Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Seattle was a city that could only be discovered when it rained. The streets became mirrors, the buildings evanescent silhouettes between fog and light. It was on those days that Carina Deluca felt alive. Two opposing forces flowed through her veins: the order of medicine and the chaos of writing. The scalpel and the word.

Her brown hair was gathered in a soft chignon, a few loose strands brushing her neck like curious fingers. She wore a cream-colored coat over a black suit, shiny pumps, and a rigid handbag. Refined, composed. The fine rain that fell on her seemed to avoid her, as if even the water was in awe of her bearing.

She had just left Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital, where she worked as a gynecologist, and was clutching a copy of her latest novel under her arm. Her second. A thriller. Dark, erotic, set in a hospital ward where the blood was not only clinical but also metaphorical. Men and women disappearing, bodies vanishing, passions unleashed in the sterile corridors of medicine. Readers devoured it. Carina didn't smile often, but when her publisher told her that the book had gone viral, she had touched on the idea of happiness.

That evening she had a presentation. An intimate event, organized in a small independent theater on Capitol Hill. She didn't like being in the spotlight, but she couldn't deny that a certain type of audience—cultured, curious, sometimes a little perverse—fascinated her. She needed this contact like a cold heart needs warmth, even if she didn't admit it.

She entered the theater as rain pounded the sidewalk. The lights were dim, the air smelled of books, wood, and velvet. On the small stage was a chair, a small table with a lamp, and her book in plain view.

“Carina!” Amelia, her best friend, greeted her. She was also a doctor, but with a much freer spirit. She wore a red dress with leather boots and a contagious smile. “You look like a Sicilian widow, love. Do you want someone to shoot themselves reading your book, or is a scathing review in The New Yorker enough for you?”

Carina laughed, with that short, sincere laugh that Amelia had always known. “I'd rather they masturbate while crying.”

Amelia winked at her. “That's my Carina.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Maya Bishop was looking for an excuse not to go. She was leaning against her black car, a beer in her hand, her leather jacket open over her lean, athletic chest. A former Olympic athlete, now a part-time psychology student and police officer by trade. She was 34 years old and had a list of traumas longer than the criminal records of some of those she had arrested.

Intersex from birth, she grew up in a dysfunctional family. Her father was a violent man who had manipulated her mother into silence. Her mother was sweet and broken. Her brother Mason was a fragile and brilliant artist who painted blurred faces and spoke as if he were always in a dream.

And then there was Andy. Her best friend. An explosion of sarcasm and glitter. Andy had practically dragged her there. “There's a presentation by a really cool writer. A gynecologist, kind of. But dark. I think you'll like her. And anyway, you need to do something other than darts and beer.”

“I don't need to fuck a depressed writer, if that's what you mean.”

“No, but if it happens, you can thank me.”

Maya snorted. But in the end, she went.

When Maya entered the theater, her gaze immediately fell on her. Carina was sitting on stage, her legs crossed, her voice warm and controlled as she read an excerpt from the book.

“...then he stuck his fingers down her throat, not to kill her, but to see if love could really pass from mouth to flesh. And at that moment, as she bled from her heart, she said to him, ‘Keep going.’”

Maya froze.

Something in that voice, in that composed yet tense posture, got under her skin. It wasn't just attraction. It was a shock, an alert. As if her body had recognized danger and desired it.

She sat at the back of the room. Andy, at her side, watched her out of the corner of his eye.

“You like her.”

“Shut up.”

As soon as the talk was over, Carina stepped off the stage and began signing copies. She enjoyed watching the people who approached her. She could tell a lot from the way they handed her the book: trembling hands, shifty eyes, nervous smiles.

Then she arrived.

Maya.

Blue eyes, sporty haircut, disillusioned air. She walked like someone who owed nothing to anyone. But those eyes... Those eyes were an open question.

“Carina Deluca.”
“Maya Bishop.”

Silence.

Carina tilted her head. “Did you like the excerpt?”

Maya shrugged. “Not bad. A little melodramatic. But there's something underneath.”

“Underneath what?”

“Underneath the skin.”

A faint smile curved Carina's lips. That answer had struck her more than she wanted to show.

“What do you do?”

“I'm a police officer. I also study psychology. Former athlete, if we're being honest.”

“Interesting combination.”

