Page 11 of Luca
My hands hover awkwardly, then land tentatively on his shoulders. He catches one and drags it lower, guiding me over the hard plane of his stomach, down to the waistband of his trousers, then lower.
“Oh,” I gasp, becausedamnhe’s fucking huge.
His hand slides between my thighs, parting them. Fingers find the damp lace, stroke slowly, deliberately. My hips twitch despite my act.
“You’re warm,” he says, almost to himself.
I nod shyly as good virgin cover, but my hips betray me, tilting toward his hand.
He pushes the lace aside, fingers working my now soaking wet pussy lightly until my head tips back against the pillow. I bite my lip, trying to keep the sounds in, but a small, helpless noise escapes.
“Open your eyes,” he says.
I drag my eyes to his. He watches me like he’s reading me, learning my body.
His fingers work me until my breathing is shallow and my grip on him turns desperate. Suddenly he slows and withdraws.
Quickly he strips off his clothes, grabs a condom from the bedside stand and dons it over his hard cock. Seconds later, he’s back between my thighs.
He pauses at my entrance. “Breathe.”
The first press of him is thick, stretching, stealing my breath. I widen my eyes, a perfect virginal move, but the moan that slips out is entirely mine.
He seats himself fully, stilling, one hand brushing hair from my face. “Okay?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
He starts moving. Slow at first, each thrust precise, filling. My hands clutch his arms like I’m holding on for dear life, which I am. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this.
“Here,” he murmurs, sliding my hands to his ass. “Hold on.”
I obey, gripping his muscular ass and the shift lets him drive deeper. My breath hitches; his rhythm stays steady, controlled.
And with every movement, it’s harder to remember I’m playing Sofia. My breath quickens, my hips shift to meet him, and when the heat crests, the sound that tears from my throat is anything but virginal.
His rhythm doesn’t falter until I’m trembling, clutching at him, the silk sheets twisted in my fists. Only then does he let himself go, his breath rough against my neck, his body heavy and solid over mine.
When it’s done, he stays over me, breathing slow, steady. His hand cups my face, thumb stroking once. No words. Just that quiet, unshakable control.
And somewhere in the haze, I think to myself.
This is the most dangerous man I’ve ever met.
And it’s not because of the gun under his pillow.
Chapter 6: Luca
She’s already at the breakfast table when I step into the dining room. Hair pulled back in a messy knot. No makeup. Silk robe clinging to her like a second skin, sliding off one shoulder in a way that looks accidental but sure as hell doesn’t feel it.
She’s got a fork in her mouth, chewing like she hasn’t eaten in days. The plate in front of her is a massacre of eggs and pancetta, half gone already.
Sofia never ate like this.
At our engagement dinners, she’d pick at a salad, touch the bread basket like it might explode. Always careful, always… polite.
This woman is eating like she’s claiming territory. Washing it down with black espresso. No cream, no sugar. Straight caffeine, like a soldier before a long day.
She glances up when she hears my steps, swallows, and says, “Morning.”
