45. Luca
Chapter forty-five
Luca
I love a woman who can eat.
Sure, food is fuel, but I’m also a firm believer that it can be fuel for your soul and not just your body. That’s something my mom always ingrained into us as kids, so it’s nice to see a woman who can enjoy her meals instead of eating nothing but a sad bowl of lettuce.
And that’s another thing that gets me. Salads can be fucking delicious if they’ve got the right components. They don’t have to be sad, but I’ve dated so many women who thought they needed to eat a certain way to be desirable, and it was always a turn-off for me. I realize it isn’t their fault that they hold those beliefs.
They were taught these things from a young age, and the media just reinforced it, which is total shit, but someone has got to break that cycle. This means that this is one of many conversations Cici and I will have to have the older Gia gets. I refuse to let my daughter grow up thinking she’s anything less than beautiful, strong, and capable beyond imagination just because her mother thinks those things about herself. Hell, I hope Cici can move past those beliefs for herself too.
As we sit in comfortable silence, I find myself caught on the question Samara had asked earlier.
It’s hard not to wonder whether or not she wants kids too. Or even a kid. But I know children and fertility can be a difficult subject for some, and the way she tried to backtrack after she asked has me pushing my own questions to the sidelines.
“Alright, Samara, if we’re going to be fake boyfriend and girlfriend, I’ve gotta know all there is to know about you.” It’s the perfect way to find out more about her without having to deal with her inevitable reluctance. She has a lot riding on making this believable, though I don’t think there’ll be any problems on my end. I already find myself wanting to be around her when I know I shouldn’t because she’s not reciprocating those feelings.
She swallows her bite of burger and wipes her mouth before repositioning her body on the couch to face me more easily. “What do you wanna know?”
“Everything,” I tell her without hesitation.
She rolls her eyes at me, but a small smile graces her lips, and warmth spreads in my gut. “I need specific questions, Luca.” She smirks. Those full, plump lips are going to be the death of me someday.
“What kind of hobbies do you enjoy?” I ask, starting off in easy territory.
“I read a lot in any free time I’ve got, and I enjoy sewing and cross-stitching.”
“Where’d you learn to sew?” I ask, genuine curiosity wrapped around my vocal cords, begging me to keep her talking about anything and everything. For some reason, I have a difficult time picturing Samara performing something so seemingly domestic. She carries herself with an energy that I’d always believed translated to a woman who’d rather work and be out of the house than in it.
“My mom is a seamstress. When she first moved to the US, she was a teenager and worked anywhere she was hired. One of those jobs was as a seamstress in a small dry-cleaning shop. When she and my dad met, they bonded over their desire to start their own businesses.”
I nod my understanding, hoping she’ll continue without me having to beg her. I breathe out a small sigh when she starts speaking again. “So eventually, my dad opened up the restaurant he and my sister now run together, and Mom was able to get enough work on her own to open her little shop in their apartment. She taught my sister and me growing up, but Vea was better at cooking, so she took more to that with my dad.” It’s clear in every word she speaks how proud she is of her family.
“Where’s your mom from?” I ask.
“My mom is originally from the Dominican Republic, and my sister was born in Jamaica. My parents had moved there for a while when Mom was pregnant with Vea. They wanted the support from my grandparents since they were first-time parents but moved back here before having me.” The fact that she elaborated without me having to ask feels like a major win, but I guess everything she’s said has just been for the benefit of our now blossoming, fake relationship. At least, I hope it’s blossoming.
“And do you just have the one sister?”
“Yep, but a few of my mom’s siblings moved here after her, so I grew up with a lot of cousins nearby. This can’t be one-sided though. Tell me about your hobbies outside of hockey,” she urges, clearly done with talking about herself for the moment.
“Well, as you’ve seen, I ballroom dance.” I smile when she rolls her eyes at me. I wonder if she’s thinking back to that first dance class before she knew about my family’s history with ballroom dancing. “And I kickbox, and um”—I cough—“bake.”
Her eyes light up. “You bake?” she asks, her mind getting caught on the hobby that’s arguably the least likely to be a panty melter.
I nod, unwilling to give up any more detail than that.