“And you? Gynecologist, writer, femme fatale?”

Carina placed the book between them. “Something like that.”

Their eyes locked. Neither of them moved. Then Andy coughed behind Maya, breaking the tension.

Carina signed the book and handed it to her. “For Maya. Who knows where to look. – C.”

Maya took it. She didn't smile. But something in her eyes lit up.

That night, Maya couldn't sleep. She had the book on her bedside table. She had leafed through it at random, reading sentences that seemed written especially for her. Words about desire, about fear, about that exact point where two people brush against each other without quite touching.

That woman had left her mark. And she already knew: leafing through that book wouldn't be enough to get rid of it.

Chapter Text

The next day, Seattle woke up to a leaden sky that seemed to promise stormy weather, but no rain. Maya sat in her shiny black car, the radio tuned to a jazz station she never really listened to. Carina's book lay beside her, already full of dog-ears, underlines, and margin notes written in blue pen.

Only one night had passed. Yet that woman seemed to have slipped into a corner of her brain where anger usually resided. Where she kept her traumas in alphabetical order.
M for Mother. P for Father. C for... Carina.

“Are you reading pornography?” Andy asked, sliding into the car with his usual disorder. He was wearing pink sunglasses and a sweatshirt that said Screw calm, go wild.

“It's an erotic noir with clinical implications, basically stuff for disturbed minds.”

Andy laughed. “So it's for you. Are you going to see her again?”

“No.”

“But you will see her again.”

Maya didn't answer. She started the engine and headed for headquarters.

Meanwhile, Carina had returned to the clinic, but her mind was elsewhere. She had slept poorly. Maya's face kept coming back to her like a memory carved in glass. Those blue eyes, that direct gaze, that arrogance just beneath the surface. And then that phrase: “just beneath the surface.” How did she know?

During her visits, she struggled to concentrate. Even Amelia noticed.

“So, did the ice-eyed Amazon leave her mark?”

“I don't know. Maybe. There was something...”

“There's always something, Carina. The problem is that you're afraid there really is.”

Carina smiled at her affectionately. Amelia was her anchor. But even with her, she couldn't talk about certain things. About her father, for example. About the void left by a mother too perfect to stay. About the conflict between body and heart.

That evening, without really knowing why, she typed into Google:
“Maya Bishop – Seattle Police.”

The first photo was a mugshot, but not hers. She, on the other hand, was in the image next to it: police uniform, clenched jaw, staring at the camera. She looked like a girl who had forgotten how to laugh.

Two days later, they met again. Not by chance. Andy had planned everything: an evening at a jazz club where he knew Carina often went, and where Maya, once in a while, allowed herself to be persuaded.

Maya walked in, wearing blue jeans, a black sweatshirt, and a leather jacket. Her hair was tousled, her hands in her pockets. Her eyes were tired but bright. He saw her immediately. Carina was sitting at the bar, a glass of white wine between her slender fingers, pearl earrings, and a dark dress that fell over her body like liquid silk.

“Hey.”

Carina turned around. A slow, measured look.

“Hi, Maya.”

Maya sat down next to her, uninvited.

“So, you're here too. Are you insinuating yourself into my life, doctor?”

“Maybe it's the other way around.”

Maya laughed suddenly. A real, rough laugh.

“You were good on stage. You're cold as ice, but there's something underneath. Underneath the skin...”

“You too. You pretend you don't feel anything, but your eyes scream.”

Maya lowered her gaze. She bit her lip.
“You know what I hate about writers? They always think they understand everything.”

“And you hate being understood?”

At that moment, a deafening silence fell.

Then Maya picked up her glass. She brought it to her lips. She drank.

Carina looked at her. The way you look at something that could hurt you if you get too close.

“Why do you write about murders?” Maya asked, suddenly serious.

“Because the deepest intimacy sometimes comes from violence. Even if it shouldn't. In there, in the wound, you see the truth.”

“And sex?”

“That's also a form of truth. Of loss of control. Of power.”

Maya brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.

“You're dangerous.”

“And you?”

“I'm scary.”

The evening slipped away amid broken conversations, half-empty glasses, and long silences. They never touched. They never even brushed against each other. But the air between them was charged. As if every word were a missed kiss. As if every silence were a stifled scream.

