Chapter 24 Luca
Luca
Having Carla García on the back of my bike, in Tuscany, is a wet dream come to life. The feel of her arms wrapped around my ribs, her thighs shadowing mine, her chest pressed up against my back has me acutely aware of every shift, shuffle, and sigh she makes.
I chase the freedom of the night and the possibility of the future with Carla.
After our earlier, illuminating, conversation, I want to share my secret with her.
Not many know about my motorcycle riding, not even Bianca or Alejandro.
Mainly, because it’s prohibited in my contract but also because my father forbade it when I was growing up.
After he passed, the idea of riding became a strange mixture of control, independence, and rebellion. And I craved it. Almost as much as I crave the blonde pressing her palm against the center of my chest.
We ride for nearly an hour, leaning into the curves of the road, and feeling the sting of the wind against our cheeks. I smile into the open emptiness, reveling in the feeling. It’s akin to flying.
When I finally turn off the road, I slow the bike. Our ride up the vineyard lane is blanketed by a low, stone wall that could tell a thousand love stories, rich in family drama and history, and I pull back even more so Carla can enjoy our surroundings.
She snuggles deeper against me and I drop one hand to hers, holding it against my chest. Dio, I want her.
Her admission earlier, about wanting to try, about feeling more for me than any other man, filled me with such hope, I had to check myself.
One day at a time. I can’t get ahead of myself with Carla.
She needs time to sort things out for herself and if I plunge full speed ahead, the way I’m apt to do when I feel control slipping, I’ll push her away.
Our moment will wither before it’s ever had a chance to bloom.
The gravel road gives way to a denser copse of trees. We ride through a narrow path through cypress and oak trees and I grin when I see it. A small cottage, my casale, appears like a long-awaited present.
I park the bike in front of the small, cozy, stone-built structure. It boasts a traditional feel with a terracotta-tiled roof, wood-beam ceilings, and an old-fashioned fireplace in the living room.
I cut the engine and drop my feet to the ground.
“This is stunning,” Carla murmurs behind me.
Half turning around, I admit, “It was my mother’s. This is where she grew up.”
Carla sucks in a breath as I tug her hand and help her swing off the bike. Then, I unfold my body and stand.
“I bought it years ago. It was in bad shape and had to be restored, but I kept as much of the original integrity as possible.”
“You did an amazing job,” Carla murmurs, shaking her head as she studies the cottage. “Did your mom ever see it?”
Regret clogs my throat and I swallow around the growing ball of pain. “No.” My voice cracks. “I told her about it, in detail, describing everything but…she was in and out of it at that time. I don’t know if she knew, but I like to think that she’d approve.”
Carla wraps her arm around my waist and rests against my side. We stand like that, staring at my mother’s childhood home and a piece of my family history. “She’s proud of you, Luca. Unbelievably so.”
I drop my head, fighting to gain control of my emotions. Talking about Mamma is as painful as it is important. “Come on.” I move toward the front door and fish the key from my pocket.
Carla curls her fingers on the hem of my jacket, staying close. I push open the front door and we step inside.
Flickering on the lights, I turn to note Carla’s expression as she takes in the cottage for the first time.
It’s simple and understated, crafted with traditional materials, but as she drinks it in, her face lights up like Christmas lights. Warm and bright and joyous. “Wow,” she murmurs, running a hand over the mantel of the fireplace. “I love it here.”
“Let me get the fire going,” I say, moving to the front door. “I’ll be right back with the wood. Make yourself comfortable. The fridge won’t be stocked, but there’s wine and snacks in the pantry.”
I set to work, gathering firewood and coming back inside with a handful of logs.
Then, I clean the hearth, lay the tinder, and add bits of kindling, before laying the logs on top.
I light the tinder and within minutes, the cottage crackles with the loud pop of snapping twigs.
When the logs catch, I slowly build the fire, shaking off my jacket and pushing up my sleeves, as the warmth from the flames chases the cold from my skin.
Rich woodsmoke, scented with cedar, fills the small space, warming the air and casting the room in a cozy glow. Once the fire is thriving, I sit back on my heels and note Carla, perched on the edge of an armchair.
On the coffee table is a tray arranged with snacks, two wineglasses, and a bottle of Chianti Classico. “If we start drinking, we’ll have to spend the night.” I stand from my crouch and move toward her.
