Chapter 1: The Night Train

The train rattled through the hills of Liguria, steel wheels humming against the tracks. Outside, the coastline flickered through gaps in the trees, dark water gleaming under a sliver of moon. Inside the compartment, the overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting a pale sheen over the three graduate students curled into their seats. It was the kind of night that felt suspended between moments, where time was a tunnel and desire had no destination.

MORRIS

Dark. Tight. Smells like metal and wet paper towels. She locked the door—I heard it—click, final. Fuck. She's already on her knees. Jesus.

Her fingers, fast, sure, clever—like she’s done this before. Of course, she has. It’s Elisa. She always knows what she’s doing. She knows me. She knows I’ve been hard since Florence. Since the way she stretched out across the train seat like she owned the night, like the carriage was hers. Her thigh was pressed against mine for two hours, her laugh in my ear, and now—fuck—

Her mouth is hot. So hot.

She doesn’t hesitate. No teasing. Not now. No words, just breath and lips and tongue and the way she takes me in like it’s a challenge she’s already won.

I press my hand to the wall—tile? metal?—doesn’t matter. Her head moves and it’s wet and tight and real, and I can’t think. I try to be quiet, I do, but she hums around me and I bite my lip, hard, fuck, Elisa—

She looks up at me, eyes shining, wicked. Fucking proud of herself. She loves this. She loves ruining me.

For a second, I’m floating. That kind of weightless, stunned feeling that only happens when you lose control. And then—

Malika.

I don’t want to see her, but I do. My sister. Her face. One shoe off, like in the dream. A sliver of her mouth curved like she knew something I didn’t. And then the headlights. That flash. And the absence. The silence after.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Not now. Not now.

Elisa moans like she means it. Her nails dig into my thighs, and it’s over. I’m coming, shaking, gasping, jerking against the wall like I’m breaking apart. Like I’m not even here anymore.

She swallows.

She always swallows.

Then stands, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, kisses me soft—too soft—and leaves the bathroom before I can speak.

I stare at the door.

I can still taste her on my lips.

A moment later, I step out and walk back to our cabin. She’s already curled into her seat by the window, eyes closed, her lips parted in the faintest smile. Sofia shifts in her sleep across from her, her head leaning toward the window, cello case balanced awkwardly by her side.

ELISA

He twitched the moment I slid my hand over his thigh. God, men are easy. But Morris isn’t just any man—not anymore. I can feel the way he’s trying to hide it, trying to stay composed. Like his laugh doesn't already give him away. Like I don’t already know what’s underneath all that dark quiet—need, heat, and whatever grief he won’t talk about.

He didn’t say no. He never does.

I lock the door. The light’s disgusting—blue and flickering like a gas station nightmare—but whatever. It’s not about the setting. It’s about control. It’s about the look on his face when he gives in to me.

He’s already hard. That makes me smile.

I love the sound he makes when I pull him out. That hitch in his breath. I love that he pretends to be the strong, steady one—always leaning against something like the weight of the world’s on him—but down here? It’s mine. His breath, his hips, the way his hand fists in my hair but he won’t pull. Won’t let himself. Not yet.

I could make him beg if I wanted to.

But not tonight.

Tonight I want him to fall apart in my mouth.

He tastes clean. Familiar. Like skin and tension. I like the way he presses back into the wall like he’s afraid he might float out of his own body if he doesn’t anchor himself to something.

Maybe he will.

Maybe I want him to.

I hum, just to watch his face twitch. And there it is—the stifled moan, the crack in the armor. I love that sound more than music.

He says my name like it hurts.

I don’t stop. I want it all—his breath, his pulse, the way his thighs tremble when he’s close. I don’t want him to ask permission. I want him to give in.

And he does.

Hot. Deep. Sharp. He comes like he’s unraveling.

God, I love that.

I swallow because I always do. Because it’s mine. Because I like the look on his face when he realizes how easy it is to give everything away to me.

I kiss him on the mouth. Soft, like a secret.

Then I’m gone before he can say something dumb and ruin it.

Back in the seat, I pretend to sleep. But my heart's still beating hard. Not because it was hot—though it was. But because I care more than I should. He’s the first one I couldn’t fully conquer.

And God, he’s cute when he’s serious.

SOFIA

Sofia sat quietly in the dim cabin, pretending to be asleep. The cello case leaned against her shoulder, and through the rhythmic clatter of the train, she heard the bathroom door click shut.

Her fingers curled unconsciously, ghosting through invisible strings. She counted the beats of the train in her head, the vibrations in the soles of her shoes, the silence that followed breath.

Then a sound. Faint. Unmistakable.

She froze.

It wasn’t the kind of thing you meant to overhear. But once it reached her, it stayed. A hitch in breath, a muffled sound. A soft moan. A giggle, maybe.

Elisa.

Elisa returned. She didn’t glance at Sofia, but Sofia could feel it—the weight of the moment. Then, a slight shift in the air as Morris followed, the soft thud of his boots on the floor, the scent of him settling into the space.

For a second, their eyes met—Elisa’s, gleaming with something Sofia couldn’t place. A smile played at the corners of her lips, but it was subtle, fleeting, as if she were testing something.

Sofia couldn’t help but hold her gaze, her heartbeat quickening for the briefest moment. And just as quickly, Elisa turned away, her attention shifting back to her seat by the window. But the glance lingered in the air between them, a silent acknowledgment of something neither of them was ready to speak aloud.