It was only on the way out, under the fine Seattle rain, that Carina actually touched her. Just the tips of her fingers on her wrist.
Maya didn't move.
Their eyes sought each other out.
A moment.
Two.

Then Maya spoke.
“I'm not cut out for this kind of thing, you know?”

“Neither am I. But maybe that's exactly why...”

“...we're looking for each other.”

And that was all it took.

Not that night. Not yet.

But something changed from that moment on.

Chapter Text

The rain in Seattle had stopped a few hours earlier, but the air was still saturated with humidity and the smell of wet asphalt. Maya sat at a corner table in the Red Lantern, a quiet pub tucked away among the warehouses of the harbor. In front of her was a mug of beer and a plate of cold nachos. Her blue eyes, shiny like glass, stared at the bottom of the glass. But in her head, there was only Carina.

It wasn't just attraction. It wasn't just charm either. It was something else. Something that irritated her, provoked her, challenged her.
Carina wasn't a passing distraction. She was a fucking seismic fault. And Maya knew it.

Andy walked past her carrying two beers. “I bet you're still thinking about that gynecologist.”

Maya didn't deny it.

“Did you guys fight?” Andy asked, smiling slightly as he sat down next to her. He was wearing baggy jeans, a Hawaiian shirt, and an expression that said he knew more than he should.

“No. Not yet. But we will soon, I'm sure.”

Andy laughed. “You like complicated women.”

“I am a complicated woman.”

“Touché.”

Then Andy became serious. “Are you going to see her again?”

“I don't know.”
Maya lowered her eyes, silent.
“But... I want to see her again.”

That evening, Carina was in the study of her apartment, on the top floor of an old building converted into a modern penthouse. She was wearing a white shirt unbuttoned at the cuffs, her sleeves rolled up, her brown hair tied back in a low ponytail. Sitting at her desk, she was writing a new scene for her novel, but her fingers were slow on the keyboard.

Every now and then she would stop, stare into space, and think about Maya. That elusive, wild, broken girl.
Part of her knew she was already too involved. And she shouldn't have been.

She heard her cell phone ring. Amelia.

A: “So? How did it go with Maya?”
C: “Like a head-on collision.”
A: “Do you have bruises yet?”
C: “Not yet. But I can feel them under my skin.”

After leaving her phone on the table, Carina got up. She walked over to the window. She looked at the lights of the city.

Her stories were full of women who were killed because they desired. Because they dared. But she, she was daring now. And it burned inside her.

Fate, or perhaps Andy, had a hand in it again. Four days later, in an art gallery where Mason, Maya's brother, was exhibiting some abstract paintings inspired by the cities he had lived in.

Carina was there by chance, invited by a colleague. She was wandering among the works, trying to distract herself, when she saw Maya on the other side of the room.

Blue eyes. Denim jacket. One hand in her pocket, the other clutching a glass of red wine.

Maya's gaze found her in the crowd like a crosshair. She stared at her. She approached slowly, step by step. The sounds of the gallery faded.

“Here we go again,” Maya whispered, stopping a few inches away.

“It seems so.”

“Then it's fate.”

“Or Andy.”

Maya laughed, shaking her head. “Do you like paintings?”

“Some of them. Others just look like colored anger.”

Maya pointed to one of the most intense paintings. “My brother did that one in Paris after his girlfriend left him.”

Carina looked at the canvas: violent brushstrokes, black cuts on a crimson background.

“It's beautiful. It hurts the eyes. And the heart.”

Maya nodded. “Like certain encounters.”

Then she looked at her, and the tension between them exploded again. Not in words. In bodies. In breaths.
They were two parallel lines that wanted to curve until they touched.

“Come away with me,” Maya said.

Carina looked at her.

“Where?”

“To do something stupid. Or sincere. You choose.”

They went out together. They walked aimlessly until Seattle grew darker. They talked in fits and starts, then fell silent. Every now and then they accidentally brushed against each other, and their bodies reacted as if they were bursts of electricity.

They arrived in front of the old high school athletic field where Maya used to train as a girl. The gate was closed. But Maya knew how to get in.

“Are you going to get me arrested?” Carina asked as she followed her over the fence.

"I have my badge. I can make up an excuse."

In the center of the field, under the dimmed floodlights, Maya lay down on the grass. Her hands behind her head. Carina stood watching her, uncertain.

