Let's make tonight cheesier than ever.
Liana's POV
The morning light sliced through the curtains like a blade, sharp and unforgiving, dragging me out of a dream where Dante’s hands were on my throat and his cock was buried so deep I could feel him in my spine. I woke up wet, throbbing, the sheets twisted around my thighs like restraints. My fingers still smelled like me, like last night’s desperation, and the ache between my legs felt branded, permanent. The room in Clara's house—my temporary exile in Melbourne—was too bright, too foreign, with its white walls and the faint scent of eucalyptus from the garden outside. It wasn't home. Home was Dante's arms, his bed, his everything.
I groaned, rolling over to grab the burner phone from under my pillow. It was my lifeline, hidden in a sock drawer during the day, charged obsessively at night. No one could know about it—not Clara, not my new "friends" at uni. Heart slamming against my ribs, I unlocked it with trembling fingers. There he was, already waiting.
D: Morning, baby. Woke up with your taste in my mouth. Still feel you clenching around my tongue. Tell me you’re wet for me right now.
My breath hitched. God, I was. Fuck, I was soaked just from those words. They hit me like a punch to the gut, stirring the fire that never really died out. I typed back, my thumbs flying over the screen.
L: Drenched. Just from reading that. I hate this bed without you in it. It feels so empty, so cold. Like a part of me is missing.
D: Two weeks. Then I’m going to fuck you so hard you forget every second we were apart. Going to leave bruises on your hips shaped like my fingerprints. Going to make you scream my name until the neighbors know who you belong to.
A shiver ran down my spine, pooling heat between my legs. I pressed my thighs together, biting my lip to stifle a whimper. The walls here were paper-thin; Clara was already clattering around in the kitchen, humming some old Australian tune—"Waltzing Matilda," I think—while the smell of fresh coffee and that weird vegemite toast wafted under the door. It was all so normal, so domestic, but it felt like a cage. I wanted Dante's chaos, his intensity.
D: Send me your pussy, Li. One pic. I’m begging. Need to see how wet you are for me.
L: You know I can’t. Not yet. Clara’s right outside. What if she walks in?
D: Then send me your voice. Moan my name into the phone. Let me hear how much you need me. Please, baby. I’m dying here without you.
I hesitated for a second, glancing at the door. But the ache was too much. I locked it quietly, leaned back against the wood, and hit record before I could overthink it. My voice came out low, husky, laced with all the desperation I'd bottled up.
“Dante… oh God, Dante. I’m so empty without you. I need you inside me. Need you to split me open and fill me up until I can’t breathe. Until I forget everything but you. Please, baby, I’m touching myself right now, imagining your fingers, your tongue…”
I sent it, my heart racing like I'd just run a marathon. Thirty seconds later, his reply buzzed in.
D: Jesus fucking Christ. I just came all over my hand in the shower like a goddamn teenager. You’re going to kill me, Li. That voice… it’s like velvet wrapped around my cock. I love you so fucking much.
L: Good. Die happy. But don’t you dare leave me alone in this world.
I smiled through the tears pricking my eyes—cheesy, yeah, but that's how we were. Over-the-top declarations mixed with filthy promises. It was our love language, born from the forbidden fire that started it all.
Reluctantly, I got dressed like a robot—slipping into those tiny denim shorts that barely covered my ass, the ones Dante had once ripped off me in a fit of jealousy-fueled passion back home. Paired with a cropped tank that showed the underside of my lacy black bra when I lifted my arms, it was an outfit screaming for attention. But the only attention I craved was his. Clara whistled low when I shuffled into the kitchen, her eyes widening over her mug of coffee.
“Look at you, little American bombshell. Those legs are going to cause accidents on the tram today. Struth, you're a stunner!”
I forced a laugh, pouring myself a cup of that strong Aussie brew. It tasted bitter, like my mood. “Thanks, Aunt Clara. Just trying to fit in with the beach vibe here.”
She leaned against the counter, her floral apron tied around her waist, graying hair pulled into a messy bun. Clara was Mom's sister, the "free spirit" of the family who'd escaped to Australia decades ago. She had no idea about the real reason I was here—Mom had spun it as a "study abroad opportunity" to "broaden my horizons." If only she knew those horizons were already broadened by my stepbrother's cock.
