Chapter 3 Luca
LUCA
Icome to apologize for earlier.
That's the lie I tell myself walking down the hall. That I'm being considerate. Checking on her. Making sure she's settled in.
Then I hear my name.
Not called. Not spoken.
Moaned.
Through her door, breathy and desperate: "Luca."
My hand freezes on the doorknob. Every muscle in my body locks, blood rushing south so fast I actually get lightheaded.
I should walk away. Should give her privacy.
Instead, I open the door.
And find Belle Donovan spread across silk sheets, dress bunched at her waist, hand buried between her thighs, coming apart to the sound of my name.
Sweet fucking Christ.
I step into her doorway just as she falls apart under her own hand to the gasp of my name.
She lies on her bed with her hand between her thighs, her dress indecently high.
When she turns to stare right at me in shock, it's like I've caught a little thief in the act.
Time does that thing it does before violence, stretches like taffy, every detail carved in crystal.
Her eyes, wide with horror and something else. Something darker.
Her hand, still glistening, frozen between her thighs.
Her chest, rising and falling like she's run miles.
The scent of her arousal, sweet and thick in the air.
I've had men at gunpoint with steadier hands than mine right now.
I've buried bodies with less ceremony than the way I'm memorizing every inch of her exposed skin.
Five years since Elena died. Five years of nothing but transactions and distractions.
And now this slip of a girl has me harder than I've been since I was seventeen.
Just the sight of her is a sucker-punch straight to my cock.
I haven't felt this way since Elena died.
Belle's eyes are wide with horror, and her hand slowly moves from where it is, buried in wet heat I can almost feel from across the room.
"Shit," she whispers.
The smart move: apologize, leave, pretend this never happened.
The right move: give her space to recover her dignity.
What I do: "Don't stop on my account."
Her hand jerks away like she's touched fire. "I wasn't—this isn't—"
"You weren't fucking yourself to thoughts of me?" I lean against the door, drinking in the view. "Because I distinctly heard my name."
She scrambles to pull her dress down, cheeks flaming.
The modesty is pointless—I've already seen everything. Memorized it. Will be replaying it for years.
"Get out." But her voice lacks conviction, breathless and thin.
"No." Simple. Final. "Not when you're looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're deciding whether to run from the wolf or let him eat you."
A slow, dangerous smile spreads across my face.
"You were thinking of me, weren't you?"
She yanks her hand away like she's been burned, scrambling to sit up and pull her dress down. "I—no—I was just—"
"I'm not a man who likes being lied to, Belle," I say softly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind me.
"Th…this isn't what it looked like," she stammers.
I cross the room with deliberate slowness, giving her every chance to tell me to stop.
She doesn't.
Her eyes track my movement—prey watching predator, knowing it's already too late to run.
The pulse in her throat hammers visible even from feet away. Her fingers clutch the sheets like they're the only things keeping her grounded.
But she doesn't tell me to leave.
I sit on the edge of her bed, the mattress dipping under my weight.
She doesn't scramble away. If anything, she leans imperceptibly closer, like gravity has shifted.
"Tell me what you were thinking about." My voice comes out rougher than intended. "When you had your fingers inside yourself. When you said my name."
She lifts her chin—defiant even now, even caught. "Why? Need material for your ego?"
Fuck, she has fight in her. My good girl has claws.
How'd my day get so lucky? From the moment I laid eyes on her in that too-tight sundress clinging to her ass, I knew I wanted her.
I reach out slowly, telegraphing the movement. Giving her time to pull away.
She holds still.
My thumb finds her jaw first, testing. Her skin is silk and fever, soft enough that I have to consciously gentle my touch.
I can span her throat with one hand. Could leave marks that would last days.
The thought makes my cock throb.
"Look at me."
Her eyes snap to mine, green as broken bottles, just as sharp.
But her pupils are blown wide, lips parted, breath coming in little pants that make her breasts rise and fall.
"You were thinking about me," I say. Not a question. "About what I'd do to you. How I'd make you feel."
She swallows, the movement delicate under my fingers. "Yes."
One word. One admission. It hits me like a bullet.
My control is razor-thin. I've been hard since I first laid eyes on her in my office, and catching her like this is testing every ounce of restraint I have.
I tilt my head, studying her. "I'm going to give you one chance to tell me to leave."
She swallows hard, then whispers, "Luca."
So, not a no.
I've spent years stacking bricks around my heart with mortar made of grief and rage.
