Chapter 17 Carla
Carla
“Holy shit, Luca!” I swear as I come, again, before the futbolista between my thighs looks up and gives me the most satisfied grin I’ve ever seen.
But fuck if he didn’t earn it.
His curls are messy, but his eyes are clear and his lips gleam with…how fucking badly I want him.
“Get over here,” I demand, reaching for him.
He smacks my hand before gripping it, and moves up my body, settling over me.
“Spin me. I want on top.”
“Demanding, are you?”
I nod as he flips us. Once I’m astride him, I work his boxers down his thick thighs and nearly groan as his cock springs free. Dropping back to the tops of his thighs, I fist him and relish the sound of his moan as he tips his head back.
He arches his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing, as his eyes flutter closed.
He’s beautiful, dark curls, long lashes, a full mouth.
Luca DiBlanco could have been carved from marble.
He’s so damn classically Italian, sometimes I wonder if there is a painting of one of his ancestors in a museum somewhere.
But right now, he’s at my mercy, and a surge of power, of desire, of fucking giddiness rolls through me.
“I want to make you cry my name as many times as I shouted yours,” I admit in a low voice.
His eyes pop open and find mine. Melted chocolate. Eighty-five percent cacao. “Yeah?”
I nod, biting my bottom lip as I fist him tighter and slightly increase the pace with which I work him over.
His pupils dilate and his nostrils flare. “Then, you better get to work.”
Teasing. Playful. So different than the man he is to the world. And that knowledge—that I’m getting a version of him that no one else does—fills me with more happiness than I thought possible.
So, I get to work. I give him my best smirk before lowering my mouth and wrapping my lips around his hard cock. He twitches twice in my mouth as I take him deeper, moving lower, until he hits the back of my throat.
“Gesú, Carla,” he mutters, anguished. His hand finds my head, his fingers twisting through the strands, as he helps me set the pace he wants.
I hollow out my cheeks and flatten my tongue against him, moving at his preferred speed. Then, I mix it up, giving his head extra attention with the flick of my tongue, the graze of my teeth, a kiss. I watch as Luca’s eyes nearly roll back in his head.
It’s an addictive sensation, bringing a man like Luca DiBlanco to fruition. I lose track of time as I commit to making this the best oral experience he’s ever had. And when he swears my name and grips my hair, letting me know he’s close, I don’t release him.
Instead, I move faster, my other hand gripping his testicles, until he comes down my throat. Salty, sticky, messy. Delicious.
I release him with a pop, dragging the back of my hand over my mouth as he gapes at me.
“You didn’t have to—” he sputters.
“Wanted to,” I answer simply, rolling my lips together. “You’re better than churros con chocolate.”
He stares at me for a long moment before he tips his head back and laughs in disbelief. And I’m reminded of a moment long ago when I made him laugh like this—carefree, genuine, caught up in a moment. Just us.
“Get over here.” He reaches for my hand and tugs me over his frame.
I go willingly, lying on top of his naked body as he plays with my hair. Within minutes, I feel him stiffen to life. Again. And I hide my smile that he’s ready for round two.
I kiss his pec and lift my face to his. “Everything’s different with you, DiBlanco.”
“Yeah?” He twirls a strand of my hair around his index finger. Tugs it.
“Yeah.”
He gives me that half smile and shifts to sit up more, taking me with him. “Good.”
Then, he kisses me hard, plunging his tongue deep into my mouth so our unique tastes, wants, and needs blend together, before rolling me onto my back.
I reach into my bedside table for a condom, but Luca shakes his head. “I’ve got one.” He leaves my bed momentarily to dig into his shorts, retrieve his wallet, and pluck out a condom.
“Don’t trust me?” I tilt my head to the side.
“Oh, I trust you,” he admits. “But I don’t want to use the condoms you bought for some other chump.”
“I didn’t buy them for a man. I bought them for me.”
He snickers. “Well played, Carla.” He tears the condom open and I watch, rapt with attention, as he rolls it on. “But I like my brand.”
He positions himself at my entrance and looks at me. Our eyes hold and it’s a connection I never knew existed.
It’s more than trusting him with my body. It’s giving him my feelings and thoughts. A part of my soul.
And in his gaze, I see the same. The knowing, the understanding, the completeness. This is different; this is real.
Luca leans forward and brushes his mouth against mine. The kiss is slow and sensual and sexy. As he kisses me, he slowly pushes inside, inch by inch, giving me time to adjust to his impressive length.
I sigh as he bottoms out. I rest my head against my pillow, twist my arms behind his neck, and meet his eyes.
The solemnity staring back at me is as reassuring as it is unnerving.
Tipping my chin, I kiss him. And he begins to move inside me.
It’s steady, relentless, and beautiful. Not the desperate friction I’m used to but this languid build that keeps me teetering on edge.
Half of me savors each punishing thrust while the other half craves each sweet caress.
It’s a complete mind fuck that turns my body inside out and lasts longer than any sexual encounter I’ve ever enjoyed.
