Chapter 7 #3
“Do I need to beg?” Luca asked in a low, rough voice. “Because I will. No shame. I want you to touch me so much I can barely . . .”
Oliver’s pulse thrummed, and he felt it everywhere—his cock, his heart, his head—as he leaned forward and mouthed at where Luca’s dick twitched beneath the black fabric.
He didn’t answer—Luca didn’t need to beg, because Oliver’s self-control might be pretty good, but it wasn’t great—just finally tucked his fingers under the waistband of his briefs and tugged them down toward his jeans.
His cock was just as gorgeous as the rest of him. Long and thick and flushed a beautiful pink color. Oliver wrapped his hand around the base and his tongue around the head and sucked, the sound of Luca moaning joining the echo of his own desperate heartbeat thundering in his ears.
“That’s it.” Luca’s voice cracked. “Suck me, baby. Wrap those pretty pink lips around my cock and suck.”
Oliver had had a decent amount of sex in his past, and he enjoyed giving head, but he’d never been as eager to do anything in his whole goddamn life.
He slid Luca’s cock into his mouth a little at a time, sucking hard, loving every time Luca groaned.
Loving every time Luca pushed him further, harder.
Luca’s words and Oliver’s position might make someone think the former was in control, but Oliver knew better.
He could feel the twitch of Luca’s dick as he teased it with his tongue, could see the flex of his arms and the desperation in his eyes whenever he glanced up.
Could taste his precome as he grew closer to orgasm.
But Oliver didn’t want it to end. He wanted this to go on and on and permanently imprint on the backs of his eyelids.
Still, he was not expecting the harsh whisper of, “Wait.”
Or for Luca to drag him up by the arm and with a neat show of strength, deposit him on the bed.
“I want,” Luca said, hovering over him, eyes wild, “to taste you. You promised me.”
Oliver licked his suddenly dry lips. Overwhelmed in the best way possible. “I did?”
“Yes.”
The tough, indomitable Luca was back, and maybe he shouldn’t have been as sexy as the putty-in-Oliver’s-hands Luca, but he was.
Basically, every single bit of Luca drove him insane.
Luca made quick work of his clothes and then he was leaning down, his lips brushing against Oliver’s stomach leisurely, like he had all the time in the world.
“Still sweet,” he breathed out unsteadily, as his lips moved lower and then lower still. “So goddamn sweet.”
Oliver was past words. He’d never been harder in his life and Luca hadn’t even touched him yet.
When he did, Oliver couldn’t help it. He shook with the pleasure of it as Luca’s tongue leisurely licked up him with a confident mastery that would’ve made Oliver’s knees weak if he’d been standing.
Then Luca’s mouth moved lower, tongue flicking out to taste both of his balls, making Oliver bury his mouth into his arm so he wouldn’t scream.
“See?” Luca’s voice was so deep, it was practically a rumble. “Still sweet here. But—” He hummed against Oliver’s sensitive skin, making him see stars. “—how about here?”
Oliver’s vision totally whited out when Luca’s tongue meandered even lower still, brushing up against his hole.
“God, I knew it,” Luca boasted. “So fucking sweet. Turn over, baby. Let me make you feel good.”
His knees wobbled but he managed it, Luca’s hands a hot brand against his thighs, his ass, as they took possession of him, angling Oliver exactly the way he wanted.
He felt consumed, owned, as Luca’s tongue found him again. Licked lazily, casually, even as Oliver buried his head into the covers and screamed.
It had been way too long since anyone had done this, and it hadn’t been anything like the confident way Luca moved his tongue, as if he knew just what Oliver would like, and he felt sure he could make him come just like this.
“Oh yes, you love that,” Luca said with satisfaction as Oliver twitched, unable to help thrusting back against his tongue.
Way too soon, Luca’s hand brushed his balls. Then his cock, and Oliver trembled right on the edge.
But didn’t tumble off, because Luca kept him there instead. A breath away from the best orgasm of his life, until he was groaning and crying and begging for it, for more of his tongue, for more of his fingertips, slicking up his cock with his dripping precome.
“You ready to come, baby?” Luca asked. But then instead of waiting, not that Oliver was even remotely capable of coherent speech at this point, he twisted his tongue in, hot and insistent, just as he fisted his whole hand around Oliver’s cock, and he came in an explosion of pleasure so radical he nearly blacked out, pulsing over and over into Luca’s hand.
“Shit,” Oliver said, collapsing to the bed, knees so wobbly they could no longer quite hold him up.
“Turn over,” Luca said and there was that undeniable steel in his voice again. “Let me see you.”
He turned over, because he couldn’t do anything else, and was greeted with the incredible view of Luca, mouth wet and red, hand fisted around his own cock, pumping it hard, his biceps flexing with the motion, his eyes wild and desperate.
And then he was coming too, stripes of come all over Oliver’s chest.
Luca orgasming was a sight like nothing Oliver had ever seen, and he’d been wrong before. This was what would occupy every single goddamn fantasy for the rest of his life. Luca, undone.
When his hand finally slowed and his eyes fluttered open, signaling it was over, it didn’t feel over, because the warmth in Luca’s gaze was like a flame against his skin.
“Wow,” Oliver said softly, because that was still all the words he had for what had just happened.
Luca grabbed a few tissues and cleaned his hand and then cleaned Oliver before tossing them into the trash and collapsing on the bed next to him, grinning. “Right?” he said.
They weren’t exactly cuddling, but they were both lying there, arms barely brushing, and there was a quiet, companionable silence Oliver didn’t really want to break.
He knew he should get up, finish cleaning them both, and head home to his own bed. His alarm went off insanely early, and he was fairly sure Luca—he of the “never a second date”—would not be particularly interested in him spending the night.