“Fit in? Darl, you'll have the blokes lining up. But hey, if any of 'em get too fresh, you tell 'em your auntie's got a cricket bat and knows how to swing it.” She winked, sliding a plate of toast my way. “Vegemite? It's an acquired taste, but it'll put hair on your chest.”
I wrinkled my nose, spreading a thin layer. “No thanks on the chest hair. And as for the guys… I'm not interested. Got enough drama back home.”
Clara's eyes softened, that knowing aunt look creeping in. “Ah, the ex-boyfriend, eh? Your mum mentioned something about a bad breakup. Heartache's a bitch, but Melbourne's full of distractions. Surfing, parties, cute surfers named Kai…” She trailed off with a grin.
I nearly choked on my toast. How did she know about Kai? “What? No, it's not like that. Kai's just… friendly.”
“Friendly like a shark in chummed waters, love. Saw him eyeing you yesterday when he dropped you off. But no pressure. You're here to heal, study, have fun. Speaking of, got your tram pass? Don't want you late for that marketing class.”
I nodded, grabbing my backpack. The conversation felt light, but inside, it twisted like a knife. Healing? This separation was the wound. As I headed out, the burner buzzed again.
D: Wear those shorts for me today. Imagine my hands sliding up your thighs, fingers dipping under the hem…
I bit my lip, typing back as I walked to the tram stop.
L: Already am. And yeah, imagining. It's torture.
The tram was packed tighter than a sardine can, bodies pressed too close in the humid morning air. Some guy's hand brushed my lower back—accidental? Maybe, but it made my skin crawl. I jerked away, clutching the pole, my mind flashing to Dante. He would've noticed, would've stepped in front of me, his broad shoulders a shield. "Touch her again and I'll break every finger," he'd growl, all possessive alpha. Cheesy as hell, but it turned me on every time.
By the time I got to campus, the sun was blazing, turning the lawns into a sea of bare feet, board shorts, and girls in bikini tops lounging like it was Bondi Beach, not a university quad. The air smelled of sunscreen and salt from the nearby ocean, a far cry from the crisp, judgmental halls back home. I found my marketing tutorial in a sun-drenched room on the second floor, the windows thrown open to let in the breeze. It smelled like fresh coffee from the cafe downstairs and faint ocean spray.
The tutor was already there, scribbling on the whiteboard. He was young—maybe thirty—with a sleeve of intricate tattoos snaking up his arm, messy dark hair, and a voice like honey over gravel when he turned to the class.
“Alright, legends, settle in. I'm Jax, and this is Disruptive Marketing 101. We're not here to play nice; we're here to break rules, flip the script, make people crave what they shouldn't.”
His eyes scanned the room, landing on me. I shifted in my seat, feeling exposed under that intense gaze. “New transfer? Front row, American accent?”
I nodded, heat creeping up my neck. “Yeah, Liana. From the States.”
“Welcome to Melbourne, Liana.” He said my name slow, like he was savoring it, rolling it around on his tongue. “Hope you’re ready to get your hands dirty. This unit’s all about disruption. Breaking conventions. Making people feel things they’re not supposed to want. Taboos, desires, the stuff that society says 'no' to but everyone secretly craves.”
My stomach flipped hard. He couldn't know about Dante and me—the forbidden stepsibling love that had the whole campus back home calling me "step-slut." No one here knew. But the way Jax looked at me, like he could see straight through to the cracks in my armor, made me squirm. Was it paranoia, or was there something in his eyes? A spark of recognition?
“Take Apple,” he continued, pacing the front of the room. “They disrupted the tech world by making us want sleek, sexy gadgets we didn't need. But what if we apply that to forbidden fruit? Hypothetical: Market a love that's taboo. How do you sell it? Make it irresistible?”
A girl in the back raised her hand. “Play on the thrill? The danger?”
Jax nodded, pointing at her. “Spot on. Danger sells. Forbidden love? It's the ultimate disruptor. Makes hearts race, pulses pound. Liana, thoughts? As the newbie, give us your fresh take.”
I swallowed, my mind racing to Dante—our stolen nights, the risk, the fire. “Um, yeah. You make it feel like destiny. Like the universe conspired for it, even if society says no. Cheesy romance tropes, but twisted. 'We're star-crossed lovers, meant to be against all odds.' People eat that up because it's escapism from their boring lives.”
