Fuckin' Or - What?

"So," Leo said, his voice dropping an octave, cutting through the silence. "Fuckin' or what?"

"What took you so long?" she whispered, closing the distance between them and finally breaking the tension that had defined their night. Fuckin' Or What?

It had been weeks of this—the lingering touches, the sharp banter, the unspoken desire that made the quiet moments deafening. "So," Leo said, his voice dropping an octave,

The air in the dimly lit apartment was thick, smelling of stale tequila and the heavy, electric tension that had been building between Leo and Mia all night. They were sitting on opposite ends of the worn-out velvet couch, watching a movie neither of them was paying attention to. The air in the dimly lit apartment was

Leo finally muted the TV. The sudden silence made Mia jump, her eyes shifting from the screen to him. He wasn’t looking at the movie; he was looking at her, his expression a mix of frustration and hunger.

Mia stared at him, stunned for a split second by the raw bluntness of the question, before a slow, daring smirk spread across her face. She leaned in closer, until her lips were inches from his ear.