4. Over Brunch

Loriah’s PoV

“This… this isn’t the Bistro near school,” I murmured, slowing as we entered the restaurant. My eyes swept the room—warm lighting, velvet curtains, and the soft golden glow from crystal chandeliers. It felt like stepping into another world.

“What is this place, Draco?”

“Change of plans.” His tone was easy, but his eyes flicked over me, almost like he savored the moment. “Classes got canceled—plumbing problem. We could use a nicer setting.”

I hesitated, clutching the strap of my bag. “But this place… it looks expensive. Are you sure you don’t want to go to the Bistro instead?”

He leaned closer, his lips quirking. “Relax, baby girl. A friend works here—he’s letting us use a private room. It took me weeks to convince you to go out with me. Let me spoil you." His hand pressed to the small of my back, guiding me forward. The contact was light, but the shiver that shot through me made me catch my breath.

The private room was cozy, candlelit, too intimate for my unsteady heart. He pulled out my chair like some old-fashioned gentleman. I sat quickly, hoping he wouldn’t notice my trembling hands.

“The waiters…” I whispered to him. “They all seem to know you.”

“Friends of my friend,” he said smoothly. “They’ll treat you like a queen tonight.” His grin was so confident and sure of himself that I felt my stomach twitching with butterflies.

Then came the food. Dish after dish, each one more elaborate than the last. The air was filled with aromas that made my mouth water.

“Everything looks incredible,” I admitted, my awe slipping free.

“I want you to try everything.” He leaned forward, picking up a delicate bite. “That way, next time, they’ll already know what you love.”

Before I could protest, he lifted a canapé to my lips. My face burned. Slowly, nervously, I parted them. The flavors melted on my tongue, rich and strange and perfect. A slight, unbidden sound slipped from me—half sigh, half moan.

His eyes darkened. I could have sworn I saw them flash—something raw and dangerous—but then he blinked, and it was gone.

“You like it?” His voice was low, husky, different.

I nodded quickly, cheeks burning.

We laughed, talked, and ate. Every brush of his hand against mine sent sparks dancing across my skin. I had to shift in my chair, thighs pressing against a restless warmth I didn’t understand.

At one point, his gaze lingered on me too long, too intensely. “So tell me, baby girl,” he asked suddenly, lips curving in a slow smile, “should I be worried about any jealous exes? Someone who’ll think I’m trespassing on his territory?”

I almost spilled my wine. “What? No! No, of course not.”

“Good.” He leaned back, satisfied, and my heart hammered harder.

The conversation shifted. I told him about my life, growing up in the orphanage, Brea, and the mischief we caused—our stolen cookies, our whispered secrets after lights-out. He listened, his eyes never leaving mine. He didn’t laugh at the silly parts, didn’t pity me at the hard ones. He just… listened.

When he spoke of his family, it was simple and humble—a countryside life, hard work, and struggles that shaped him. I hung on every word he said. He felt so real.

By the time we finished, I felt as though I had peeled myself open before him—and somehow, instead of regret, I felt lighter.

As we rose to leave, he stepped closer. Too close. His presence wrapped around me, steady and overwhelming. My breath caught, my fingers curling into the hem of my dress.

“Loriah,” he whispered. My name sounded different on his tongue—like a promise.

My heart thudded painfully in my chest. I’d never been kissed before, not once. I’d imagined it in secret—how it might feel, how my first kiss would happen—but I wasn’t prepared for how my entire body trembled now, how my lungs refused to work.

He leaned in, slow, deliberate, allowing me to pull away. I didn’t. I couldn’t.

His lips brushed mine—gentle, featherlight. My whole body jolted as if struck by lightning. My first kiss.

Then he pressed harder, coaxing me open. His tongue swept against my lips, urging them apart. Shocked, I let out a slight sound—half gasp, half moan—and he seized on it, deepening the kiss.

Heat poured through me, wild and consuming. His hand slid around my waist, pulling me against him, and I felt the solid strength of his body. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, terrifying. My hands balled into fists at my sides, clinging to the fabric of my dress so I wouldn’t shake apart.

His kiss wasn’t soft anymore. It was hungry. Possessive. Claiming.

A part of me whispered I should stop. That this was too much, too fast. Sister Nora would scold me, saying this wasn’t how a good girl should behave.

But that voice was drowned out by the roaring in my blood, the fire racing through me, and the way he kissed me like I was something precious and forbidden all at once.

This kiss wasn’t polite. It wasn’t sweet. It was primal. Dangerous. Addictive.

And I wasn’t sure I could ever walk away from it.

When he finally pulled back, I swayed, breathless, lips tingling.

“Oh God,” I whispered, barely realizing I’d spoken aloud.

He smiled—dangerous, knowing, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth as though claiming even the taste of me. “You taste like heaven, baby girl.”