Jax grinned, leaning against his desk. “Star-crossed lovers, eh? Shakespeare would approve. Good insight, Liana. Stick around after class if you want extra reading on taboo marketing. I've got some killer case studies.”
The class murmured, and I nodded politely, but inside? Panic. Extra time with him? No thanks. I spent the rest of the lecture doodling in my notebook—hearts with D+L inside, cheesy as a high school crush.
After class, I bolted, but Kai—the surfer from yesterday—was waiting outside, leaning against the wall with his surfboard under one arm, his blond hair tousled from the wind, board shorts slung low on his hips.
“Oi, Liana! You surf yet? The waves at St. Kilda are pumping today.”
I shook my head, forcing a smile. “Not yet. Still getting my sea legs.”
He laughed, falling into step beside me. “No worries, I'll teach ya. Dawn patrol tomorrow? I'll pick you up at five. Coffee's on me. Can't have a Yank in Oz without hitting the surf—it's un-Australian!”
Before I could protest, Zoe—the purple-haired girl from chess club—appeared out of nowhere, linking her arm through mine like we'd been besties forever. She was all energy, with her ripped jeans, band tee, and a nose ring that glinted in the sun.
“She’s busy tomorrow,” Zoe said cheerfully, shooting Kai a playful glare. “We’re getting smashed at the Espy tonight—beers, bands, the works—and then she’s coming to chess club. Right, Li? You promised yesterday.”
I hadn't, but I laughed, surprised at how easy it felt. “Sure. Why not? Sounds fun.”
Kai grinned, undeterred, his blue eyes sparkling like the ocean he loved. “Alright, rain check on the surf. But I'll wear you down, Liana. You're too cute to resist the waves—or me.”
Zoe rolled her eyes, pulling me away. “Dream on, Kai. She's got better taste.”
As we walked to my next class—some intro to Australian business ethics, ironic given my family's "empire"—Zoe chattered on. “So, Espy tonight? It's this iconic pub in St. Kilda, live music, sticky floors, the best vibes. You in? No boyfriends back home holding you back, right?”
I hesitated, the burner heavy in my pocket. “No boyfriend. Just… complicated.”
She squeezed my arm. “Complicated's my middle name. Chess club's after—it's not nerdy, promise. We drink while we play, trash-talk like pros. You'll fit right in.”
For the first time since landing in this upside-down world, I felt a flicker of something like belonging. But it was fleeting. Because I didn't belong here. I belonged to Dante, to our chaotic, passionate mess.
The rest of the day blurred—lectures on market trends, group discussions where I faked enthusiasm. By evening, Clara was out with her friends—“girls’ night, don’t wait up, love!”—leaving the house empty and echoing. I cooked pasta in her cozy kitchen, but I burned the garlic, the acrid smell filling the air. I ate it anyway, standing over the sink, fork in hand, staring out at the backyard where fairy lights twinkled in the trees.
The burner buzzed like a summons.
D: Call me. Now. Can't take another second without your voice.
I did, stepping out to the back deck barefoot, a glass of cheap red wine in one hand. The sky was insane—huge, endless, stars so bright they looked fake, like diamonds scattered on black velvet. Melbourne's night air was cool, carrying hints of jasmine from the neighbor's garden.
He picked up on the first ring, his voice rough, edged with need. “Li.”
Just that. My name. And I was already shaking, knees weak.
“Dante,” I whispered, sinking into a deck chair. “God, I miss you. This sky… it's beautiful, but it's not the same without you here to see it.”
“Tell me about your day,” he said, but his tone was hungry, like he was holding back.
I sipped my wine, the tartness grounding me. “Wore those shorts you like. The ones that make my ass look amazing. Clara whistled, said I'd cause accidents.”
He chuckled, low and dark. “Fuck, I know the ones. Bet every guy on campus was staring. But remember, baby—they can look, but only I touch. You're mine, Liana. My cheesy little obsession, like a bad rom-com where the hero crosses oceans for his girl.”
I laughed, the sound mixing with tears. “Cheesy? You're the one who says stuff like 'you're the air I breathe' during sex.”
