The week leading up to the flight was the longest of Camila's life. Work was a blur, meals tasteless, sleep elusive. Every time her phone chimed, her heart leaped, though she knew not to expect a reply. The silence was part of the agreement.
The flight to Lisbon was torture. Her knee bounced uncontrollably, and she rejected the offered champagne, needing a clear head. The city looked beautiful as they descended, a mosaic of red roofs and golden light, but all she could see was the face of the woman she was flying toward.
The Hotel Real Palácio was opulent and grand, a world away from the minimalist simplicity of her own apartment. As she checked in, her hands were trembling. The room was a suite overlooking Eduardo VII Park, but the view was meaningless. She took a long, hot shower, trying to wash away the travel grime and the suffocating anxiety. She chose a simple black dress—elegant, but not trying too hard. She wanted to be herself, whoever that was anymore.
At 6:55 p.m., she walked into the lobby. Her heart was a frantic drum against her ribs. She chose a velvet armchair in a quiet corner, giving herself a view of the entrance but also a semblance of hiding. Every time the doors opened, her breath caught.
At 7:03 p.m., the doors opened again. And there she was.
Lívia. Her hair was shorter, styled in a way that framed her face. She was thinner, more poised, but the moment her eyes scanned the lobby and found Camila's, all the new polish fell away. It was just Lívia. Her Lívia. She was wearing a simple navy-blue dress, and at that moment, she was the most beautiful thing Camila had ever seen.
The space between them, across the expanse of the ornate lobby, vanished. It wasn't a walk; it was a magnetic pull. Lívia moved first, her steps quickening, and then Camila was rising to meet her, the rest of the world fading into a muted blur of velvet and gold.
They stopped a foot apart, close enough to feel the heat radiating from each other's bodies, close enough to see the flecks of gold in Lívia's brown eyes, which were now shimmering with unshed tears. No words came. There was nothing to say that wouldn't sound trivial after three months of enforced silence.
Instead, Camila reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as she brushed a stray strand of hair from Lívia's cheek. The simple touch was electric. Lívia leaned into it, her eyes closing for a brief second as if savoring the contact. Then her eyes opened again, full of a raw, desperate need.
She closed the remaining distance, her hands coming up to cup Camila's face, pulling her down into a kiss. It wasn't gentle or tentative. It was a collision. A frantic, desperate meeting of mouths that was part apology, part accusation, and pure, overwhelming relief. Camila's hands fisted in the material of Lívia's dress at the small of her back, pulling her flush against her body. There was no air, no space, just the frantic press of lips and teeth and tongues in a silent, desperate conversation saying everything they hadn't been able to put into words.
A discreet cough from a nearby hotel guest finally broke the spell. They pulled apart, breathless, foreheads resting together. The world rushed back in—the soft music, the clinking of glasses, the murmur of other guests' conversations.
"My room," Camila whispered, the words thick with emotion.
Lívia just nodded, her hand finding Camila's and intertwining their fingers in a grip that was almost painful. They didn't speak on the way up in the elevator, the mirrored walls reflecting their tense, hopeful faces. The air crackled with anticipation, with the weight of three months of unsaid things.
The moment the door to the suite clicked shut, they were on each other again. This time, there was a new layer of desperation, a frantic need to erase the distance, to reclaim every inch of lost time. Lívia pushed Camila's jacket off her shoulders, her mouth never leaving Camila's. Camila's fingers fumbled with the zipper of Lívia's dress, her hands shaking with a mixture of adrenaline and desire.
Clothes became a trail of discarded evidence on the floor leading to the bedroom—a black dress, a silk blouse, a lacy bra, tailored trousers. Each removed layer was another wall coming down.
When they finally fell onto the king-sized bed, skin to skin, the frantic energy softened into something deeper, more profound. Camila rolled on top of Lívia, propping herself on her elbows to look down at her. She traced the lines of Lívia's face—her eyebrows, the curve of her nose, the fullness of her lips.
"You're here," Camila whispered, her voice cracking.
"I'm here," Lívia confirmed, her hands stroking Camila's back, learning the familiar territory all over again. "I never stopped being yours."
The kiss that followed was different. Slower. Deeper. It was a reclamation. Camila's mouth traveled down Lívia's neck, her teeth scraping gently against her collarbone, her tongue soothing the faint marks she left behind. She was an explorer rediscovering a lost continent, her hands and lips mapping every curve and hollow, every scar and freckle.
Lívia responded with a quiet intensity, her own hands exploring Camila's body with a renewed reverence. She arched into Camila's touch, her soft sighs and gasps filling the quiet room. When Camila's mouth finally settled between her thighs, Lívia cried out, her fingers tangling in the sheets, her hips rising instinctively. Camila was patient, thorough, her tongue and fingers working in concert to build a pleasure that was almost agonizing in its intensity.
The orgasm that ripped through Lívia was shattering, leaving her limp and breathless, tears of release tracking from the corners of her eyes into her hair. But she wasn't done. She wanted Camila to feel the same desperate, all-consuming need, the same absolute possession.
She rolled them over, straddling Camila's hips. "My turn," she murmured, her voice husky. She leaned down, her breasts brushing against Camila's as she captured her mouth in a deep, possessive kiss. "I want to hear from you. I want to feel you come apart for me."
Lívia's touch was more deliberate now, more confident. She entered Camila with two fingers, her thumb finding her clit with unerring accuracy. She set a relentless rhythm, her eyes locked on Camila's, watching the play of emotions across her face as pleasure built to an unbearable peak.
"Look at me," Lívia demanded again, echoing the words from their last night together. "Don't you dare close your eyes. I want you to see who's doing this to you. I want you to remember."
Camila's eyes, dark and dilated with desire, remained locked on hers as the orgasm crashed over her, a powerful wave that left her shaking and sobbing Lívia's name. It wasn't just physical release; it was an emotional exorcism, washing away the months of loneliness and fear.
Afterward, they lay tangled in the sheets, the Lisbon night air cool on their glistening skin from their tryst. Camila's head rested on Lívia's chest, listening to the steady, reassuring beat of her heart.
"I was so empty without you," Camila confessed, her voice muffled against Lívia's skin.
Lívia's arm tightened around her. "I know. Me too."
Camila tilted her head up to look at her. "So what do we do now?"
Lívia smiled, a genuine, unburdened smile that Camila hadn't seen in months. "Now? We figure out how to not be empty again. Together."