She stands to meet my approach, peels off her leather jacket, and unwinds her scarf. “I know.”
I pause to pour two glasses of wine. Passing one to her, I study the expression on her face. Calm and open and hopeful.
I smile and clink my glass against hers. Then, I raise the glass to my lips and take a long pull. The wine is full-bodied and delicious, rolling over my tongue with a familiarity that warms my body from the inside out.
Carla and I settle in front of the fireplace, kicking back on the couch. She nestles into one corner while I take the other, our legs intertwining as we study each other, sipping our wine.
The night feels full of promise and possibility, and my mind, usually racing with thoughts, is clear and quiet.
“Why do you ride a motorcycle and keep it a secret?” Carla asks after a long moment.
Sighing, I take another sip of my wine. “My father forbade it,” I admit, laughing.
“He would be furious if he knew I loved it so much. But after he passed, I was…lost. Angry. Starting to spin out of control. I was at the academy in Spain, mostly on my own, and started to run with an older crowd. Guys who had been cut from their teams or didn’t have what it takes.
They didn’t know what to pursue if they didn’t have fútbol, so they mostly pursued trouble.
I was young, pissed at the world, and impressionable. We got in trouble with the police—”
Carla gasps, her hand lifting to her mouth. Then, she offers a sheepish expression. “Sorry.”
I clasp her foot and pull it into my lap, keeping my thumb pressed into the arch of her foot. She squirms once before relaxing.
“Some of the older boys had shoplifted and I was along for the ride, a fucking idiot who had no clue what was actually going on. Luckily, álvaro happened to be nearby. When he caught sight of me, he intervened on my behalf. Given my age, and álvaro sharing that my father had just passed and my mamma was in the States, the police let me go. I went home with álvaro that night and the next morning, he took me to a racetrack in Chiva.”
“I know that track. My cousin, Rafa, started his training there. He’s driving in F2 now.”
“I know. Rafa’s good shit. He introduced me to some of his buddies as I spent more time at the track, just watching the motorbikes and karts.
That’s where álvaro taught me all about speed and control.
Freedom,” I admit. “He bought me my first bike and told me to stay out of trouble,” I snicker.
“My papa probably rolled over in his grave, but álvaro was right. At that moment in time, I needed the release and the motorcycle gave me that adrenaline high, that riskiness, the sense of independence I craved without getting me into trouble with the law.”
“Except you were a kid on a motorcycle. No license.”
I laugh. “True. But I learned on the track. It was legit there and even though it was against my academy contract, álvaro covered for me and made sure I learned how to handle the motorbike. I was trained by guys with experience. Honestly? I’m sure your father knew what was going on and turned a blind eye.
I was lost and going down the wrong road and this is how álvaro tried to course correct. I’m grateful to him every damn day.”
“I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you. The loneliness.”
“I liked visiting your family. Spending holidays with the Garcías always felt like hitting the lottery.”
Carla sips her wine, shaking her head. “I used to love when Ale brought you home for a weekend. I always hoped you would notice me.”
“I always noticed you; we always hung out.”
“I mean, notice me, notice me. Not as Ale’s kid sister or the girl who reminded you of Bianca. But…as a girl you could be interested in.”
“Ah,” I sigh. “I’m sorry, cucciola. Back then, I only had the mental bandwidth for fútbol and illicit motocross.”
“And then, Chiara…”
“Curious, are you?”
“Extremely.” She smacks her lips together.
“I met Chiara right before I signed my first professional contract. I had just turned nineteen and it felt like things were finally working out for me. When I met her, I thought this is it. We’re going to grow together.
She’s going to know the real me, the Luca before a professional contract and salary…
” I shrug. “Things with Chiara progressed the way I thought they should, it was the natural, linear, series of expected steps. We were young.”
“And after Chiara?”
“A natural, linear, series of expected steps,” I repeat, “focused on no commitment and nothing serious.” I give her foot a little tug. “I didn’t think I was capable of giving more. Until you. You’re flipping the script for me.”
“You flipped my script a long time ago, Luca. I always crushed on you but never thought I could be in your orbit. Unless I was way on the periphery.”
“You could be the sun, Carla.”
She holds my gaze, but her fingers twist together in a show of nerves. “I’m scared to have that responsibility.”
