Chapter 4 Luca #3
I groaned and captured his mouth in a bruising kiss. This time I didn't hold back. Didn't temper the possessiveness or the need. I kissed him like I was claiming him, because I was.
He matched my intensity, giving as good as he got. When I bit his lower lip he bit mine back. When I ground against him he rolled his hips and made me see stars.
"Clothes off," I ordered. "Now."
We broke apart long enough to strip. I was faster, already reaching for him again while he was still struggling with his jeans. I helped, yanking them down his legs along with his underwear, leaving him bare beneath me.
Perfect. He was perfect.
I ran my hands over his chest, his sides, his thighs. Relearning every inch of skin I'd claimed in my office. But this time I took my time. Catalogued what made him gasp, what made him arch, what made his breath catch.
"Luca, please—"
"Please what?" I closed my mouth around his nipple and he cried out. "Tell me what you need."
"You. Inside me. Now."
"Not yet." I moved lower, kissing down his stomach, his hips. Avoiding where he was hard and leaking. "I want to taste you first."
I took him in my mouth before he could respond. The taste of him, the weight on my tongue, the way he fell apart immediately—all of it perfect. I worked him with my mouth and hand, bringing him to the edge and then backing off, learning his body's signals.
"Fuck—Luca—I'm going to—"
I pulled off. "Not yet. I want you desperate when I finally fuck you."
He made a sound that was half frustration, half need. I reached for the bedside table, grabbed lube and condoms, and prepared him with fingers that weren't quite steady.
One finger. Then two. Then three, stretching him open while he writhed beneath me. I found his prostate and worked it until he was begging incoherently.
"Please, please, Luca please—"
"What do you need?" I crooked my fingers and he nearly came off the bed.
"You. Inside. Now. Please."
I withdrew my fingers and he whimpered at the loss. I rolled on a condom, slicked myself, and positioned myself between his thighs.
"Look at me," I commanded.
His eyes opened. Hazel and dark and completely gone.
"Tell me you want this."
"I want this. Want you. Please."
I pushed inside slowly, watching his face the whole time. The way his eyes went wide. The way his mouth fell open. The way his body accepted me inch by inch until I was seated fully inside him.
"Fuck." The word came out strangled. "You feel—"
"Perfect." I pulled out and thrust back in, setting a steady rhythm. "You feel perfect."
I fucked him slowly at first. Deep strokes that made him gasp. Then harder as he started begging for more. Faster as his nails raked down my back. Rougher as he wrapped his legs around my waist and pulled me deeper.
This was different from the office. More intimate. More real. In my bed, in my private space, with the city lights through the windows and his face open and vulnerable beneath me—this meant something.
"Touch yourself," I ordered. "I want to watch you come on my cock."
His hand moved between us, wrapping around himself, stroking in time with my thrusts. I watched him fall apart, chasing the edge, getting closer with every movement.
"Luca—I'm—"
"Come for me. Let me see you."
He did. Spilled over his hand with my name on his lips and his body clenching around me. The sight and sound and feel of it pushed me over the edge right behind him. I buried myself deep and came hard, grinding against him through the aftershocks.
For a long moment we just stayed there. Connected. Both breathing hard. Both wrung out and satisfied.
I pulled out carefully and dealt with the condom. When I came back to bed, Valentino was still sprawled across my sheets, eyes half-closed, looking thoroughly debauched.
"Come here." I pulled him against my chest and he came willingly, tucking his head under my chin.
We lay there in silence as our breathing returned to normal. As the sweat cooled and reality seeped back in. His fingers traced idle patterns on my chest and I held him close, suddenly terrified he'd realize what we'd just done and leave.
"Stay," I said quietly. "Tonight. Stay here with me."
He didn't answer immediately. I felt him thinking, processing, deciding.
"Okay," he said finally. "I'll stay."
Relief flooded through me. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For coming tonight. For giving this a chance. For letting me prove I meant what I said."
He lifted his head to look at me. "Did you? Mean it?"
"Every word. I want this, Valentino. Want you. Not as an asset or a controlled variable. As..." I struggled for the right words. "As someone who matters."
"I want that too." His voice was small. Vulnerable. "Even though I probably shouldn't."
"We can figure out the 'should' later. For now, just—" I kissed his forehead. "Stay."
"I'm here." He settled back against my chest. "I'm not going anywhere tonight."
I held him close and watched the lights of Manhattan through the windows. Watched him slowly relax into sleep, his breathing evening out, his body going soft and trusting against mine.
And I realized I was in deeper than I'd thought.
Somewhere between coercion and choice, between control and trust, I'd fallen for Valentino Russo.
The journalist I'd threatened. The man I'd blackmailed. The person who saw through my carefully constructed persona and made me want to be someone real.
I was falling in love with him.
The realization should have terrified me. Should have sent me into self-protective mode. Instead I just held him closer and let myself feel it.
Tomorrow I could worry about complications. About the FBI and the business and all the ways this could go wrong.
Tonight I just watched him sleep and let myself hope that maybe—just maybe—we could build something real from the ashes of how we'd started.