“Guilty. But it's true. Now, tell me—are you wearing panties under those shorts?”
“No,” I admitted, my voice dropping.
A low growl rumbled through the phone. “Good girl. Touch yourself. Right now. I want to hear it. Slide those fingers down and pretend it's me.”
I set the phone on speaker, propped it on the railing, and did as he said. My hand slipped into my shorts, finding slick heat. I gasped, the night air cool on my flushed skin.
“Already so wet,” I whispered. “Dripping for you.”
“Because of me?” His voice was strained, the faint slick sound of him stroking himself audible.
“Only you. Always you.”
“Say it louder,” he demanded. “Tell the stars who owns that pretty pussy.”
“I’m yours, Dante,” I moaned, fingers circling my clit, building the pressure. “Every inch. Every moan. Every orgasm. They all belong to you. You're my knight in shining armor, my forbidden prince, the cheese to my macaroni—”
He laughed breathlessly. “Fuck, Li, even cheesy turns me on when it's you. Finger yourself deep, baby. Pretend it’s me. Pretend I’m there, pinning you down, fucking you raw until you can't walk.”
I did, plunging two fingers in, then three, stretching myself, hips rocking shamelessly. The deck chair creaked under me, the wine glass teetering precariously.
“I miss your cock,” I gasped, voice breaking. “Miss how it hurts so good when you bottom out. Miss how you make me take it all, whispering how I'm your perfect, cheesy soulmate.”
“Fuck, Li—keep going. Tell me you're my everything, my starry-eyed dream girl.”
“I'm close—oh God, Dante, I'm your everything. Your cheesy forever. Come with me?”
“Now,” he groaned. “Come for me. Scream for me. Let the whole fucking street know who’s making you fall apart—”
I shattered, hard and loud, legs shaking as waves crashed over me. The wine glass tipped, red spilling across the deck like blood under the starlight. I cried out his name—“Dante!”—loud enough that a neighbor’s dog started barking, lights flicking on in the house next door.
When I could breathe again, he was still there, panting, voice wrecked but tender.
“Two weeks,” he said softly. “Then I’m going to fuck you on every surface of that house. The deck. The kitchen counter. Against the window so the whole street can see who you belong to. And after? We'll watch the stars, me holding you, whispering all the cheesy shit you love. Like how you're the light in my dark world, my one and only.”
I smiled, tears mixing with sweat on my cheeks, heart swelling with that over-the-top romance we both craved.
“Promise?”
“Swear on my life, baby. On every star up there.”
I fell asleep on the deck chair, phone clutched to my chest, his voice echoing in my dreams. Two weeks. I could taste freedom. And it tasted like him—salty, sweet, and eternally cheesy.
But the next day brought complications. At uni, Jax pulled me aside after class. “Liana, about those case studies—got time for coffee? I think you'd nail this taboo marketing project.”
I hesitated, but curiosity—and a need for distraction—won. “Sure, why not?”
Over flat whites at the campus cafe, he leaned in, eyes intense. “Your insights yesterday? Spot on. Forbidden love sells because it's real. Raw. Ever experienced something like that?”
My heart pounded. “Maybe. Why?”
He smiled, mysterious. “Just saying—disruption starts with personal stories. If you ever want to share…”
I changed the subject, but his words lingered. Meanwhile, Kai texted: Surf tomorrow? Promise no wipeouts.
And Zoe: Espy tonight! Wear something hot.
That night at the Espy, the pub pulsed with life—live band blasting indie rock, beer flowing, bodies grinding on the dance floor. Zoe dragged me in, Kai appearing with shots. “To new beginnings!” he toasted, clinking glasses.
I downed mine, the burn chasing away the ache for Dante. But as the night wore on, Kai danced close, his hands on my waist. “You're incredible, Liana. Like a wave I want to ride forever.”
Cheesy, but not Dante's cheesy. I pulled back. “Kai, I can't. There's someone.”
He nodded, respectful. “Lucky bloke.”
Back home, drunk and buzzing, I called Dante.
“Some surfer hit on me,” I confessed.
His voice darkened. “Tell me you shut him down.”
“Of course. You're my only wave, baby. My cheesy surf god.”
He laughed. “Good. Now, strip for me. Let's make tonight cheesier than ever.”