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting for the sky. And you.”

Carina slowly sat down next to her. Then she lay down. Their shoulders touched. Her heart was beating fast.

“Do you miss running?” Carina asked in a low voice.

“Sometimes. But I stopped when I started running on my own.”

“And now?”

“Now... maybe I'll let myself be caught up with.”

Silence fell. But it wasn't empty. It was filled with breaths. With skin close together. With unspoken words.

Then Maya turned toward her. Carina did the same. Their faces were inches apart. Their breath was warm, their noses almost touching.

“If I kiss you now, will you kill me tomorrow?” Maya whispered.

Carina touched her cheek with her fingertips.

“Not today. Not tomorrow. But I might do it in a week.”

Maya smiled. A fragile smile.

Then she stood up. He held out his hand to her.

“Would you like to come with me?”

“Where?”

“In my black Mustang. I have no idea where we're going. But... I want to hear the sound of the engine and smell your skin. Is that a problem?”

Carina took her hand.

“Only if you stop.”

The shiny black car sped down the nighttime highway like a silent bullet. Inside, there was only soft music, dim lights, and two tense bodies, too aware of each other.

Maya drove with one hand on the wheel and the other occasionally sliding over the gearshift. Carina watched her. The line of her jaw, the veins on the back of her hand, the tension contained in her chest.

“What are you, Maya?”

“A mess.”

“No. You're... fire. But you hold it all in. As if you're afraid someone will see what's burning inside.”

Maya glanced at her. Then she turned her attention back to the road.

“And you? What's inside you?”

“Silence. For too long.”

Maya pulled over. An isolated lay-by, overlooking the sea.

She turned off the engine.

“Let's not kiss tonight,” said Carina. “But let's stay close.”

Maya stared at her. Then she nodded.

They stayed in the car, sitting next to each other. Their hands a few millimeters apart. Their eyes searching for each other. The night breathing with them.

And without touching, they made love with their eyes.

Chapter Text

The rain tapped gently on the windshield of Maya's car as she stared at the entrance to the club with an indecipherable expression. She had dressed up more than usual. Black jeans, a tight gray shirt that hinted at her sculpted body. A leather jacket. Her hair loose, slightly wavy. Yet she felt exposed, vulnerable.

Inside, amid soft lighting and fogged-up glasses, Carina laughed with Amelia, sitting on a bar stool, her legs gracefully crossed, a red dress sliding over her curves like living silk. Her brown hair was gathered in a studied mess, a strand brushing the hollow of her neck. She seemed unaware of the gaze she attracted. But she wasn't.

Maya swallowed. It wasn't her world. It was a trendy bar, full of people who talked too much and listened too little. But Carina was there.

She went in.

The sound of the door caught Amelia's fleeting glance. Then Carina's gaze lifted. And it hit her like a sudden wave. That smile. Warm, mysterious. A smile that seemed to say, “I knew you'd come.”
Maya felt her stomach tighten. The rational part of her screamed to leave. But her legs carried her forward.

“I thought you were afraid of fancy people,” Carina said as Maya approached.

“I am,” she replied. “But I'm more afraid of what happens if I don't come.”

Silence.

Amelia raised an eyebrow. “Do you two need a room or a ring?”

Carina laughed. Maya looked away.

A few hours and several drinks later, the streets were empty, and Maya found herself walking beside Carina, amid the reflections of the rain and the flickering lights of the street lamps.
“Amelia is nice,” Maya murmured.

“She is. And nosy as a Sicilian mother,” Carina replied.

“She talks about me a lot, I imagine.”

“Only every time she breathes.” They laughed.

They walked in silence for a while. Carina's fingers occasionally brushed Maya's jacket. Accidental? Perhaps not.
“Do you always need to be in control?” Carina asked suddenly, her voice velvety.

Maya looked at her, her eyes blue as rippled ice. “No. But when I lose it... I cause damage.”

“And I would be damage?”
Carina had stopped. They were alone on that street. The only sound was the subtle breathing of their fears.

Maya didn't answer right away. Then she took a step forward, lowering her gaze to her.
“You're everything I didn't want to look for. And everything I can't stop looking at.”

Carina's fingers climbed up the collar of her jacket. “Then stop looking.”

And she kissed her.

The kiss was an explosion. Hunger. Anger. Relief.

