Chapter 23 #2
After reaching around and unbuttoning my pants, he yanks my jeans and underwear down in one rough motion.
The cool air hits my skin. His hand slides between my legs, fingers finding my hole without hesitation.
He doesn’t prep me gently. I hear him spit and then two slick fingers push in, stretching me open while his teeth sink into the back of my shoulder.
I moan, forehead pressed to the door, hips pushing back against his hand, telling him without words that this is exactly what I want.
“You’re going to take me,” he says, voice dark and rough. “Just like you took me that night. I’m going to make you as raw as you made me.”
He pulls his fingers out. I hear the sound of his zipper, the rustle of fabric. Then the bare blunt head of his cock presses against me.
He leans back slightly, and I hear him spit again, before feeling it slide between my crack. Then he pushes in.
The stretch burns, but the pain mixes with pleasure so intense it makes my vision blur. He doesn’t give me time to adjust. He bottoms out in one deep thrust, hips slamming against my ass.
I cry out, hands scrabbling against the door.
Luca’s hand comes up to cover my mouth, cutting off any more sounds that I might make.
“Quiet,” he growls. “You wanted this. You wanted me. Now take it.”
He starts to move—hard, deep, punishing thrusts that rock me against the door with every snap of his hips. Each stroke drags over that spot inside me, sending sparks of pleasure shooting up my spine.
“You feel that?” he rasps against my ear, voice strained with anger and lust. “That’s me. Not some fake performance we agreed to. Not some contract. Me. Inside you. Because you’re mine, even when you try to run.”
I moan against his palm, pushing back to meet every thrust. The angle is perfect. The pace is brutal. My cock is trapped against the door, leaking steadily.
Luca’s free hand slides down to wrap around me, stroking in time with his thrusts. Squeezing my head with every upstroke.
“You’re going to come like this,” he growls. “With me inside you. With my name on your tongue. And you’re going to remember who you belong to.”
The pleasure builds fast—too fast. My legs shake. My moans are muffled against his hand.
He fucks me harder, deeper, hips snapping with angry precision.
“Come for me,” he demands, voice breaking. “Now.”
I do.
I come with a choked cry, spilling over his fist and the door, my body clamping down around him.
Luca groans and thrusts through my orgasm, chasing his own. A few more hard strokes and he comes deep inside me, hips stuttering, his face buried in my neck as he spills with a rough, guttural sound.
We stay like that for a long moment—him still inside me, both of us breathing hard, bodies trembling. Slowly, he pulls out. I feel the loss immediately. His cum drips out of my hole.
He steps back. I turn around on shaky legs. His eyes are still dark, but the anger has softened into something more complicated: hurt, want, exhaustion.
He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair off my forehead with surprising gentleness.
“We’re not done talking,” he says quietly. “But not like this.”
I nod, still catching my breath.
He pulls his pants up, then helps me with mine—careful now, almost tender. Then he drops down to his small bed and pulls me down with him. I end up half sprawled across him, my cheek pressed against his chest. His heart is still pounding hard under my ear, the rhythm uneven.
For a long moment, neither of us says anything.
The plane hums around us, a steady vibration beneath the mattress.
Luca’s hand comes up slowly, hesitating for half a second before settling at the back of my neck. His fingers slide into my hair, combing through it gently. Over and over. The tension slowly drains out of his body beneath me.
“Hey,” he murmurs after a minute.
His voice is different now. Quieter. I tilt my head up to look at him. The anger in his eyes has faded, leaving something softer behind. He exhales slowly and drags his thumb across my cheek.
“I’m sorry.” The words come out rough. “For being… like that.”
His fingers tighten slightly in my hair, like he’s grounding himself.
“I was pissed,” he admits. “And hurt. And you were standing right there.”
I shift a little closer without thinking. He notices. His other arm slides around my back automatically, pulling me fully against him.
Touch. It’s always touch with him. His hand starts moving again, slow circles on my shoulder, then down my spine.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he says quietly.
“You didn’t,” I mumble.
He snorts softly. “Bullshit.”
My fingers curl into the front of his shirt. “Maybe I deserved a little of it.”
He tips his head back against the pillow and studies me for a long moment.
“You never deserve that from me,” he says.
There’s something steady in his voice now. Certain. His thumb brushes across my temple again.
“I lost my temper,” he continues.
A faint smile tugs at his mouth.
“But hurting you?” He shakes his head slightly. “Not the plan.”
The warmth in my chest aches. I shift so I’m looking at him properly now, our faces only inches apart.
I lick my lips. “There was more pleasure than pain. And uh, I liked it.”
Luca’s eyes darken again. Surprise and heat combine in his gaze, and his thumb pauses on my temple for a second, then resumes its slow, soothing stroke. The anger from before is slowly bleeding away.
“You liked it,” he repeats, voice low and rough around the edges. “Even when I was pissed off and rough with you?”
I nod, heat creeping up my neck. “Yeah. I did. And I deserved it.”
He lets out a slow breath, his hand sliding down to rest at the back of my neck again, fingers gently massaging the tense muscles there. The touch is careful now, almost tender, like he’s trying to make up for the roughness from earlier.
Then he makes a soft, disapproving sound and presses a kiss to the top of my head.
“You don’t deserve to be hurt,” he says firmly, repeating himself. “Not by me. Not by anyone.”
The warmth in his voice makes my chest ache in the best way. I shift slightly, nuzzling closer to his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of him.
We lie there for a long moment, the plane humming steadily around us. His fingers keep moving, slow circles on my neck, gentle strokes down my spine, like he can’t stop touching me. And he needs the contact to believe I’m really here.
“I missed you,” I admit quietly. “These last ten days… they sucked.”
Luca’s hand stills for a second, then resumes its path down my back.
“Yeah,” he says, voice rough. “They did.”