Also, in Oliver’s experience, as brief as it was, most people were not interested in matching his sleeping habits.
But then Luca shattered every expectation. “Stay,” he said quietly, his gaze meeting Oliver’s. “You should stay.”
“Really?” Oliver knew how dubious he sounded. “You know I’m going to have to go to sleep in a bit.” He yawned as a punctuation to the sentence. The incredible orgasm Luca had given him made him loose and languid and suddenly sleepy.
“I know,” Luca said. “I might not, but I can be quiet.”
“Then . . .” Oliver wanted to ask why, then. Why ask him to stay?
Was that a blush making its way up Luca’s cheeks? Oliver was pretty sure it was, not just the dim light in the room. “Maybe I don’t want it to end,” he said. “Even if we don’t get a second date.”
“Nothing from Giana?”
Luca shook his head. “I was so sure she didn’t have a choice.”
Oliver was currently in a sex-drunk haze, but he was also a realist. “I imagine that’s not something she enjoys,” he pointed out dryly. “What would you do if someone backed you into a corner?”
“They wouldn’t dare.” Luca’s confidence was nearly arrogance, but again, Oliver didn’t find it unattractive, when on any other person it would have been.
“But what if they did?” Oliver persisted though, because while he might not be a Moretti, he wasn’t exactly a slouch either.
Hadn’t he been forged in the hell of some of the best kitchens on the east coast?
Hadn’t he started his own business and seen it through those first few tough years when it had always felt like there was too much to do and not enough hands to help?
He had.
Luca rolled his eyes. “I would destroy the corner.”
“You would,” Oliver agreed. “She’s probably trying to find a battering ram as we speak.”
“Really?” Luca sounded surprised.
“Oh come on. She might look like a sweet older lady, but does that make her any less of a Moretti? Did it make your Nonna any less of a Moretti?”
“No,” Luca admitted guiltily. “No, not even close.”
“Then don’t underestimate her,” Oliver reminded him.
Luca sighed. “That means I may have to still convince her, then, and honestly, dealing with her means dealing with Enzo, and I want to wring his neck.” His smile was so warm. “How did you even deal with him for one date?”
“The good news is my standards are much improved,” Oliver teased. He brushed his hand more fully against Luca’s, and to Oliver’s surprise, his smile deepened even further.
“So you’ll stay, then?” Luca sounded so hopeful, what could Oliver say?
“If it won’t bother you, truly, that I go to bed early. Or that I leave really early.”
“Of course not. I figured you would.”
Oliver could see that he meant it, and it wasn’t as if someone like Luca Moretti would ever judge him for working too hard, or for too many hours.
He’d understand, every single step of the way.
“Uh, alright. Well, I’m gonna . . .” Oliver motioned in the direction of the bathroom. “Get cleaned up.”
He got up and went into the bathroom, shut the door, and stared at his reflection for a long moment.
It wasn’t the first time he’d had this feeling—the, I wish you didn’t live on the other side of the country feeling—but it was the strongest it had ever been.
Oliver didn’t just want a second date. He wanted dozens of dates. He wanted to do this all the time, not only tucked up into a third-floor room in his mom’s Inn, but together in his own little house, in the comfortable bed he’d picked out.
He wanted to come out of the back of the bakery and see Luca eating one of his pastries and drinking his coffee.
Even though he knew that wasn’t in the cards, he still wanted it.
Maybe the smart thing to do would be to wash up and come out of the bathroom resolved to not spend the night, because Oliver wasn’t stupid or naive. Staying here was only going to intensify these feelings.
But when he finished and walked out, Luca was still lounging on the bed, totally naked and totally glorious, without an ounce of shame, but he’d tugged the blankets back and he’d pulled out his tablet, flipping through something on it, and he’d also put on a pair of dark-rimmed reading glasses.
Luca with one of those perfectly cut suits on was a marvel.
Luca naked was stunning.
Luca naked with those glasses?
Oliver stopped in his tracks, pretty sure his jaw was hanging open.
“You alright?” Luca asked, barely looking up from what he was reading.
“Yes,” Oliver said, amazed that his voice didn’t shake. He’d just had the orgasm of a freaking lifetime, and he should’ve been satisfied, but his blood already felt hot again.
“Alright, good,” Luca said. “I thought I’d do some work. Do you need the light off to go to sleep? Me to turn the brightness on my screen down?”
Kindness, Oliver decided, was definitely in his vocabulary. But maybe it was more than that. Luca was conscientious. He thought about other people. Now, sometimes you might not like the thoughts he had or the resulting fallout from them, but it didn’t mean he didn’t consider others.
“Uh, sure, yeah, we can do that. Turn the light off. And if you can just angle it away?”
Oliver pulled on his briefs, climbed into the bed, and tugged the sheet up, despite the fact that he’d just made his mind up to go, not to stay.
But even if Luca Moretti broke his heart, it would be worth it. This would be worth it.
“Sure.” Luca pressed his fingertip against the screen after Oliver flicked the bedside lamp off. “This okay?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Good.” Luca sounded very pleased about that.
He wasn’t the only one either; Oliver definitely made a pleased sound as Luca tucked an arm around him, pulling him a little closer. “And this?” Luca asked quietly. “Still okay?”
“Yeah.” Oliver looked over at his screen. “What are you looking at?”
“Income reports from the last few nights at the restaurants,” Luca said. “Usually I go through them every night, but I’ve been . . .” He smiled, teeth bright white in the darkness of the room. “Preoccupied, we’ll say.”
“With Giana?”
“Sure,” Luca said.
Oliver fell asleep like that, Luca’s arm warm and sturdy around him and the realization in his heart that Luca hadn’t meant Giana at all.