Chapter 2 Luca #3
His breath caught. I felt it against my palm.
"You get off on this, don't you?" His voice was rough. "Controlling me. Having power over what I write, what I publish, what I become."
"Yes." No point lying about it. "I get off on control. On knowing I can make you do exactly what I want. On watching you submit even while you hate me for it."
"I do hate you." But his pupils were blown wide and his breathing had changed.
"I know." My thumb brushed over his lower lip. "But you want me anyway. Don't you?"
I watched him struggle with the truth. Watched defiance war with desire. Watched the moment he stopped fighting it.
"Yes," he breathed. "I hate that I want you. Hate that every time you summon me I come running. Hate that I think about you when I shouldn't. But yes. I want you."
The admission broke something in me. The careful control I'd maintained for months. The facade I'd worn like armor.
"Then stop fighting it," I said.
"I can't—"
I kissed him before he could finish the protest.
It wasn't gentle. Wasn't careful. It was months of tension condensed into a single point of contact. He made a sound against my mouth—surprise or protest or surrender, I couldn't tell. His hands came up to my chest and I thought he'd push me away.
Instead he grabbed my tie and pulled me closer.
The kiss went from forceful to desperate in seconds. His mouth opened under mine and I took full advantage, tasting him properly for the first time. He tasted like coffee and something sweet, like he'd been stress-eating candy while working. The thought made something possessive unfurl in my chest.
I walked him backward until his back hit the wall beside my desk. Pinned him there with my body while I kissed him like I was claiming territory. Like I was proving a point. Like I was making absolutely certain he understood who he belonged to.
He kissed back just as fiercely. Bit my lower lip hard enough to sting. When I pulled back to look at him, his lips were red and his eyes were dark with want and fury.
"You get off on being controlled," I said. My voice came out rougher than intended. "That's what you really hate. Not that I control you. That you like it when I do."
"Fuck you." But there was no heat in it. Just breathless desire.
"Eventually." I caught both his wrists in one hand and pinned them above his head. The position arched his back, pressed his body against mine. "But right now I'm going to fuck you."
His breath hitched. "Luca—"
"That's the first time you've said my name tonight." I leaned in close, speaking against his ear. "Say it again."
"This is a bad idea." But he didn't pull away. Didn't try to escape my hold. "We shouldn't—"
"We absolutely shouldn't. This is probably the worst decision either of us could make." I bit down on his earlobe and felt him shudder. "But we're going to do it anyway. Aren't we?"
A long pause. Then: "Yes."
That single word of surrender made something dark and triumphant flare through me.
I released his wrists but only so I could work open the buttons of his shirt.
He stayed pressed against the wall, watching me with those sharp hazel eyes as I undid each button with deliberate precision.
I wanted to savor this. Wanted to remember every detail of the first time I got to touch him properly.
The shirt fell open to reveal skin that was pale and lightly freckled. Lean muscle. The sharp jut of collarbones. I traced my fingers over his chest and felt his breath catch.
"You've lost weight," I observed. "You're not taking care of yourself."
"Been busy. Writing all those articles you demand."
"I'm going to start demanding you eat properly too." I leaned down and bit gently at his collarbone. Left a mark that would show. "Can't have my journalist falling apart from stress."
"Not your journalist—" He cut off with a gasp as I bit harder.
"Yes, you are." I traced the mark with my tongue. "You're mine, Valentino. Have been since you deleted that footage. Since you chose your career over exposing me. That choice made you mine."
"That's not—" His protest died as I found his nipple with my teeth.
I worked him over methodically. Mapping his body with hands and mouth. Finding what made him gasp, what made him arch, what made his breathing go ragged. Every response was cataloged, learned, stored away for later use.
His hands were in my hair now, pulling almost painfully. I didn't care. The loss of control was intoxicating. I'd spent months being measured, precise, performing for everyone around me. With Valentino I could just be hungry. Possessive. Real.
I shoved his shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Undid his jeans with hands that weren't quite steady. He was hard already, straining against his boxer briefs. I palmed him through the fabric and watched his head fall back against the wall.
"Luca—" My name came out broken. Desperate.
"What do you need?" I asked. My voice was dark. Commanding. "Tell me what you want."
"I don't—" He couldn't seem to finish the sentence.