Her mouth hangs open until she snaps it shut. A playful grin spreads across her face as she leans into me, her lips brushing against my ear the same way I’ve done to her time and time again, always aiming to rile her up. And when her breath skitters across my skin, my balls tighten with every word she speaks. “So Luca…” Is it hot in here? I have to resist the urge to wipe at the sheen of sweat now coating my forehead as heat burns through me.
“Yes, princess?” I ask, feeling out of breath with her this close to me. My tongue darts out to wet my dry lips.
“Do you…” she says before trailing the tip of her nose down my jaw, agonizingly slow. Fuck, that’s hot.
“Know the muffin man?” she asks, leaning away from me before bursting into a fit of laughter. My mind feels like a fog has settled over my brain as I try to dissect her words, but I keep getting caught up in how goddamn gorgeous she looks when she’s laughing. It takes a moment for my mind to catch up past my lust-induced haze, and when it does, laughter rips through me.
My smile is the size of Texas when I finally meet her eyes. “So, the tough-as-nails lawyer does have a sense of humor, huh?”
Over the next half hour, my heart rate calms down, but my feelings for Samara start to morph into something entirely different from the arousal I’m used to feeling around her. I rattle off just about every question I can think of, but my mind keeps on snagging, and with each answer she freely gives me, my confidence builds until I can’t hold it in any longer.
Especially not after she’s finally warmed up to me.
“So what you said about not wanting to go on this vacation,” I say, clearing my throat. “I gathered that maybe…”
She rolls her eyes at me, but she’s wearing a grin, so I don’t think she’s annoyed. “Maybe what, Luca?” she asks with a smirk, tilting her head to the side and taking another sip of her Coke.
“Maybe you’ve felt like you don’t live up to their expectation of you no matter how hard you try?” I ask, my voice soft.
Her expression twists, and she turns her face away from me, her throat working on a swallow. I scoot closer to her, wrapping my arms around her on instinct. When she doesn’t pull away, I collect her warm body into my arms and settle her in my lap.
Apparently, we’re being fucking bold tonight, huh?
A tear slips down her cheek and over her clenched lips. I swipe it away with the pad of my thumb; my heart feeling strangled in my chest.
“I ask because I feel the same way.” I clear my throat again, trying to dislodge the massive lump settling there. “A lot, actually. I think I do it to myself, really. Ever since I was little, I wanted to be as good as my brothers were at everything, and when I’d struggle, I’d beat myself up about it.”
“Luca, I think we all feel that way. At least some of the time,” she tells me. Her voice is the most gentle I’ve ever heard it.
I nod because, clearly, she doesn’t want to get into any more deep conversations with me tonight.
I’m just her fake boyfriend. So, of course, she doesn’t.
Samara scooches off my lap, and the loss of her in my arms has a chill settling over my skin.
She sits closer to me than she had been before, though, and reaches over to the coffee table, grabbing her soda and taking a sip before setting it back down.
She’s got a little dribble of it on the corner of her lip. Leaning across her, I wipe it with my thumb, not even thinking about the possible repercussions until her body has gone still, and her sharp intake of breath has my cock twitching. I bring the droplet to my mouth and suck, keeping my lips just inches from hers, reveling in the way her warm breath comes more quickly the longer we make eye contact.
“I don’t remember Coke tasting this sweet,” I say, low and slow. “It must be you .”
“Luca,” she scoffs, but the way she’s dragging the word out sounds more like a moan. My name sounds so good on her lips.
“Yes, princess?”
“It’s literally all sugar.” She pulls away from me, rolling her eyes and slipping back into what I’ve come to know is her usual defense tactic, but I don’t miss the way her chest heaves. Satisfaction ripples through me each time I’ve caught even just a glimpse of what’s hiding beneath her meticulously manicured surface.
“Maybe so, but I bet you’re sweeter.” I chuckle, raking my eyes over her deliberately. “You’re still wearing my jersey,” I observe.
“I’ve had no reason to change since getting here,” she says, defiance thick in her tone.
I dip my head, loving that I don’t have to strain my neck to coast my lips over the shell of her ear. She’s so tall, and so damn perfect. “I could dirty you up and give you a reason,” I tell her, a little too curious to find out just how far I can take this before she knees me in the nuts. “Though I have to say, it looks better on you than it does me.”