It wasn't gentle. It was hungry. Maya's hands clenched urgently on Carina's hips as she clung to the other woman's neck as if she were drowning. Their lips sought each other, stealing each other's breath. Their bodies pressed together, and the tension they had ignored for days exploded in that exact moment. The road, the rain, the cold: forgotten.

When they pulled apart, they were both breathless.

“Christ,” Maya whispered. “I didn't... I shouldn't have done that.”

Carina looked at her, her eyes shining. “I know. But I did.”

A few days later

Things changed. Not in an explicit way. No declarations. No invitations.

Just longer looks. Pauses in messages. Unfinished sentences.

Maya avoided her. Carina felt every silence like an absence that stung under her skin.

Then came that evening. Carina was at the hospital for a long shift. Tired. Frustrated. She saw Andy's name on her cell phone. Maya's best friend.
A message?

“Hey, I don't know if you care, but Maya is here with me. It's... complicated.”

Carina's heart sank.

Andy was Maya's ex. The only person Maya had admitted to having feelings for, even if “ruined too soon,” as she had said on a confusing evening.

Carina didn't reply. But her mind started racing.

She didn't sleep that night.

The next day, when Maya showed up at her house—dressed casually, tired, nervous—Carina opened the door and stared at her.

“So?” she asked.

“So what?”

“Andy.”

Silence.

“We're just friends.”

“Who still touch each other?”

Maya took a step back, taken aback. “You're not my mother, nor my partner. I don't have to justify myself.”

“No. But you kissed someone who believed you were real.”

Maya clenched her jaw. “It was just a kiss.”

“It wasn't for me.”

The words hung in the air. Emotions were running too high. Carina closed the door. Slowly.

Maya stood there for several minutes, then left. But she felt that part of her had remained inside that apartment.

Chapter Text

The Seattle sky stretched over the city like a heavy, gray, compact blanket, threatening rain but never quite deciding to let it fall.
Carina sat alone in the small café below her house, the one that smelled of toasted wood and vanilla, the same one where she had written three chapters of her latest novel. She had been there for an hour, but her cup of green tea was untouched.

She was staring into space, as if she could extract an answer from it. As if looking at the white wall could explain why, every time Maya came into her life, she left a mark that couldn't be washed away.

A voice shook her.

“Hey, melancholy muse.”

Carina looked up. Amelia. Mustard-colored scarf, hair tied up in a crazy hairstyle, high boots, and a backpack with papers and a digital thermometer sticking out of it.

“How long until you want to smash a bottle over your head?” asked her friend, dropping into the chair opposite her.

Carina didn't answer. But her fingers drummed softly on the cup.

“Okay,” Amelia sighed, resting her elbows on the table. “Just tell me if I should hate her for you or if she's still in that phase where we could consider her a person, maybe broken but with a chance for redemption.”

“It's Andy.”

Amelia grimaced. “Ugh. The ex-cryptic one. The one with the annoying laugh?”

“Yes.”

“And Maya was at her place.”

“Yes.”

“And Maya said nothing happened.”

“Yes.”

Amelia leaned back. “But you don't believe her.”

Carina looked down. “It's not just about sex. It's... she always runs away. And I'm becoming her emotional gas station. She only comes back when she needs to refuel.”

“You like her too much to tell her to go to hell, don't you?”

Carina gave a blank smile that was worth a thousand words.

Amelia sighed. “Then you only have two options. Either you tell her exactly how you feel and risk destroying yourself. Or you protect yourself. And risk never knowing if it could have worked.”
Carina took the cup in front of her in her hands, the tea now cold, and brought it to her mouth, lost in thought.
Meanwhile, elsewhere, Maya sat in her living room. Vic was throwing her a can of beer, which she caught without even looking.

“You look like you just stabbed the neighbor's cat for fun.”

Maya ran a hand through her hair. She was wearing sweatpants, a sports top, and had the look of someone who had mentally run a hundred kilometers.

“I ruined everything.”

“With Carina?”

“Yes.”

Vic sat down next to her, stretching her legs out on the coffee table. “Did Andy do Andy?”

“No. I did Maya.”

“Did you kiss Andy?”

“No. But I wasn't transparent.”

Vic stared at her. “Do you love Carina?”

Maya didn't answer.
Then she looked Vic straight in the eye: “I don't know how to love the right way.”