“You don’t have to. We’ll take it slow.”
She leans forward to place her wineglass on the coffee table. Then, she shifts toward me, taking my glass and moving it to the coffee table too. I reach for her, tugging her up my frame as she settles over me.
“What are you afraid of?” I whisper, staring into her unguarded face.
“You first,” she pleads, her gaze dropping from my eyes to my mouth and back again.
“Losing you,” I admit, slipping my hand up the back of her shirt. I caress her soft skin. “You?”
“Losing myself.”
It’s an honest, vulnerable response, and coming from Carla, I know it cost her to admit it. I splay my fingers wide, palming the width of her back as I hold her closer.
“I won’t let you,” I swear, closing the space between us.
Carla and I kiss slowly. It’s exploratory, threading together our new admissions and feelings with the physical counterpart. My other hand lifts to cup her cheek as I angle her head and she deepens our kiss, slipping her tongue into my mouth.
Our kiss turns passionate, spiking with neediness. The fire crackles around us as I shift our weight, turning so we’re side by side on the couch, our limbs tangled, our mouths fused together.
Carla’s hand skates over my cock and I’m already hardening for her, turned on as much by her touch as I am by her confessions. Her curiosity. Her care.
I roll her shirt up her body until the lacy cups of her bra are on display. In a second, I have the clasp unfastened and I’m pulling the material away from her chest. Her breasts are full and heavy and I touch them greedily.
Carla strips me of my shirt and pants next. As I kick off my pants and peel off my socks, she wriggles free of her jeans. When we’re both in just our underwear, I take her hand, spread the fur throw blanket from the corner of the couch out in front of the fireplace, and lay my girl down.
As I drop over her, she giggles. “This is my teenage dream come true.”
I snort, peppering kisses along her jawline and down her throat. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get enough of you.”
She winds her legs around my waist, arching up to rub herself against my hard length. “Good thing I’m not going anywhere.”
I want her to promise it but know that’s asking too much. Instead, I peel her panties off her, lose my boxers, and reach for my wallet to find a condom.
Carla places a hand on my wrist, her eyes serious when I meet them. “I’m on birth control. And I’m clean.”
Fuck. I suck in a breath, my throat dry. “Carla, are you sure?”
She nods.
“I need the words, cucciola. That’s a big decision.”
“I trust you, Luca. Always have.”
I brush her hair away from her face and study her eyes. I don’t take her trust for granted. “The way I feel for you, Carla…you could own me, amore.”
She lifts her lips and I meet her always, kissing her deeply as I slide into her.
And fuck if it’s not the most incredible sensation.
It’s been years, more than eight, since I’ve been with a woman without protection but being with Carla is a whole new level of intimacy.
Lacing our fingers together, I bring our joined hands over her head as I plunge in and out of her delectable body.
She writhes beneath me, meeting me thrust for thrust. Sensual turns sexy.
I touch her everywhere, unable to get enough.
My tongue duels with hers, my hands on her breasts, the curves of her body, her inner thighs.
I circle her clit with the pad of my thumb, pushing into her, and she arches up, her eyes fluttering closed.
“More,” she demands. “Give me more.”
I piston my hips faster, gripping her thigh as I drive her higher. I unleash everything, pouring my unchecked want and desperate need, my fucking everything, into Carla. My speed is relentless, borderline frantic, as I search for that control, that release, that freedom I yearn for.
She breaks apart beautifully, calling out my name like a deity. “Fuck, Luca, yes!”
Making her come for me, making her scream for me, is the high I’m chasing. It pushes me over the edge and as Carla floats down from her orgasm, I finally let go. I spill into her on a guttural groan, making one hell of a beautiful mess on the blanket in the front of the hearth.
“Gesú,” I mutter, dropping my forehead to hers.
She grins at me as I turn us, gathering her in my arms and holding her against my chest as I try to catch my breath. I stroke her shoulder as the blaze of the heat keeps us warm.
Sweat beads along my forehead as Carla nuzzles into me.
When she glances up, her smile is soft. Her eyes shaded in a vulnerability I’m relieved she doesn’t disguise. “If I fall, promise you’ll catch me?”
I nod, cupping her cheek and pressing a kiss to her lips. “Sempre,” I vow. Always.