His Ruthless Claim (Devils in Armani Suits #2)

18. Skye

18

SKYE

T he gates part with a soft whir, revealing a winding driveway that leads to what can only be described as an estate. Luca's house looms ahead - a modern masterpiece of glass and stone that somehow manages to look both inviting and fortified. The Chicago skyline glitters in the distance, close enough to see but far enough to feel isolated from the chaos.

My overnight bag feels inadequate as Luca guides me inside with a hand pressed against my lower back. His touch burns through my silk blouse.

"Kitchen." He gestures to our right, where sleek appliances gleam under recessed lighting. "Living room." The space opens to soaring ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows that showcase the manicured grounds.

I trail behind him up curved stairs, taking in the minimal décor that probably costs more than my boutique makes in a year. Everything is precise, controlled - just like him.

"Guest rooms." He points down one hallway without stopping.

"And where am I staying?"

He leads me to double doors at the end of another hall, pushing them open to reveal a massive bedroom. Dark wood floors stretch beneath a California king bed dressed in charcoal gray linens. More windows frame a private balcony.

"This is your room?" My voice rises an octave.

"Our room." His ice-blue eyes lock onto mine, challenging me to argue. "I'm not getting up every hour to check on you in another part of the house."

"Bold of you to assume I need checking on." I arch an eyebrow, but my heart pounds. The bedroom radiates his presence - from the precise hospital corners of the bed to the row of perfectly aligned watches on the dresser.

"You've already proven you don't make the best decisions regarding your safety." His lips quirk, the closest thing to a smile I've seen from him. "This isn't up for debate."

I could fight it. Should fight it. But in truth, I don't want to. I crave his touch every time he's near, and he is so fucking fine that I can't bring myself to put distance between us. The thought of being alone in this massive house holds zero appeal.

"Fine." I drop my bag by the foot of his bed. "But I'm taking the right side."

His eyes darken a fraction. "That's my side."

Well, that makes me double down. "Not anymore." I flash him my sweetest smile.

The first few days fall into an oddly domestic rhythm. When I'm home, I spend most of my time stealing glances at Luca as he paces his office. The glass walls give me a perfect view of him in action - jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up, that expensive watch catching the light as he gestures during calls.

His voice carries through the house, switching between English and Italian. The latter sends shivers down my spine, especially when his tone drops to that dangerous register that means someone's about to have a very bad day.

"No, that's not acceptable." His words slice through the air. "Either the shipment arrives tonight, or we have a different conversation tomorrow."

The threat hangs there, delivered without heat or anger. That's what makes him terrifying - the complete lack of emotion when discussing violence.

And then there’s the little things. Like how I find every article of clothing he bought from me in his closet, not giving to business associates. And somehow I never noticed they were all my size. He told me they were my favorites so he bought them for me. I didn’t point out that he hadn’t known I’d come live here - because I suspect that Luca has been planning this for a while.

Maybe it shouldn’t, but the gesture touched me. Warmed me. I couldn’t do anything but smile as I looked at the collection he bought for me.

At night, though, something shifts. I catch him watching me over dinner - because he insists on us having dinner together - his eyes tracking my movements as I reach for my wine glass or brush hair from my face. He never initiates conversation, but his attention feels like a physical weight.

It's the little things that fascinate me - how he adjusts his mother's watch exactly three times before bed, the way his jaw ticks when I deliberately take his side of the bed, how he maintains exactly six inches of space between us despite sharing the mattress.

"You're staring again," I say one night, not looking up from my phone as I scroll through inventory reports.

"You're in my space." His voice rumbles from the doorway where he leans, dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar. A glimpse of scarred skin peeks through.

"Your space?" I stretch deliberately across his side of the bed. "You're the one that put me in your bed."

His fingers brush over his watch - that unconscious tell I'm learning to read. "To keep you safe, Skye."

"Then you should want me even closer." I meet his gaze, challenging. "Why? Can't handle me?"

His eyes darken, and for a moment, I glimpse something crack in that perfect control. But then it's gone, sealed behind ice blue walls as he turns away.

"I can handle anything."

Of that, I have no doubt. But I pull back to my side and don't push him too much harder.

The next morning, I'm pouring coffee when voices drift in from the patio. Guys that I've come to realize are very close to Luca cluster around the outdoor table, heads bent in discussion. Through the glass doors, I catch fragments of their conversation.

"...never seen him like this before," Bas mutters, running a hand through his dark hair.

"Shut it," Mickey hisses, but his gaze darts to where Luca stands at his office window, phone pressed to his ear. "Boss doesn't need us talking. Thought he was going to shoot me the last time I pissed him off."

I pretend to be absorbed in my phone while straining to hear more. These men have known Luca for years - their careful movements around him speak of both loyalty and healthy fear.

"You weren't there last night," Carmine says, voice low. "When that supplier tried to back out? Usually, boss just..." He draws a finger across his throat. "But he actually negotiated. Gave the guy another chance."

"Because she was in the house," Ace cuts in. Unlike the others in their expensive suits, he's all tactical gear and visible weapons. "He's different when she's around. More..."

"Human," Bas finishes. "Like he's actually feeling something for once."

My coffee cup freezes halfway to my lips. The thought that I affect him that deeply sends a thrill down my spine, followed by an edge of fear. I've seen what Luca's capable of - the cold calculation behind those ice-blue eyes. The fact that I might crack that perfect control is both intoxicating and terrifying.

"Watch your fucking mouths." Mickey's warning carries a real threat. "Boss catches you analyzing him like this-"

"Then what?" Luca's voice cuts through their conversation like a blade.

