Chapter 26 #2
I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “That was a mistake, Luca.”
He let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “Right. A mistake.” He stepped closer, voice low and sharp. “Funny how you moaned into my mouth like it wasn’t. Like you wanted more. Like you were starving.”
I stilled.
What the hell?
Was he drunk?
No, his eyes were clear, his voice steady. He wasn’t slurring. He wasn’t stumbling.
He was dead sober.
Which made it worse.
So why the hell was he saying all of this?
Heat spiked through me like wildfire, pooling low in my belly, between my legs.
I shifted slightly on my feet, pressing my thighs together in a feeble attempt to steady myself.
Luca noticed, and for a second, I braced for his usual smirk. But it didn’t come.
He looked…aroused. And furious.
That was his cue to leave.
“Please, go home, Luca.” I brushed past him, heading for the kitchen, hoping he’d take the hint that I was done with this conversation.
I went straight to the fridge and poured myself a glass of ice-cold water, despite it being cold out tonight. But the chill did nothing. If anything, it made the heat inside me worse.
“I’m sick of this facade,” he said from behind me, his voice steeped in frustration.
“I’m tired of you walking around like you’ve got it all under control, when all I’ve done the past four days is think about that kiss.
About your mouth. About tasting you again.
About burying myself deep inside you and hearing you scream my name while you come all over my—”
“Luca!” I gasped, hand trembling around the glass. “Just because I have it together doesn’t mean you should get mad at me for not being able to control your—”
“My what?” he cut in, eyes flashing.
God help me, my gaze dropped instinctively to the bulge in his pants—huge, unmistakable, and completely inappropriate.
I swallowed hard. My nipples peaked instantly, and I silently thanked the coat I hadn’t taken off.
“You need to go,” I said, voice breathless.
“Sure. I will. Once you admit it.” His tone dropped. “Admit that you’re lying, that you’ve thought about this weekend. About me. About me fucking you.”
Jesus. He really came armed tonight.
He wasn’t being subtle anymore—he was being raw. Unfiltered. And fuck if that didn’t make everything inside me light up like a match to gasoline.
“Luca, please—”
In a single stride, he was in front of me, towering over me in the narrow kitchen. The counter pressed against my lower back.
“Tell me, Leila.”
“Luca—”
“Say it.”
“I haven’t—” I tried to steady myself, to lift my chin in defiance. But my body betrayed me. My voice faltered. My gaze dropped, first to his mouth, then to the space between us that suddenly felt nonexistent.
When I looked back up, mischief flickered in his eyes, but behind it, something dangerous.
He smirked. “Thought so.”
He took the glass from my hand and set it aside. And then his mouth crashed into mine.
The kiss was hungry. Wild. It devoured every inch of restraint I had left, tore through the last remnants of my logic, and left me spiraling.
There was nothing delicate about it. Nothing safe.
Only need—pure, blistering need—and the taste of him undoing every thread I’d held myself together with all week.
Luca lifted me effortlessly onto the kitchen counter, spreading my thighs wider with his knee until the hard line of his erection pressed against my core. One hand gripped the back of my thigh, hitching it higher, the other anchoring my hip as he ground into me.
I moved against him shamelessly, desperate for friction. A low growl rumbled from his chest. But I didn’t stop.
His fingers fisted in my hair, yanking me still as his mouth claimed my throat in rough, open-mouthed kisses.
He shoved my coat aside, lips trailing lower until they found my chest. Then he latched onto one nipple through the thin fabric of my dress, and I moaned—soft at first, but louder as he bit down.
He pulled me closer to the edge of the counter, spreading my legs further until his hand slipped between them. My breath hitched when his fingers brushed my clit through my soaked panties.
“Is this you having it together, Leila?” he growled, pushing the damp fabric aside. His fingers stroked my clit with infuriating slowness.
I trembled beneath his touch, my body already quaking with the need to feel him inside of me. “Luca…Ollie could walk in,” I whispered through a moan.
“Then you better stay quiet.”
I was throbbing now, so turned on I couldn’t see straight. It had been far too long since Luca touched me like this. Too long since anyone had. I’d forgotten how utterly consuming it felt.
Luca lowered his head to my breast just as he slid a finger into my soaked folds.
A strangled scream climbed my throat, and I slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle it, clutching his hair with my other hand so tightly it must’ve hurt. But he didn’t flinch.
“You’re so fucking tight, Leila,” he growled, lifting his head to watch me. His eyes were molten, fixed on my face as he pumped his fingers in and out. When he added a second finger, I felt my eyes roll back, my head falling loosely until he caught it with his other hand.
“I want to watch you come for me,” he said, his voice low and commanding.
He was knuckles deep inside of me now, the wet sounds of his fingers moving inside me filled the air, raw and desperate, driving my arousal.
I rocked against him shamelessly, crying out into my palm, my thighs quaking as I chased the release that had been buried for five years.
Luca smirked, his eyes dark with hunger. “That’s my girl.”
The orgasm built fast, a surge crashing through me, ready to break. I was right there—right on the edge—when…
My hand knocked over a glass on the counter. It shattered against the floor.
My eyes flew open. The sharp sound pierced the haze and brought me back to reality with brutal clarity.
Ollie. He was upstairs.
And even if the sound hadn’t woken him, something else slammed into me harder: the truth.
I looked at Luca, chest rising and falling, breathless, but not from pleasure anymore. Guilt clawed at my throat, raw and sudden.
Forty-eight hours. That’s all that stood between Luca and his wedding.
My eyes burned. I blinked, once, twice, trying to keep the tears that threatened to pool from my eyes. His expression shifted, softened—the cocky smirk gone, replaced with something almost tender. Wary. Maybe even regretful.
He slowly pulled his fingers out of me, and I slid off the counter, adjusting my coat and smoothing my dress with shaky hands.
“Leila—”
“Please,” I cut in, voice trembling. “Just stop.”
I turned away from him, dabbing at the corners of my eyes, trying not to break in front of him.
“I know I’ve said this too many times,” I whispered, swallowing hard, “but this really has to stop.”
I took a breath, but it was shaky.
“You’re getting married, Luca. We—” my voice faltered, “we can’t keep doing this.”
He scoffed. “What are you now, my personal alarm? You never miss a chance to remind me of this wedding.”
“I don’t have to remind you, Luca. You should know. And you shouldn’t be here.”
He gave a short nod, and for a split second, I saw the hurt flash across his features. “Yeah. See you at the welcome soirée tomorrow, then.”
He turned, grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, and strode out of the house without looking back, leaving the scent of his cologne and the weight of everything behind him.
And I palmed my face, unable to stop the tears that fell freely from my cheeks.