Chapter 25 Luka
Luka
I’ve tried really hard to keep my distance, but Angelo’s tantrum last night obliterated my last vestiges of self-control. How dare he act all butt-hurt when he forced this woman to marry him against her will?
Having grown up without Lorenzo as a father, I can’t claim to fully understand the way things work in our family, but even I know that forced marriage is morally repugnant. And probably illegal.
But Angelo refuses to do the right thing, even though anyone with eyes can see how miserable Chiara is.
The woman is a force of nature. All sass and fire. She’s done nothing but fight back since she arrived. I love how she refuses to accept my brother’s bullshit, which he fucking hates. Yet I’ve caught him watching her when she’s distracted, and I can tell there’s a lot he’s not saying.
He might claim to need a wife to curate a family-friendly image and produce an heir, which is fucked up in the extreme, but something tells me he’s way more invested in her than he wants to admit.
If we were closer, I’d ask him. But he barely acknowledges my existence most of the time.
Chiara melts into me, and every fiber of my being lights up as I claim her mouth. A small moan breaks free when I drag her against my throbbing erection.
I’ve been hard pretty much constantly since last night.
Painfully hard.
“Luka,” she groans when I finally release her. “We probably shouldn’t…” Her lips are pink and swollen, and there’s a delicate flush to her cheeks that wasn’t there before. I press my fingers to her throat, and from the way her pulse races, she’s as turned on as I am.
“No, we probably shouldn’t,” I agree, not meaning a word of it. Is Angelo watching this scene play out like the creep he is?
Kane too, probably.
At least there’s zero chance of him cock-blocking me again. I saw him leave two hours ago, and from the conversation I overheard, he has some business to take care of. Something to do with the body that floated in on the tide recently.
I try to stay out of things like that. It’s bad for my image as a carefree, no-shits-given sort of guy. Besides, Angelo doesn’t want or need my help.
“Angelo might throw a hissy fit again.” Chiara chews her lip like the thought of Angelo catching us is concerning, but the gleam in her eye tells me she’s fully on board with my plan.
“He might, but do you care?”
Her hand slides down my chest and lingers on my jeans’ waistband. My body tenses as I wait to see what she does next. This has to be her decision. I refuse to coerce her into something she might later regret.
“What do you think?” she says in a husky voice before unbuttoning my jeans. I’m not wearing boxers, so when she pops more buttons open, my cock springs out.
Her eyes widen before she licks her lips appreciatively. I’m well aware I’m big. Big enough that I can’t rush this or I’ll hurt her. But this isn’t about me, even if my cock is desperate to feel her mouth around it. Or better still, sink into her hot, wet pussy.
But Chiara drops to her knees and envelops my tip in her mouth. Fuck. I was not expecting her to be so forward, but damn, the woman knows what she’s doing.
I groan at the feel of her tongue as it strokes the sensitive underside of my crown. Then she opens wide and takes me so fucking deep I almost come.
Shit, this is bad. No, it’s good. Too fucking good. I haven’t had sex in weeks, so I’m close to blowing my load already, which would be fucking embarrassing.
Reluctantly, I push her back. Her mouth releases me with a lewd wet sound. Pre-cum coats her lips in glossy shine. I reach down to wipe some of it away with a soft groan while she grips my shaft so tight it hurts. In a good way.
Fuck me, she looks good with her lips all swollen and pink. I want to paint her with my cum before fucking her again and again until she can’t walk straight. But first, I want to feel her come all over my face.
Before she can protest, I pick her up and place her on the edge of the table. She glances around the room again, looking for cameras.
“You won’t find them, baby. Kane installed covert cameras.”
“But there are several, right?”
My eyebrow quirks up. “Why?”
“I want my husband to have the full panoramic live-porn experience.”
Her words strike at my heart in a way I don’t like. Is she just using me? She wouldn’t be the first woman to do that. I’m kind of used to women treating me like a disposable sex toy, if I’m honest. It’s been that way since I hit puberty.
“Well he’ll certainly get that,” I quip with a forced smile.
Chiara must sense my shift in mood. She frowns.
“You know what? Angelo doesn’t deserve this. He already owns me. That fucker doesn’t get to see my O face too.” She shoves me back with her bare foot and hops off the counter. To my surprise, she takes my hand and drags me from the kitchen and upstairs.
My dick’s still out, but thankfully we don’t pass a soul.
“Are there cameras in my bedroom?” Chiara asks when we reach her door.
“I don’t know for certain,” I say honestly. “But I would assume so.”
“That fucker,” she growls. “Bathroom?”
Again, I shrug. “No idea, but less likely. I expect even Angelo draws the line at watching you take a shit.”
Chiara laughs so hard she almost chokes. After a few seconds, I join her. The tension in my body fades, but my erection doesn’t wilt. Not at all.
We stumble into Chiara’s bedroom. There’s a small lamp glowing on the nightstand, but the bathroom is dark. She leads me in there and turns on the lights around the vanity mirror so we can see each other, but it’s not blinding.
“Luka,” she says, stepping into my arms and resting her cheek on my shoulder while I pull her tightly against my chest. “Winding up Angelo is my new life’s mission, but this—” She looks up at me, her pretty blue eyes serious for once. “This is separate from that.”
I stare down at her. With her hair all mussed and her cheeks still pink, she looks gorgeous and effortlessly sexy.
Chiara is nothing like the fake, vain women I work with. They wouldn’t be seen dead without makeup and use industrial-strength filters to ensure they never look anything less than perfect.
Chiara’s skin is smooth and unblemished, but there’s a dusting of freckles across her nose, and her eyebrows are natural, not painted on with a Sharpie. From what I’ve seen of her, she rarely styles her hair, and I love how she’s happy to hang out in loose sweats and a stained tee.
I give her my best, most seductive smile. The smile I use for my fans.
But to my surprise, she doesn’t fall for my bullshit. Instead, she frowns.
“Luka, I want you,” she tells me. “I want you because you’re kind and a fucking amazing person, not because it will piss Angelo off.”