His Ruthless Claim (Devils in Armani Suits #2)

23. Luca

23

LUCA

M y heart constricts at his confession. The raw emptiness in those ice-blue eyes hits differently now - not the mark of a monster, but a little boy who watched his world shatter. I reach for him without thinking.

His grip locks around my wrist, stopping me. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Look at me like that." His jaw clenches. "I don't need pity."

"It's not pity." I twist my wrist free and cup his face between my palms. "It's understanding. I am so sorry you had to go through that."

His jaw works. "It was a long time ago."

I lean farther into him. "That doesn't make it hurt any less." My voice gentles. "Now, I see why you wanted to protect me so bad."

For a heartbeat, he stays rigid. Then his control fractures. He yanks me into his lap, burying his face in my neck. His arms band around me like steel cables, holding me so tight it almost hurts.

"I won't let anything happen to you." His words ghost across my skin. "I'll burn this whole fucking city down before I let anyone touch you."

The possessive edge in his voice makes me shiver. This is Luca's version of devotion - not flowers and sweet words, but the promise of violence in my name. His hands slide up my back, pressing me closer.

"I know what loss does to people." His teeth graze my pulse point. "What it makes them become. But you..." He inhales deeply. "You make me want things I shouldn't."

I thread my fingers through his dark hair, drawing his head back so I can see his face. Those empty eyes burn into mine with an intensity that steals my breath.

I kiss him slowly, deeply, pouring everything I can't say into the press of my lips against his. He responds instantly, one hand fisting in my hair while the other grips my hip. There's desperation in the way he kisses me back, like he's trying to crawl inside my skin.

His breathing is ragged as I work his shirt buttons free, my hands unsteady but determined. I need him close, need to feel him in a way that goes beyond words. His hands follow mine, undoing the clasp of my dress with a precision that makes my stomach flip. The fabric pools at my waist, and I rise slightly to let it fall completely, leaving me bare to him. Unfortunately - or maybe it worked out in my favor - I couldn't afford the lines in the dress. His gaze burns, tracing every inch of me like he’s memorizing it.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he mutters, his voice rough, like it’s been dragged over gravel. His fingers skim my ribs, his touch reverent yet possessive. I shiver, his words and hands lighting me up in ways I didn’t know I could feel.

"You’re not so bad yourself," I tease, though my voice catches when I reach for his belt. His hands grip my hips, holding me still as I undo it, the leather sliding free with a soft hiss.

He shifts beneath me, letting me push his pants down just enough. My breath hitches when I see him - hard, thick, huge - and I glance up to meet his ice-blue eyes. They’re dark now, almost black with desire, but there’s something else there too, something vulnerable that he’s trying to hide.

“You sure?” His voice is low, strained, like he’s holding himself back by a thread.

“I’m sure.” I don’t hesitate. I lift myself slightly, positioning him at my entrance, and sink down slowly. He’s so big, it’s almost too much, and I have to pause, my body stretching to accommodate him. His hands tighten on my hips, his knuckles white as he holds himself perfectly still.

“Fuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Take your time.”

“I’m good,” I breathe, sinking the rest of the way down until I’m seated fully on him. The sensation is overwhelming - hot, intense, like he’s everywhere at once. I don’t move for a moment, letting us both adjust, feeling the way his body trembles beneath me, the way he’s holding back, even now.

When I finally start to move, his hands slide up to my waist, guiding me, his thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts. It’s slow at first, almost teasing, but it doesn’t take long for the rhythm to build, for the heat to coil tighter in my stomach. His eyes never leave mine, and the intensity in them makes my chest ache.

“You feel...” he starts, but his voice breaks, and he shakes his head, like words aren’t enough. His hands slide up my back, pulling me closer until my chest is pressed against his. “You feel like nothing I’ve ever known.”

I kiss him then, hard and desperate, my hands tangling in his hair. He kisses me back like he’s drowning in me, his body moving in time with mine, each thrust deeper, harder, until I’m gasping against his mouth.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice low and rough, almost a snarl. “Say it.”

“Yours,” I whisper, my voice breaking as he fills me completely. His hands grip me tighter, his movements becoming more urgent, more possessive, like he’s trying to brand himself into me.

When I come, it’s shattering, my body convulsing around him, my nails digging into his shoulders. He follows me with a groan, his hands pulling me impossibly close as he spills into me. But I can see in his eyes it's not enough, and I'm grateful. I need more of him.

His arms lock around me as he stands, lifting me like I weigh nothing. His chest is still heaving, his skin damp with sweat, but he doesn’t falter. I thread my fingers through his hair, pressing my forehead against his as he carries me down the hall to his bedroom. His steps are deliberate, each one echoing in the quiet house, and I can feel the tension in his muscles, the way he’s holding me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.

The door creaks open, and he sets me down gently on the edge of the bed. His hands slide down my arms, his touch impossibly soft, like he’s afraid he’ll break me. I reach for him, pulling him close, and he kneels between my legs, his hands resting on my thighs. His eyes are dark, still clouded with whatever he’s feeling, but there’s something else there too - something vulnerable, almost tender.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice rough as he leans in, his lips brushing against mine. “Every inch of you. I can’t get enough.”

I shiver at his words, at the way his hands skim up my sides, his touch reverent but possessive. I run my hands over his bare chest, tracing the scars and the hard lines of muscle. He’s perfect, in every way, and I can’t help but lean in, pressing my lips to his skin.

His hands grip my hips, pulling me closer, and I can feel the heat of him, the way he’s already hard again. He kisses me slowly, deeply, like he’s savoring every second. His hands slide down my body, lifting me slightly as he positions himself between my legs. I gasp when he enters me, the stretch from this angle even more intense, but he holds still, his forehead pressed against mine.

“You feel so good,” he whispers, his voice strained like it’s taking everything in him not to lose control. “So fucking tight for me.”

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and he finally starts to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate. My hands grip his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin as he fills me completely, each stroke deeper than the last. His lips find my neck, his teeth grazing my skin, and I moan, my body arching into his.

“You’re mine,” he growls against my skin, his hands gripping my hips tighter as he speeds up. “Say it.”

“Yours,” I whisper, my voice cracking as the pleasure builds, coiling tighter and tighter in my stomach. His thrusts become more urgent, more possessive, and I can feel him everywhere, inside me, around me, like he’s trying to claim every part of me.

When I come, it’s like a wave crashing over me, my body convulsing around him, and he follows me again with a groan, his hands gripping me so tight it almost hurts. He collapses on top of me, his breathing ragged, and we stay like that for a while, tangled together, his heartbeat thundering against my chest.

Eventually, he rolls us over, pulling me against his side, his arm draped over my waist. The silence between us is heavy, filled with everything we’re not saying. I know things with the Cappallettis are about to get more intense, and the weight of it hangs in the air, unspoken but felt.

He presses a kiss to my forehead, his hand sliding up to cup my face. “I’m not losing you,” he says, his voice low and fierce. “Not to them. Not to anyone.”

I nod, my throat tight, and he pulls me closer, his arms wrapping around me like he’s trying to shield me from the world. We don’t say anything else - we don’t need to. The way he holds me, the way his body curls around mine, says it all. Tonight, we’re safe. Tonight, we’re each other’s.

But outside these walls, the storm is brewing.