Temporary Measures

When the dancing starts, Valentina pulls me onto the floor without hesitation, her body swaying against mine as we move to the beat. She’s a good dancer, confident and graceful, and I let her lead, my hands settling on her hips as she wraps her arms around my neck.

"You’re not bad, Russo," she murmurs, her breath warm against my ear.

"I have my moments," I reply, spinning her out and back in again.

She laughs, the sound bright and carefree, and for a moment I forget about Cassandra, about the act, about everything but the feel of her in my arms.

The first slow song of the night begins, and Valentina pulls me close, her head resting on my shoulder as we sway together. Her body fits perfectly against mine, soft and warm and solid, and I let my eyes drift shut, breathing in the scent of her shampoo.

"Hey." Her voice is soft, almost tentative. "You okay?"

I nod, my throat tight. "Yeah. Just… thinking."

"About what?" she asks, pulling back just enough to look up at me.

About how good this feels. About how easy it would be to forget this isn’t real. About how much I wish it was.

"Nothing important," I say instead, offering her a small smile.

Valentina’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t press. "Okay," she says simply, resting her head back on my shoulder.

We dance like that for song after song, the world narrowing to the circle of her arms, the steady thrum of her heartbeat against mine. When the band takes a break, we retreat to our table, Valentina’s hand finding mine under the tablecloth.

"You two are adorable," my cousin Sofia gushes, her cheeks flushed pink with wine and exertion. "How long have you been together?"

"Six months," Valentina says easily, her fingers interlacing with mine. "But it feels like forever, doesn’t it, piccola?"

"Sometimes," I agree, my thumb stroking the back of her hand.

As the night wears on, the line between act and reality begins to blur. Valentina’s touches linger, her smiles seem softer, her laughter less practiced. When she pulls me in for a kiss—ostensibly for the benefit of my family watching from the sidelines—it feels less like a performance and more like a promise.

By the time the reception winds down, I’m dizzy with exhaustion and wine, my carefully constructed walls crumbling to dust. Valentina and I stumble up the stairs to my childhood bedroom, our hands clasped tight, our bodies swaying into each other with every step.

"Okay, I think we officially nailed it," Valentina says as I lock the door behind us, her voice slurring slightly. "Your family totally buys it."

"I guess we did," I agree, leaning back against the door as I toe off my heels.

Valentina steps out of her own shoes, kicking them aside as she reaches for the zipper of her jumpsuit. "Help me with this?" she asks, turning her back to me.

I oblige, my fingers clumsy on the tiny tab. The zipper catches, and I have to tug it harder than I mean to, the fabric parting abruptly to reveal a swath of smooth, olive-toned skin.

Valentina makes a small, startled sound, and I freeze, my knuckles brushing the warm skin of her lower back. "Sorry," I mumble, my face flushing hot. "It’s stuck."

"No, it’s—” Her breath hitches as my fingertips graze her spine, and I jerk my hand away like I’ve been burned.

"Got it," I say, my voice thick and strange to my own ears.

Valentina shrugs the jumpsuit off her shoulders, letting it pool at her feet. She’s wearing nothing but a lacy black bra and matching panties underneath, her body slim and strong and impossibly beautiful in the moonlight filtering through the curtains.

I look away, my heart hammering against my ribs, and reach for the zipper of my own dress. My hands are shaking, my fingers fumbling with the delicate clasp at the nape of my neck.

"Here." Valentina steps closer, her deft fingers brushing my hair aside to take over. "Let me."

Her touch is gentle, careful, as she eases the zipper down. The dress falls away, and I’m left in my plain cotton bra and boyshorts, my skin pebbling in the cool night air.

Valentina’s gaze lingers on me for a long moment, her eyes dark and unreadable. "Sabrina," she murmurs, and there’s something in her voice I’ve never heard before—something raw and urgent and terrifying.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. "Valentina—”

"I had fun tonight," she interrupts, taking a step closer. "With you."

"Me too," I whisper.

Another step, and she’s close enough to touch, her body mere inches from mine. Her fingers brush my collarbone, tracing the line of my bra strap. "This is dangerous," she murmurs, her eyes locked on mine.

"I know," I breathe.

And then her lips are on mine, and there’s no more room for thought.

Valentina The kiss is soft at first, tentative. My lips brush Sabrina’s once, twice, a question I’m almost afraid to ask. Her breath hitches against my mouth, warm and wine-sweet, and I take that as permission to deepen the kiss, my hands settling on her hips to pull her closer.

She melts into me with a soft sigh, her body pliant and warm against mine. Her fingers weave through the hair at my nape, tugging lightly, and the sharp sting sends a current of heat straight to my core.

We stumble backwards towards the bed, our mouths never parting, our hands roaming restlessly. I feel the moment her bra comes undone, the sudden slide of satin against my fingertips as the fabric falls away. Sabrina makes a low, needy sound in the back of her throat, arching into my touch, and I can’t help but grin against her lips.

“Val,” she gasps when I nip at her bottom lip, her thighs pressing together restlessly. “Val, please—”

I know what she’s asking for. I can feel it in the trembling of her hands, hear it in the desperate edge to her voice. But I want to hear her say it. I pull back just enough to look at her, my fingers skimming up her sides to brush the undersides of her breasts. “Please what, piccola?”

Sabrina whines, her hips rocking forward to seek out pressure against mine. “Touch me,” she breathes, her eyes fluttering shut. “Please, just—touch me.”

I don’t need to be told twice. I guide her down onto the bed, following her onto the mattress and settling myself between her thighs. My hands map her body—collarbones, ribs, the curve of her waist—learning her shape like I’ve wanted to for months. Her skin is soft and warm, flushing pink under my touch, and I can’t get enough.

Sabrina’s hands aren’t idle either. They skim over my shoulders, down my back, fingers digging in when I bite gently at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. “Val,” she gasps, her hips bucking up. “Val, I need—”

I know what she needs. I slide one hand down her stomach, beneath the waistband of her boyshorts. She’s hot and wet against my fingers, and I can’t help the growl that rumbles in my chest. “Fuck, Sabrina.”

“Please,” she whines, rocking her hips against my hand. “Val, please.”

I kiss her again, deep and filthy, as I circle her clit with my thumb. Sabrina cries out into my mouth, her nails scraping down my back hard enough to sting. I swallow the sound, my tongue stroking deep as I push one finger inside her.

She’s tight and perfect, her body clenching around me like a fist. I work her open slowly, adding a second finger when she starts to relax. Sabrina’s head falls back, her lips parted on a silent cry, her thighs trembling on either side of my hips.

“So gorgeous,” I murmur against her throat, my fingers curling inside her. “Look at you, piccola. Taking me so well.”

Sabrina sobs out a breath, her hips rocking to meet my thrusts. “Val—Val, I’m—”

“I know,” I soothe, pressing my thumb harder against her clit. “I’ve got you. Just let go.”

She comes with a cry, her body tightening around my fingers, her nails digging crescents into my shoulders. I keep stroking her through it, my own hips rocking against the mattress to seek some relief from the ache between my thighs.

When she finally goes limp beneath me, I pull my fingers free, bringing them to my lips to lick them clean. Sabrina watches me, her eyes dark and hungry, her chest heaving.

“Wow,” she breathes, her voice hoarse. “That was—”

“Just the beginning,” I promise, leaning down to kiss her again.

We lose ourselves in each other after that, hands and mouths mapping every inch of newly exposed skin. I kiss down her throat, over her collarbones, sucking a mark into the soft skin of her breast. Sabrina’s hands tangle in my hair, holding me close as I swirl my tongue around her nipple, her breath catching with every pass.