My hands found her waist, pulling into me, our lips crashing together with a hunger that had been simmering beneath the surface for too long.

Her skin was warm beneath my fingers as I traced the curve of her spine, savoring the softness. I lifted her onto the bed, trailing kisses down her neck, tasting the salt of her skin, the faint sweetness of her perfume.

Every inch of her was a revelation, my eyes raking over her body as though I could imprint the image in my mind forever.

Her fingers traced the line of my jaw, and suddenly, everything else fell away—the lies, the script, the past.

Clothes disappeared, barriers dissolved. Her skin was warm under my hands, her breath shallow. She felt... untouched. Pure, in a way that made my chest tighten.

"Orion," she whispered, and my name on her lips was both a plea and a curse.

I lost myself in her, each moment blurring the lines between duty and desire.

She arched beneath me, her breath hitching, a soft moan escaping her lips. It drove me mad. I couldn’t wait any longer.

I pushed into her, feeling her stiffen, her body tight around me. For a moment, I paused, letting her adjust, but then she clung to me, her nails digging into my back, pulling me deeper. I lost all sense of control.

The world narrowed to just us—her soft moans, the scent of her, the way she moved against me, pushing me further. I’d never felt this before. It was more than desire; it was a need that bordered on desperation.

She tried to snake her hands through my hair, but I pinned them above her head, my grip firm. I wanted her all to myself, every inch, every breath. Greedy. Possessive. It drove me crazy.

Our rhythm intensified, the line between pleasure and madness blurring. When she came, her body tensed, her moans muffled against my neck. I followed, the release shattering, but I didn’t move.

I stayed buried inside her, our bodies tangled, skin slick with sweat. Her eyes fluttered closed, her breathing softening. Moments later, she was asleep, her body relaxed beneath me.

I should have pulled away, should have distanced myself from the dangerous vulnerability. I wasn't as drunk as she was. I felt stupid.

The regret was eating me up raw. She was vulnerable and I had taken advantage of that. Or was this all part of her plan to lure me deeper into this deadly situation? I could have pulled away, should have. But I didn’t. I stayed, feeling her heartbeat against mine, knowing nothing would ever be the same again.

—

The morning light was unforgiving. Ava wasn't beside me when I peered my eyes open. I heard her retreating to her room before daylight.

What have we done?

No. What have I done?