Page 86 of Luca
He tears at my dress, fabric shredding as he strips it from me, leaving me bare and dripping beneath him. My back hits the tile, my legs wrapping around his waist instinctively as his mouth drags down my throat, his teeth scraping against my skin hard enough to make me gasp.
“Gabriella,” he growls, the word vibrating against my chest.
“Yes,” I whisper, breathless.
He thrusts into me with brutal force, the joining raw, primal, inevitable. I cry out, the sound swallowed by the hiss of the water and the crush of his mouth against mine. Every stroke is a demand, every movement a claim, and I meet him with equal fire, nails raking down his back, pulling him deeper, harder, closer. The steam clings to our skin, mixing with sweat and water until I can’t tell where I end and he begins.
The world narrows to only this; the violent rhythm of his body inside mine, the slam of my spine against the tile, the taste of his mouth, the copper-tinged heat of the shower turning my legs to water.
Pleasure tears through me, violent and consuming, ripping me apart as I convulse against him, clinging desperately as wave after wave of orgasm crashes over me. He doesn’t stop. He drives through it, harder, faster, until his own control shatters.
With a guttural sound torn from deep in his chest, he spills inside me, his body rigid, his forehead pressed to mine as if he could fuse us together through sheer force.
I lean in, kiss him softly this time, my lips lingering.
No words. None are needed.
When the water finally cools, he gathers me in his arms and carries me from the shower. He lays me on the bed, climbs in beside me, and pulls me into his chest. His heartbeat is still thunder beneath my ear, but I curl into him anyway, his warmth anchoring me.
The sheets cling damp against our skin, carrying the scent of water and soap and blood that lingers even after the shower. Luca lies on his back, one arm beneath his head, his chest still rising and falling with the force of everything we just did.
For a moment I only look at him. At the man who killed tonight to protect me. At the man who has seen every lie I’ve told and still keeps me here in his bed.
He’s raw, dangerous, ruthless—and my husband.
I shift onto my side, my hand gliding across his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath my palm. His eyes open, dark and watchful, and I know he expects me to let him take again, the way he always has.
But tonight is different.
Tonight, I want to show him who I really am.
I press a kiss to his chest, then another, trailing down slowly, savoring the taste of his skin, the salt, the faint soap, the heat of him. His body stiffens slightly as I move lower, past his stomach, my lips brushing along the hard ridges of muscle, until I reach the thick weight of his cock already beginning to stir again.
He makes a low sound deep in his throat, his hand sliding into my hair, but he doesn’t stop me.
I look up at him once, meeting his eyes, and then I take him into my mouth. The taste is hot, salty, powerful. His breath hisses through his teeth as I swirl my tongue over him, slowly, deliberately, taking him deeper with every movement until I feel him straining against the back of my throat. His fingers tighten in my hair, his hips jerking involuntarily, and I hollow my cheeks, sucking harder, wanting to hear that growl in his chest break free.
“Gabriella…” His voice is hoarse, rough with desire, warning and plea tangled together.
But I don’t stop. I want to give him this, to show him the woman I truly am. The one who isn’t fragile, who isn’t afraid, who knows how to take control and give pleasure in equal measure.
When I finally release him, he’s breathing hard, his body taut with restraint. I climb up his chest, straddling him, my hair dripping wet across my shoulders, my body still flushed from the shower and the first raw claiming against the tile.
This time, I guide him into me slowly, sinking down inch by inch, watching his face as I take all of him inside me. His jaw clenches, his hand gripping my hips like he’s holding himself back from flipping me beneath him, but I press my palms to his chest and keep him there.
“No,” I whisper, rocking against him, rolling my hips in a rhythm that has both of us gasping. “Tonight, I’m in control.”
His eyes darken, heat and hunger flashing in them, but he lets me lead. I rise and fall, slow at first, savoring the stretch, the friction, the way every nerve in my body ignites when he’s deep inside me. My nails dig into his chest as I move faster, harder, chasing the pleasure that builds with every stroke.
The power of it floods me—the knowledge that this man, this ruthless, blood-stained husband of mine, is lying beneath me, letting me take him, letting me command the rhythm. And I ride him with everything I have, with every ounce of the woman I’ve kept hidden, until sweat slicks our skin and my moans echo against the walls.
The climax rips through me, violent and consuming, my body clenching around him as I throw my head back, crying out his name. His control shatters then, his hips surging upward, his hands crushing me to him as he thrusts deep one final time and spills inside me with a guttural sound torn from his chest.
I collapse against him, trembling, my cheek pressed to his damp skin, his heart pounding against my ear. His arms lock around me, tight and possessive, and I feel the truth settle between us.
Now he knows exactly who I am.
The woman who will love him with every dark, dangerous part of herself.