"Yes, you do." I tightened my grip and he gasped. "You know exactly what you want. Say it."
"I want you to—" He bit his lip. Couldn't get the words out.
"Want me to what?" I kissed along his jaw. Down his throat. Bit hard enough to leave another mark. "Want me to fuck you against this wall? Want me to make you come so hard you forget your own name? Want me to prove that you're mine?"
"Yes." The word was barely a breath. "All of it. Yes."
That permission unleashed something feral in me.
I yanked his jeans and briefs down just enough to free his cock. He was beautifully hard, flushed and leaking. I wrapped my hand around him and stroked once, firmly. He nearly came off the wall.
"We're doing this properly," I said. "Against the wall first because I can't wait. Then over the desk because I want you spread out where I can see all of you. Understand?"
He nodded frantically.
I released him just long enough to grab lube from my desk drawer—I'd been prepared for this possibility even if I hadn't consciously admitted it. Slicked my fingers and reached between his thighs.
"Spread your legs," I ordered.
He did. Trusting me despite the hate. Despite everything.
I worked him open with more care than I felt capable of. One finger. Then two. Watching his face the whole time. He was gorgeous like this—defenses stripped away, need written across every feature. When I crooked my fingers and found his prostate, he made a sound that was pure desperation.
"Please—" He was begging now. All that defiance reduced to incoherent need. "Please, Luca, I can't—"
"You can. And you will." I added a third finger and worked him until he was shaking. Until he was open and desperate and exactly where I wanted him. I hiked his leg up around my waist, exposing him.
I withdrew my fingers and he made a sound of protest that turned to a moan when I undid my own pants and freed my cock. I was painfully hard, had been since the moment he walked through the door. I slicked myself with shaking hands and lined up.
"Last chance to say no," I said against his ear. "Last chance to walk away."
"Fuck you." His hands fisted in my shirt. "Don't you dare stop now."
I pushed in slowly. Watching his face. Watching him take me inch by inch until I was seated fully inside him. He was tight and hot and perfect. Everything I'd imagined and more.
"Look at me," I commanded.
His eyes opened. Met mine. Hazel and dark with desire and still furious.
"You're mine," I said. "Say it."
"I'm—" He couldn't finish. I pulled out and thrust back in hard. "Fuck—Luca—"
"Say it." I set a brutal rhythm. Hard enough that he had to brace against the wall. Hard enough that every thrust made him gasp. "Say you're mine."
"I'm yours." The words came out broken. Reluctant. True. "I'm yours, you bastard, I'm yours—"
I kissed him to swallow the words. Fucked him against the wall with all the pent-up desire I'd been containing for months.
He met every thrust, taking what I gave and demanding more.
His cock was trapped between our bodies, getting friction on every movement.
I could feel him getting close, could feel his body starting to tense.
"Come for me," I ordered. "Right now. Come for me, Valentino."
He did. Spilling between us with my name on his lips and his body clenching around me. The sight and sound and feel of him coming undone pushed me over the edge. I buried myself as deep as I could and came with a groan that was more surrender than triumph.
For a long moment we just stayed there. Bodies pressed together. Both breathing hard. The office was silent except for our ragged breathing and the distant thump of music from the club below.
I pulled out carefully and Valentino made a small sound of protest. I caught him as his knees buckled, held him up with hands that were gentler than I'd been a moment ago.
"Desk," I said. My voice was rough. "I said I wanted you on the desk."
"You're insane." But he was smiling slightly. The first genuine smile I'd seen from him in months.
"Probably." I guided him to the desk. Cleared the surface with one sweep of my arm, sending papers scattering. "But you're staying."
"Am I?"
"Yes." I turned him around and bent him over the polished mahogany. Looked at him spread out exactly how I'd wanted him. "Because this isn't finished. Neither of us is finished."
I was still hard. Didn't know how that was possible but I was. And Valentino was already opening for me again, his body pliant and willing despite the defiance in his eyes.
I took my time the second time. Learned him properly. Found every spot that made him gasp, every angle that made him moan. Fucked him on my desk like I was claiming him. Marking him. Making absolutely certain he understood what had just happened.
He came again, hands scrabbling for purchase on the smooth wood. I followed right behind him, emptying myself inside him while his name fell from my lips like a prayer.