After Elena's death, I don't let women close.
It's a fucking minefield for them, and for me.
But Belle Donovan? She's a wrecking ball wrapped in silk, cracking through every wall I swear no one would ever breach.
She leans in, nervous as hell but bold enough to tempt the beast.
And that's it.
My restraint snaps like a cheap lock.
I grab her, crush my mouth to hers, and kiss her like I'm starving.
She tastes like she's been waiting for this, mint and heat and something sweet that makes my head spin.
Like aged whiskey after five years sober. One taste and I know I'm fucked.
My brain lights up like neon, buzzing loud, and drowning out everything but her.
I fist my hand in her hair, dragging those silk strands through my fingers as I take her mouth deeper, harder.
She parts for me without hesitation, a needy little moan humming against my lips, and fuck if it doesn't go straight to my cock.
I shove her gently back onto the mattress, my lips still locked on hers.
She clutches at me like she's afraid I'll vanish, with her nails in my hair, then biting my neck, tracing my shoulders.
Every touch is gasoline, and I'm already burning.
"This doesn't make sense," she whispers against my mouth. "I don't even know you."
I trail kisses down her jaw, her neck, finding the pulse point that makes her arch against me.
"Yeah?" I tangle my fingers through her hair, using it to tilt her head back. "You want to stop?"
"No," she gasps as I suck where her neck meets her shoulder. "That's the crazy part."
I grin against her skin. "Crazy's good."
I sit back just enough to grab the hem of her dress, sliding it up and over her head.
And then I just stare, drinking her in.
Fuck me.
She's gorgeous with curves for days. Full breasts straining against a simple black bra. A waist I could span with my hands.
Hips made for gripping while I pound into her.
"You're staring," she says, trying to cover herself with her arms.
I catch her wrists, pinning them gently above her head. "Because you're fucking beautiful."
The blush that spreads down her neck to her chest is the sexiest thing I've ever seen.
So innocent, despite where we are, and what we're doing.
I let go of her wrists and trace a finger down her sternum, between her breasts, to her navel.
Her skin pebbles with goosebumps, trembling beneath my touch.
And then there's that shy little blush sliding down to her breasts… fuck.
She looks like she's never been touched, but her body's begging me like it already knows who owns it.
"I've been wanting to touch you since the moment I saw you," I admit. "Walking into my home like a breath of fresh air in that sundress."
"Not everyone looks good in black." She licks her lips, her eyes sliding down between my legs.
I groan and flick off the hooks of her bra, sliding it off her shoulders.
Her breasts spill free, perfect handfuls topped with rosy nipples that harden under my gaze.
"Beautiful," I murmur, lowering my head to take one peak into my mouth.
She arches off the bed with a cry that makes me moan.
I suck deep, dragging my tongue over her nipple, while one hand toys with the other breast like I've got all night to play.
Her hips rock against me. I slide my hand down her stomach, over the damp fabric of her panties.
"Look at you, dripping for me," I murmur, grinding my palm against her. "You gonna beg, Belle?"
She gasps and pushes down into my hand. "Luca… please."
"Polite little thing, aren't you?"
I hook her panties and drag them off. She's naked now, spread out like a fucking feast for the beast.
She leans forward, both eyes and lips parted like she shouldn't dare but can't help herself, and reaches for my buttons.
I fumble with them while she does a couple, and strip off my shirt.
I see her eyes, trailing down my tattoos, her throat bobbing as she takes in the sight of my scars.
"What happened?" She traces the worst one, right across my chest.
"I've lived," I tell her.
She nods like she understands, but the little beauty has no damn clue that my world could eat people up and swallow them whole without leaving a trace.
To survive that, a man's got to have fight.
I kick off my shoes, undo my belt. Her eyes follow every movement, hungry and a little scared.
"We can go slow," I promise, even though my body is screaming to take, claim, possess.
She nods, biting her lip. "I'd like that."
I leave my pants on, for now. I need to keep some fucking control, or I'll devour her whole.
I lower myself between her legs, pressing kisses to her inner thighs. She tenses, realizing what I'm about to do.
"Luca, you don't have to—"
"I want to." I look up at her, meeting her eyes. "I want to taste you. Will you let me?"
She hesitates, then nods, letting her thighs fall open wider.
I groan at the sight of her—pink, glistening, fucking perfect.
My tongue drags slow from bottom to top, savoring her taste. Sweet, tangy, addictive.
So, that's Belle.