She sucks in an audible breath, turning her face to mine. I watch with enraptured interest as her pupils dilate, and out of the corner of my eye, I see her thighs clench together.
“Oh, hell,” she says before finally running her hands up my chest, gripping my shirt in her fingers, and dragging me into her for a mind-numbing kiss.
The moment her lips are on mine, it’s all fire and ice, and I fucking love it when she finally lets go of some of that perfectly curated control.
My lips move against hers, pleading for entrance as I swipe my tongue along the seam of her pillow-soft, plump lips. She refuses me at first but leans all the way back until she’s flat against the couch, dragging me over top of her.
I run my hands up her thighs, pulling them apart so I can sink between them. She hikes them up my back, locking her ankles behind me.
I can feel the heat from her core radiating off her body, and sparks erupt through each of my muscle fibers.
Her lips finally part for me, and I don’t hesitate. My tongue sweeps in, tangling with hers, before I gently nibble on her bottom lip.
A moan escapes her, and I wish I could bottle it up and save it for later. She sounds so sweet when she’s needy like this.
I work a hand under the jersey and shirt underneath, wiggling my fingers under the lacy fabric of her bra until I’ve got her nipple pebbled in my grasp. Trailing kisses down her neck as I rub and pull on the sensitive skin at my fingertips, her back arches into me.
“Samara,” I rumble against the base of her neck, her fingers curl into my hair, tugging firmly.
“Yes?” she moans as I drag my tongue up the length of her throat.
“Do I get to have my dessert now?” I ask, nipping my way down her chest before placing open-mouth kisses on her stomach.
“That depends on what you want for dessert,” she gasps out as I squeeze her nipple tightly while biting the skin just above the button of her jeans.
I move down farther, kneeling beside the couch and dragging my nose up the seam of her jeans, hovering my mouth over her cunt. “I think you know exactly what I want for dessert, principessa .”
“It should be illegal to pull out the Italian at a time like this, but I’ll allow it,” she jokes, her voice husky as she lifts her ass up and unbuttons her jeans.
“Thank fuck.” I groan as I pull them down along with her black lace thong, removing them both as gently as my trembling fingers will allow. I want this woman desperately.
“God, you’re so pretty like this. I can’t wait to taste this sweet pussy,” I tell her, leaning over to flick on the lamp. Her hands immediately grab for a throw pillow, covering herself up as quickly as the light turned on.
“Lights off,” she says adamantly, and my stomach drops to my toes. This resilient, courageous, confident woman is being reduced to covering her body because she’s afraid I’ll think something’s wrong with it. This is precisely what I meant about social media.
“Samara.” I say her name firmly, being sure to look her straight in those gorgeous brown eyes. “If you want to come, I’m keeping this light on. I want to see every inch of you as you fall apart on my tongue. Do you understand?”
She tries to sit up straighter, a familiar expression of defiance hardening her features. “This may come as a surprise to you, Luca, but I’m not a model like the other women you’ve been with. I don’t look like them, and I’m sorry if me not wanting to see the look on your face when you see my tummy offends your delicate sensibilities ,”she scoffs, refusing to make eye contact with me now, but I hear the vulnerability behind her words.
The only model I’ve even been with was Cecily, but now probably isn’t the best time to bring that up.
I grip her chin gently, dragging her eyes back to mine. “If you don’t want this to go any further, that’s entirely up to you. I’ll stop right now.” God, I really hope she doesn’t want to stop. “But if you think for a single second that there’s any piece of your body I wouldn’t gladly devour, you’re not as intelligent as I’d thought.”
She tries to interrupt me, but I stick my index and middle fingers in her mouth and watch as her eyes widen, but when she instinctually sucks on them, I know I’m fucking done for. I hold her gaze as I speak my next words. “Size doesn’t matter to me, Samara. I don’t discriminate. You’re gorgeous, and if you’d just shut the hell up, I could have you using that mouth for good instead of all the bitching you’re choosing to do.”
“Luca, I swear to god, if I weren’t so turned on right now, I’d slap you,” she grits out once I’ve removed my fingers from her mouth.
“Do it.” I chuckle. “Chances are, I’ll like it.” I smirk, lowering my face between her legs as I pull that fucking pillow off her.