Rain kissed the stone tiles of the rooftop, soft and rhythmic, like the island itself was breathing. The villa's private terrace was lit with golden lanterns that swayed gently in the breeze, casting flickering shadows over Cleo and Riz as they lounged on a low bed of cushions beneath the canopy.
The scent of jasmine and wet earth filled the air. Everything felt suspended—time, worry, the world beyond this moment.
Cleo sat up slightly, knees bent, shirt loose and open as he watched Riz pour them each a glass of wine from the bottle they brought up. The way Riz moved—fluid, relaxed, utterly beautiful in the soft light—made Cleo ache.
"I've never seen you look this soft," Cleo said, voice low.
Riz turned, glass in hand. "Soft?"
Cleo's gaze roamed over him. "Like you're glowing. Maybe it's the rain. Or maybe it's because you're mine."
Riz handed him the wine, then straddled his lap without warning, resting his hands on Cleo's shoulders. "You say things like that and then expect me to stay composed?"
Cleo chuckled, setting the glass down before sliding his hands under Riz's linen shirt. "I don't expect composure. Not from you. Not tonight."
Their mouths met—warm, slow, teasing at first. Then deeper. Wetter. Hungrier.
The soft patter of rain outside was a lullaby. The heat between them, the thunder.
Riz pulled back slightly, breathless, eyes hooded. "You still make me nervous, you know?"
Cleo smiled, brushing his knuckles along Riz's cheek. "Good. That means I still surprise you."
They shifted, Cleo leaning back onto the cushions as Riz followed, hips pressing close. Their kisses turned more urgent, hands exploring with a familiarity that still felt thrilling. Riz pushed Cleo's shirt off his shoulders, baring the smooth, strong lines of his body.
"I love how you look at me," Riz whispered, pressing kisses along Cleo's collarbone. "Like I'm something you're still trying to understand."
"You are," Cleo replied, pulling Riz's shirt over his head. "And I want to spend the rest of my life figuring you out."
Rain hit the canopy harder as their bodies moved together in sync. Cleo's hands gripped Riz's hips, guiding, grounding. Riz's fingers dug into Cleo's back, anchoring himself in the only place that made sense anymore.
They breathed each other's names like prayers.
Their moans were lost to the storm, to the sea wind, to the rhythm they fell into with ease—like the way they argued, like the way they designed and built and created.
Later, when they lay tangled together under a thin throw, the rain easing into a soft drizzle, Riz nestled his face into Cleo's neck and whispered, "I didn't think love could feel like this."
Cleo kissed his temple. "Like what?"
"Like home. But warmer."