Vic snorted. “You know how to run a hundred meters in less than eleven seconds, climb mountains, survive your father. But you're afraid of a woman who looks at you as if she can see your soul.”

Maya looked at her angrily. “You don't know what it's like to feel... out of place. To grow up with a body that everyone wanted to correct, change, define. To be treated like a medical mistake. To be desired only when you hide.”

Vic said nothing for a moment. Then she leaned closer, more serious.
“Carina isn't like the others. She sees you. Really. And you like her too much to let her do that.”

Maya looked down and sighed heavily.

“Go to her,” Vic whispered. “Before it's too late.”

The next day, Carina was in the hospital, in the examination room. She had just helped deliver a beautiful baby girl and was writing notes on her tablet when she heard a soft knock on the door.

She looked up.

Maya.

Dressed simply, in a gray sweatshirt and jeans, her eyes puffy from a bad night's sleep. But alive. Real.

“I came to ask for forgiveness.”

Carina put down her tablet. She said nothing.

“I know I hurt you. And I don't want to do that anymore. I can't promise you that I'll be perfect. But I want you. With everything you are. Even if sometimes I'm afraid you're too much for me.”

Carina stood up. She walked slowly towards her.
When they were close, Maya said:
“I'm intersex. You know that, but I don't know if you really know what it means to me. I spent years feeling wrong. Having myself cut. Refusing to look in the mirror. I had a divided body. And now that I've found someone who makes me feel whole... I'm afraid. Afraid I don't deserve you.”

Carina took her face in her hands.

“I don't want you to be perfect. I want you to be real. And you're the most real person I've ever met.”

Maya bit her lip. Tears welled up in her eyes.

“If you kiss me now,” she whispered, “I won't be able to leave.”

Carina brushed her lips. “Then stay.”

The kiss was different from the first one. It wasn't anger. It was redemption. It was forgiveness.

Their hands clasped, their bodies drew closer, but this time there was no rush. There was recognition. Acceptance. Carina's fingers trembled on Maya's neck as she sought the other's lips with fierce tenderness.

Every inch they touched felt like a boundary crossed.

Every breath was a yes. A stay.

And Maya stayed.

Chapter Text

The sky over Seattle was so dark blue it looked liquid, yet Carina felt as exposed as if she were under a neon light. Her heart was pounding in her throat as she descended the steps of Maya's old building.

She could still taste the kiss on her lips—the one that had shaken her to her core, shattering the fragile balance she had been trying to maintain for weeks.

Maya had thrown open a door. A door that Carina had spent too long keeping closed, for fear of losing herself in something bigger than herself.

Maya's apartment smelled of hops and wood. The lights were low. A half-empty bottle of beer lay on the coffee table, the curtains were drawn, and jazz music played in the background.

Maya had taken off her sweatshirt, leaving her in a white T-shirt that showed off her broad shoulders and lean chest.

“I thought you weren't coming,” she said with a crooked smile. “But then I remembered you're stubborn.”

“And you're conceited,” Carina replied, but her voice trembled slightly.

The silence that followed was thick with something unavoidable. Maya took a step toward her, then another. Her blue eyes were as transparent as ice. Her fingers brushed her hip, then slowly moved upward, leaving a trail of shivers under the thin sweater.

“Are you sure?”

Carina didn't answer right away. She just nodded, breathing heavily, her eyes fixed on the mouth that had already destroyed her once. And then she did it: she took Maya's hand and placed it on her chest, right where her heart was beating.

“I don't want to run away anymore.”

Maya moved closer. The kiss was sweeter than the first, but also more intense. Soft lips, then a tongue that sought, found, invaded. Maya's hands became more confident as she slowly guided her toward the sofa, without breaking the kiss.

Carina's shirt flew off with a decisive gesture, leaving her black silk bra to mark the boundary. Maya stopped and looked at her. Not with the urgency of someone who wants to take, but with the hunger of someone who wants to know every detail.

“You're beautiful,” Maya whispered. “I want to touch you like you touch something sacred.”

Carina trembled. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to her like that. Maya's fingers brushed her collarbones, her arms, then moved down to her hips. Slowly, she lowered her pants and knelt down. The kisses began at her hips, then her belly, and finally moved up between her breasts, pausing for a moment over her heart.

