Chapter 12 Luca
Luca
She looks dead on her feet when she pulls open the door to her flat.
“Luca.” Her eyebrows pull together. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” I admit, looking her over. Her face is pale and she’s holding her frame gingerly, leaning to the right, as if protecting herself. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she murmurs, holding the door open wider.
I step over the threshold and note the bags of frozen fruits and vegetables on her coffee table. A mug of tea, a plate of half-eaten toast. Carla’s hurt.
I whirl toward her. “What happened?”
“It’s not a big deal; I’m fine,” she forces out. “?Qué pasa? How was your game?”
“We won. Three to two. I just got back to town,” I say. My jaw tightens as I note the way she leans to one side. She walks toward the couch slowly and I know she’s fighting against the pain. As she sits down, she winces.
Fuck.
“Did you take anything for the pain?” I keep my voice low. If I don’t, I’ll fucking lose it. What the hell happened?
“Paracetamol.”
“This from the guys you play with? They rough you up?”
Carla sighs and closes her eyes for a long beat. “No, they would never do that.”
“Carla.”
“If I tell you, will you let it go? I don’t want or need you to run interference for me.”
I scowl, hating what she’s asking of me. Basically, to hear her out and then do fucking nothing about it. “Fine.”
“The boys’ coach at Santa Isabel—”
“Sergio.”
“You know him?” Her eyes widen in surprise.
I know he’s a piece of shit who thinks he’s better than others.
álvaro never liked him. He’s always talked down to álvaro, thinking he’s beneath him because he’s a maintenance man.
He has no idea that a stronzo like him doesn’t hold a candle to a legend like álvaro. “I know him. He did this to you?”
I’m going to wring his fucking neck.
“He’s been…challenging to work with. Undermines me every chance he gets, keeps stealing my time on the field. He did it again today and in a fake show to be amicable, suggested that the girls play the boys in a friendly. That way, we could both use the field.”
I sigh, averting my gaze. I know where this is going.
“The girls played hard. They felt like they had something to prove. We were tied at the half and then, we took the lead. Sergio felt threatened. He suggested the coaches jump in. There were only twelve minutes left and the girls asked me to say yes…”
“He got rough with you? Put his fucking hands on you?” My voice is deceptively quiet. Controlled. But my anger mounts, causing my nostrils to flare as I stare at Carla.
“Yes,” she whispers. “One of his players pulled me up and I finished the game. We won.” She attempts a smile.
But I don’t buy it. I gesture toward the hem of her shirt. “Let me see it.”
“What?”
“Let me see your injury.”
“It’s nothing; there’s nothing to see.”
“Carla, por favor, don’t bullshit me. I know you’re hurting. Let me help you.”
“Luca,” she says, almost breathless. “I don’t need you to take care of me. I’m fine. I can handle this.”
I swear and shake my head, my patience slipping.
“Why are you here? What’s wrong?”
I pace in front of her coffee table. “I need to ask you for a favor. I need your help.”
“Okay. Anything.”
“Stop agreeing without knowing what I’m going to ask you,” I snap.
“But I’d do anything to help you.”
I freeze. Stare at her. Feel her words pluck at things in my chest, things that make me feel off-balance.
I close my eyes and tip my head back. “I feel the same way about you. Which is why I’m going out of my fucking mind not knowing how hurt you are.
” I glance at the hem of her shirt again, feeling my jaw tighten with concern. “Please, Carla.”
Sighing, she nods, before gingerly working her shirt up her frame.
I’m right there, helping her pull it over her head, before I drop to my knees in front of her.
Wedging my frame between her thighs, I lean closer, inspecting the nasty bruise.
It’s blooming along the side of her body, a deep purplish blue that disappears beneath her sports bra.
The edges are swollen, outlining the bruise in a pinkish red color.
“Fuck,” I mutter. My fingertips trace over her discolored skin and horror washes over me. “Carla.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not fucking okay. I’m going to—”
“You promised.”
“I don’t care.”
She snorts and shakes her head. Placing her hand over mine, she says, “I promise, I can handle this.”
“I know you can, but you shouldn’t have to,” I admit, my voice breaking. “No one should treat you like this. On purpose. Intentionally.” I shake my head, dragging my fingers over her skin again.
She shivers from my touch and I note the goose bumps that ripple over the surface of her skin.
“Cucciola,” I murmur, unable to tear my eyes away from her taut abdomen, the delicious curve of her hip, the smooth skin of her frame. God, she’s tempting. And after the hellish week I’ve had, my patience is long gone.
Her breathing hitches but she doesn’t move an inch.
I continue my assessment of her bruise, my fingers exploring now. My touch feathers out over her bruise, across her stomach, around her hip. Her hips twitch, practically imperceptibly, but I note it.
The air around us tightens, charged with anticipation. Need. Release.
Control.
Part of me wants to jump to my feet, grab my bike, and ride. Get the hell out of the city and let the cool wind whip some sense into my mind. But the other part of me…
My mouth arcs over her body. My movements are slow, giving Carla plenty of time to put a stop to this.
She drags her fingers through my curls instead and I close my eyes at her touch.
Then, my mouth brushes over her injury. I drag my mouth up her bruise, pressing kisses to every part of pain that asshole caused her.
She sucks in another breath, her hand fisting in my hair. Her nails scratch the back of my head and I shudder. The moment is so fucking tender, it causes emotion to swell right along with my physical desire.
In this moment, I want Carla García more than oxygen. More than all my fucked-up excuses. More than anything.
“Luca,” she moans as I shift up her frame. I drag my body up, dropping one knee to the outside of her thigh and half kneeling on the couch.
Hovering over her, I gaze into her eyes, making sure she wants this as much as I’m fucking craving it. “Tell me to stop.”
She shakes her head. Holding my gaze, she reaches up and grasps the chain around my neck. A crucifix hangs from the gold chain and her fingers wrap around it, tugging me closer.
I move over her. She lifts her face. And then, my mouth is on hers.
I kiss her softly. Once, twice. Then, her lips part and she invites me in. My tongue slips inside her mouth, meeting with hers, and I moan.
Fuck, she’s sweet. Perfect. Everything.
Carla angles her neck and I cup her cheek, my palm holding her face. My fingertips slip into her hair as I deepen our kiss. Our kiss turns needy, desperate.
She winces and I swear.
“Your bruise,” I bite out.
“Turn me,” she orders.
I frown before understanding dawns. I drop onto the couch and gently help her shift her weight until she’s straddling me. She lopes one arm over my shoulder, keeping her other arm at her side, as she grins at me. Her eyes are bright, flickering with heat and want and amusement.
My palms splay wide on the tops of her thighs, her skin hot beneath my touch.
She rolls her lips together once before leaning into me, capturing my mouth, and kissing me with abandon.
It’s delicious and intense and the release I crave.
I turn off my head, stop overthinking, and let myself savor this moment. I give myself up to Carla and everything she’s offering, everything she’s taking, and it’s better than I could have imagined.
It’s a fucking game changer.