I hadn't even heard him approach. His men snap to attention, faces carefully blank. But I notice how their eyes flick between us, studying, measuring.

Luca's presence fills the doorway, his shirt sleeves rolled to expose corded forearms marked with old scars. The morning sun catches his watch - his mother's watch - as he adjusts it with precise movements.

The silence stretches, heavy with unspoken observations about how their boss has changed. About how I might be the cause.

A strangled sound pierces the darkness. I jolt awake, heart racing as my eyes adjust to find Luca thrashing beside me. His usual composed features are twisted in anguish, sweat gleaming on his chest where the sheets have tangled around his waist.

"No," he mutters. "Mom-"

My chest tightens. I reach out, fingertips hovering over his shoulder where scars mark his skin. His face is clear of scars, except for the one through his brow, but they litter his arms and torso. Shockingly, he's not covered in tattoos, making them stand out even more.

He jerks, and my heart aches. I know his mom passed away, and I can't imagine what he's dreaming of now. "Luca."

His hand shoots up just as I touch him, catching my wrist in a bruising grip before his eyes snap open. For the first time since I've known him, raw emotion bleeds through those ice-blue depths - fear, pain, something wild and uncontrolled.

"It's just me." I keep my voice soft, steady. "You're safe."

His grip loosens but doesn't release completely. He stares at me like he's never seen me before, chest heaving with ragged breaths. The perfectly styled hair is mussed, his usual mask shattered to reveal something achingly vulnerable beneath.

"I don't-" His voice cracks. He swallows hard, gaze dropping to where his thumb traces circles on my pulse point.

I shift closer, drawn by this glimpse behind his walls. "You don't have to explain."

His other hand comes up, fingers threading through my hair with a gentleness that makes my breath catch. For once, he's not calculating or measuring the space between us. He's just... feeling.

I lean in, pressing my lips to his before I can overthink it. We both want this, both want each other, and I know he hates to talk. So I offer the only comfort I can think of.

For a heartbeat, he freezes. Then something snaps. His grip tightens in my hair as he deepens the kiss, desperate and demanding. I taste cool mint and need.

"Skye." My name falls from his lips like a prayer - or a curse. His hands roam my sides, mapping every curve like he's memorizing territory. "I can't- I don't know how to-"

"Then stop thinking." I nip his bottom lip, drawing a growl from deep in his chest. "Just feel."

A part of me wonders if he's ever let his guard down long enough to let anyone in. I assumed that he was the kind of guy that would keep women around for release and then move on. But maybe…he didn't even do that.

His eyes darken, pupils blown wide as he flips us in one fluid motion. The weight of him pins me to the mattress, solid and real. For once, that ever-present control slips, replaced by raw hunger as his mouth claims mine again.

His mouth moves down my throat, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. I arch into him, fingers tangling in his hair, but he catches my wrist and pins it above my head. That ice-blue gaze locks onto mine, a silent command that sends electricity sparking through my veins.

"Stay still." His voice is low, rough, and it’s not a request.

His free hand slides down my side, slow and deliberate, like he’s mapping every inch of me. When his fingers reach the hem of my nightgown, he doesn’t hesitate. He drags it up and over my head, tossing it aside without a second glance. And then he's ripped my underwear away, too.

His eyes roam over me, and for a moment, it feels like he’s dissecting me - calculating, measuring. But then his gaze softens, just barely, and something shifts in the air between us. Fuck, I want him.

"You’re perfect." The words are quiet, almost reverent, and they catch me off guard. Coming from him, it doesn’t sound like empty flattery - it sounds like a fact.

Before I can respond, his mouth is on me, and all coherent thought evaporates. He starts at my collarbone, working his way down with slow, deliberate kisses that leave me trembling. His hands follow, tracing every curve, every dip, like he’s memorizing me.

When his lips finally brush over my nipple, I gasp, my back arching off the bed. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t hurry - he takes his time, teasing and torturing until I’m writhing beneath him, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

"Luca," I manage to choke out, but he just hums against my skin, the vibration sending a jolt straight to my core.

His mouth moves lower, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down my abdomen. His hands grip my hips, steadying me, as he settles between my thighs. He looks up at me, those ice-blue eyes dark with something raw and unchecked, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.

"I’ve never-" He hesitates, his voice low and rough. "I’ve never wanted to do this before."

The admission shocks me, but before I can process it, his mouth is on me, and all thought dissolves into sensation. His tongue teases at first, soft and slow, until I’m gasping and gripping the sheets. Then he loses all restraint, and I’m lost in the feel of him - his lips, his tongue, his hands gripping my thighs to hold me in place. He’s relentless, driving me higher and higher until I’m trembling on the edge, my breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

"Luca," I plead, my voice breaking. "Please."

He doesn’t stop - if anything, he doubles down, his lips and tongue working in perfect rhythm until I shatter, my body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me. He doesn’t let up, drawing out every last tremor until I’m boneless and panting, my heart racing like I’ve just run a marathon.

When he finally pulls back, he looks up at me, his lips glistening and his eyes dark with something I can’t quite place. He doesn’t say anything, just climbs up my body and captures my lips in a searing kiss. I taste myself on his tongue, and it’s intoxicating.

My hands move to the waistband of his sleep pants, but he catches them, pressing them back into the mattress. "No," he says, his voice firm but not unkind.

I blink up at him, my mind still foggy with pleasure. "But-"

He shakes his head, his expression unreadable. "Just…come here."

Before I can argue, he shifts onto his back and pulls me close. I can see his erection straining, but he doesn't say anything as he holds me, his hand smoothing down my back and his heartbeat steady.

And for the first time since I met him, I have no idea what to think.