“Can I look at you?” Carina asked.

Maya stiffened for a moment. But then she nodded. With slow movements, she took off her shirt, revealing a lean, strong torso. Then her pants. She wasn't wearing any underwear. Her body was wonderfully real, unconventional, beautiful in its entirety. Her erect penis seemed a natural part of an identity that needed no explanation.

Carina didn't look away. On the contrary. Her eyes grew darker.

“You are... you. And you are beautiful,” she murmured. And she really meant it. Maya was more desirable than anyone else ever had been.

Maya kissed her lightly, then moved to the bedside table and opened the drawer, pulling out a box of condoms, but Carina stopped her, placing a hand on her wrist.
“I don't want to use anything,” she whispered, her eyes filled with fragile determination. “I want to feel you inside me, without barriers.”
Maya looked at her in surprise, but the desire in her eyes grew even stronger.
“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”
Maya didn't need any more answers to convince her.
The sex began with exasperating slowness. Maya lay on top of her, but didn't penetrate her right away. Her hands explored every curve of Carina's body, her mouth searching for the spots where her skin was most sensitive. The brunette's moans began to melt slowly between the kisses and caresses. Every gesture was gentle but decisive, every movement a crescendo.

Carina wanted it. She desired it with an ancient hunger that had been ignored for too long.

“I want to feel all of you,” she whispered, opening her legs beneath her.

Maya looked deeply into her eyes, then penetrated her slowly and gently, never taking her eyes off the woman in front of her. Carina let out a broken breath, then clung to her shoulders. The rhythm was charged with tension, like a symphony built note by note.

Each thrust into Carina's vagina was deep but never violent. The pleasure grew like a wave, powerful and hot, as their mouths sought each other again, their tongues mingling furiously. Carina whispered phrases in Italian to Maya, whose meaning she did not always understand, but she imagined they were words of love. And they were.
Maya bent over Carina's body until she captured her lips and left a kiss on them.

At one point, a tear ran down Carina's face to her cheek. It was not pain, but pure joy such as she had not felt in a long time. Maya stopped immediately, concerned, and looked at her with eyes full of affection.

"Is everything okay?” she asked, her voice hoarse.
Carina responded with a gentle gesture, a nod of her head, and leaned in to give her a tender kiss on the lips.

“Keep going,” she whispered, lost in pleasure.

Maya took Carina's clitoris between her fingers, running her thumb over her bundle of nerves. It didn't take long. Carina's first orgasm took her by surprise. It exploded in her chest before it did in her body. Maya continued to move gently inside her, then stopped and kissed her again with a tenderness that made her tremble.

Then it was Maya's turn. Carina suddenly got on top of her. She took the time to caress her everywhere, to hold her close to her chest, to watch her as she made love to her slowly. Maya pushed hard inside Carina, careful not to hurt her, that tear still in front of her eyes. At one point, she felt Carina's walls tighten around her penis, so she paused for a moment, then trembled for a moment and resumed thrusting quickly no more than three or four times. When she came inside Carina, without saying a word, Maya buried her face in the brown-eyed woman's neck and trembled again like a dam collapsing.
Maya's hands ran carefully along Carina's body, still trembling and exhausted from the pleasure she had just experienced. Every touch was a gesture of adoration and respect, as if she were drawing her promise of presence and protection on that skin.

Maya slowly got up and headed for the bathroom. The sound of running water as she took a wet towel merged with the steady beating of Carina's heart. Returning to her side, she knelt down and gently began to clean her belly and thighs, her fingers brushing her skin like a gentle caress.

Then, without haste, Maya placed slow, deep kisses along Carina's belly, moving up towards her sex, now vulnerable and sweet. Carina closed her eyes, letting herself be lulled by the tenderness that contrasted with the intensity of a few moments earlier.

She curled up in Maya's arms, feeling the warmth and strength that surrounded her, as their hands intertwined, strong and secure.

Outside, the rain began to beat slowly and rhythmically against the windowpanes, creating a soundscape that enveloped the room. It was a reassuring sound, almost like a shared heartbeat, accompanying their silent embrace.

They remained like that for endless minutes. Without saying anything.

Then Maya broke the silence.

“I'm afraid of this.”

“Me too,” replied Carina.

“But if you stay... I'm not going anywhere.”