Chapter 35
Ava
Luciano sat at the edge of the bed like he was preparing for war, not about to go down on me for the first time. Shirt off. Hair slightly messy from my hands. Lips swollen from kissing. Dick hard. But this man was still overthinking, like he was prepping for surgery instead of cunnilingus.
“I read that rhythmic pressure from the flat of the tongue combined with suction on the clit—”
“Luciano.”
His eyes snapped to mine, locked in and intense. Dark. Obsessed. It was messed up, but I got giddy sometimes when he looked at me like he couldn’t live without me. I was laid out across the bed like an offering—robe open, legs spread. My body was ready. Had been ready. But his brain was calculating like I was a calculus problem he needed to solve not a woman who needed to be touched.
“This isn’t a research paper,” I said gently, curling my fingers at him. “Get out of your head.”
He swallowed hard. “I just want to do it right.”
I tilted my head. “Then stop trying to be perfect. Be present.”
Still, he hesitated. So I sat up, reached for him, and pulled him between my legs. My voice dropped to a whisper. I felt like I would scare him away otherwise.
“Start with a kiss. A lick. Taste me. You don’t need instructions—just listen to me, watch my body. Make me feel good. You want to make me feel like I made you?”
It was his idea to return the favor. He offered first thing when we woke up. My words must haeflipped a switch in him.
Luciano lowered his head slowly, eyes locked on mine. He started at my neck, pressing kisses against my flesh. He kissed across my chest, sucked my right nipple between his lips, teeth grazing just enough to send a shock through my spine.
“God,” I whimpered.
He continued marking my body with his teeth, leaving a trail with his tongue until he dipped between my thighs. He kissed the inside of my right thigh first. Then the other. I hissed.
“Don’t tease me, baby. Eat.”
When his mouth met my pussy, he was cautious at first, poking with his tongue like he was testing the taste. I almost laughed, but he flicked his tongue and I moaned. Loud and honest. That sound sent him spiraling.
He licked me like a man who had something to prove, drawing slow, intentional circles on my clit. I could feel his mind mapping it all—the wetness, the tension, the way my thighs clenched filing it away.
“You like that?” he asked, voice muffled.
“Mmm, more pressure,” I breathed, hips rolling against his mouth. “Flatten your tongue.” He did “Right there. Faster.”
He adjusted immediately. Focused. Locked the fuck in. His mouth was so warm. And then his hands came up, firm on my thighs, holding me open. I liked the agression.
“I read that pressure builds faster when—”
“Luciano,” I yelled, tugging his hair. “Shut the fuck up and keep going.”
And he did. God, he did. He used everything—tongue, lips, pressure, rhythm—and once he found what made my voice catch, he mastered it.
My back bowed off the bed. I let go of his hair so I wouldn't snatch it out.My fingers twisted in the sheets. My whole body sang.
“Oh my God—”
“like that?” he asked, voice muffled, tongue still moving.
“Don’t stop,” I breathed. “Don’t even think about stopping.”
He slid one hand down, fingers teasing my pussy hole. When he pushed two inside, curling them as he caught my clit between his lips and tugged on it—
I lost it. My thighs clamped around his head. My hands flew to his hair, yanking. My back arched off the bed.
“I’m close—fuck, baby, right there—don’t stop!” Cream started flowing out of me too fast for him to catch. I could feel it running between my ass cheeks, wetting the bed. My Stomach clenched then my hole body warmed and spasmed.
Then— BANG BANG BANG. Three knocks. Hard. Fast. Interrupting the aftermath of my orgasm.
Luciano’s head lifted just barely. His mouth was soaked. His jaw tight. He looked like he wasn’t sure if he should be grabbing his gun or going back down on me.
BANG BANG BANG.
My chest was rising and falling, I breathless and felt shaky.
“You finish?” he asked, hand already reaching for the pistol on the dresser.
I nodded. “Yes.”
BANG BANG BANG.
Whoever it was really wanted to speak to one of us.
“Fuck,” he muttered. He stood, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but didn’t look away.
“Go answer the door. It could be important.”
Luciano grabbed his gun off the nightstand, checking the magazine, his trigger finger tapping the trigger. He left the room without a look back.
I stayed there for a second—spread out, flushed, legs still twitching. Trying to catch my breath. When I composed myself, I yanked the robe closed, tied it tight, and followed him downstairs barefoot. Didn’t even bother wiping between my thighs. I could still feel him on me.
The second I reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard Saint.
“The Russos… killed a bunch of our men.”
My body went still. The front door was only cracked open wide enough to speak through. I could see his jaw was tight as hell. Saint stood just outside, hoodie damp, covering half his face.
Luciano didn’t speak.
“Hit two spots at once,” Saint continued. “Warehouse on Ninth. One of the safehouses in Oak Creek. Five dead, maybe more…”
Luciano opened the door wider. “How long ago?”
“Hour and a half, maybe less. I came straight from the scene. Your father said come home now.”
Luciano’s shoulders dropped, then he just nodded once.