“Luca,” I cry out. “I-I can’t. I don’t…”
“You can, sweetheart. I got you. Let me take care of you.” His voice is tight but sure. Always so goddamn certain.
Closing my eyes, I give myself up to him. Mind, body, and soul.
He quickens his pace, gathering me close. And I shatter, my body breaking apart, fireworks exploding in my mind, and a smile crossing my lips.
Luca follows a moment later, spilling deep inside of me.
Then, he collapses on top of me before rolling so we’re side by side. We lay like that, sated and breathless and spent.
Minutes pass as we stare deep into each other’s eyes. I trace a constellation of beauty marks on his shoulder, my touch light. He drags the pads of his fingers up and down my thigh, languidly.
“I’ve never done anything like that before,” I admit. “I mean, it’s never felt so…soulful.”
His eyes are serious as he admits, “Me neither, Carla. You’re amazing.”
“I think that was mostly you,” I laugh. “I could hardly move at the end.”
“I loved every second of it, cucciola.” He leans closer to kiss me. “Thank you, sweetheart. For trusting me.”
“I’ve always trusted you.”
He smiles at that. Then, he kisses me again. “Let me clean up.”
I point him toward my bathroom, knowing he can find whatever he needs to sort himself out. But he comes back a moment later with a washcloth for me. He cleans me up, so fucking gently, I gape at him in shock.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, rubbing his palm over my inner thigh.
“I’m not…I…nothing.”
He pauses and quirks an eyebrow.
“What are you doing?” I gesture toward the washcloth.
“Cleaning you up so you can sleep.” He continues his aftercare.
“This is new for me.”
He stands and gives me another look. “Good. I want to be your gold standard.” Then, he tosses the washcloth in my bathroom, swaggers back to my bed, and slips in beside me.
“It’s still early,” I admit, glancing at the time on my phone: eight-oh-four a.m.
Luca chuckles. “It’s late for me. But it doesn’t matter. We have all morning.” He reaches for me and I go willingly.
Draping my body over his, I rest my head on his warm chest. His heartbeat thrums, the sound even and soothing. Steady, like him.
Luca’s hand lifts to my back and he draws lazy patterns across my skin—starbursts and fireworks—as he drifts to sleep. Once his hand steadies, his breathing evens out, and I pop my head up to study him.
He’s one of the best men I’ve ever known and last night, well, this morning, he gave me a gift. He showed me that I’m worthy of a man like him. One who can pluck at all the threads I keep in knots and make me want the things I crave but fear.
Commitment. Monogamy. Dependability.
A home.
“Oh, Luca,” I sigh, pressing a kiss right over his heart. “You could ruin me,” I admit in the quiet morning light.
Then, I lay my head over his heart, close my eyes, and let sleep claim me.
We’re awakened by a constant knock at the door. On my bedside table, my phone buzzes.
Luca stirs beneath me and I roll over, grabbing my phone.
I squint at the screen. Alejandro calling.
Frowning, I pick up. “Qué pasa?” What’s up?
“Open your door,” he replies. “I’m standing outside, banging.”
I close my eyes and tip my head back. Fuck.
“Carla!” My brother reminds me he’s still on the line.
“I’m coming. Give me a minute.” I hang up and turn to Luca.
He stares back with lifted eyebrows and a worried scowl.
“It’s Ale. He’s here,” I explain.
“Is everything okay? Is Marlowe okay?”
Frowning, I realize… “I didn’t ask.”
Luca’s already standing beside the bed, tugging on his clothes.
“What do we tell Ale?” I ask, gesturing between us.
“Whatever you want. If you want to take some time to process this”—he gestures between us—“then tell him we went out for drinks and I crashed here. But I’m not hiding what I feel for you. It means too much.” And with that, he moves toward the front door to let my brother in.
Uh…what? I stare after him, flabbergasted.
But I should have known that Luca doesn’t sneak around or hide who he is. Nope, his unwavering confidence and certainty in his choices are some of his most attractive qualities.
But…do we really need to clue Alejandro into our budding—situationship? Relationship? Night out?—whatever this is, right now?
“Shit.” I rush into the bathroom. I quickly pull myself together and tug on sweats and a tank top.
By the time I enter my kitchen, my brother and Ale are sitting at the kitchen island, drinking coffee and talking.
It turns out, Ale isn’t suspicious of Luca’s presence in my flat in the early morning. He assumes, somewhat correctly, that we got blitzed and crashed after a night of partying. That, and he has bigger things to worry about.
“What is it?” I ask when I see the worry in his expression.
He sighs, placing down his cortado. “The Sewing Circle has descended on Valencia.”
My mouth pops open. The Sewing Circle is comprised of three sharp, witty, hilarious ladies who have known, loved, and helped raise Marlowe since she was a baby. They can give our abuela a run for her money.
“I need your help,” Ale admits.
Luca and I exchange a look and then…we burst out laughing.
Everything from last night, from this morning, from this moment, clashes together and as Luca grins at me and I smile back, we both nod. We’re in this together. Whatever the hell this is.