25. Lucia
25
LUCIA
I hate him.
I want him.
Antonio called my bluff, and it’s driving me insane.
But I can’t let him walk out of here. I don’t want to.
“This is my apartment,” I spit out. “You’re the one who should be leaving.”
Antonio didn’t get to where he was by being a fool; he recognizes the consent in my words. His eyes turn hot. “Come here.”
Instead of doing the smart thing and walking out, I take a step toward him, and the king of Venice closes the gap between us.
He slams me against the wall. My back digs into the stucco, but I don’t care. His fingers lace with mine, and he transfers his grip to my wrists, lifting my hands above my head and caging me in with the hard press of his body. His mouth finds mine, and then he drags his lips down my neck, kissing the hollow of my throat, his mouth warm against my skin.
“Tell me why you’re still here,” he growls.
“I wasn’t aware I had a choice in the matter,” I retort defiantly.
He nips my earlobe sharply. “Liar.” His gaze rakes down my body, hot and searing. “Your nipples are hard.” He shoves a knee between my thighs. “If I thrust my fingers into your cunt, I bet I’ll find you wet, ready for my cock. Try again. Tell me what you want.”
So smug. He makes me lose control; he shreds the walls I’ve tried to build against him with laughable ease. I hate the way my body responds to him, hate how needy he makes me feel.
Hate it and love it, all at once.
Some of what I’m feeling must show on my face because Antonio laughs under his breath. “Is it so hard to ask for what you need?”
Yes. Because it’s not just his cock I want. I’m greedy for him. I want his attention. When he says he’s been waiting for me for ten years, I want to believe him so badly that it terrifies me.
I wriggle away from Antonio, shrug free of my jacket, and pull my sweater over my head. My T-shirt and bra follow. “Are you planning on fucking me, or are you just going to stand here and talk?”
His eyes blaze. I think I’ve provoked him for a split second, and my pulse pounds with anticipation and adrenaline. But then his lips quirk into a maddening half-smile. He steps closer, close enough to obliterate the boundaries between us, close enough that I don’t know where he ends and I start.
“I see you,” he murmurs, pressing his lips into my neck, licking my fluttering vein. “Your pulse is racing. You’re nervous, and it’s not because you’re trapped here. You know just as well as I do that if you wanted to leave, I wouldn’t stop you.”
I do know that. Whatever else he’s capable of, whatever else he might do, he would never take me by force. Even now, when I slithered out of his grasp to take off my shirt, I didn’t have to fight free. He let me go.
“But that’s not what you’re afraid of,” he continues. His hand cups my throat, and his stubble scrapes against my skin as he leans in to whisper into my ear. “You’re nervous because you sense what I’ve known from the first time I kissed you.” He unfastens the button of my jeans and lowers the zipper. Hooking his fingers in the waistband of my panties, he tugs both jeans and panties down in one fluid stroke. “This is not just sex. This is more. ”
My nipples are two aching peaks. A familiar heat blooms between my legs. I can pretend I’m unaffected by Antonio, but my body is sending him a very different message.
“Shut up and fuck me.”
“So demanding.” He laughs under his breath. “Say please.”
I like watching Antonio laugh. He’s criminally sexy. Dangerously disruptive to my peace of mind. “In your dreams.”
Pushing away from me, he takes off his belt. I don’t move; I stay where I am, completely naked and pressed against the wall, the sight of his taut muscles robbing the breath from my lungs.
He presses a finger into me, and I bite back a whimper. I was damp when I opened the door and saw him in my living room. Wet when he sternly reminded me about the consequences of stealing from him. Now, I’m soaked. It takes all my self-control not to push forward and grind my aching pussy into his palm.
He pulls his fingers out and holds them in front of my face. They shine with the proof of my traitorous body’s response. “I won’t ask again, Lucia.”
There is a hard edge in his voice, one that sends a shiver through me. What would happen if I stayed defiant? Would he put me over his knee and spank me? No, he knows I’d like that too much.
Or would he pull back entirely? Button up his shirt and leave?
That thought sends a spike of fear through me. I’m stubborn, yes, but not stupid. I don’t want him to leave; I’m not ready for that to happen. “Please fuck me, Antonio.”
His response is a low growl of approval. “Spread your legs, tesoro,” he orders, cupping my breast and squeezing. His touch is like fire, and every time he lays a hand on me, I burn from the inside out. Heat rushes through me as I spread my legs, exposing myself to his gaze.
“Good girl. Now open your mouth and suck your wetness from my fingers.”
A shiver runs through me. I take his fingers into my mouth, tasting my desire on his skin, and his eyes darken with lust as he watches me lick them clean.
My own arousal grows, my need building to a crescendo. I want more. I want him, and I want him now.
He reads the desperation on my face. A smile brushes across his lips as he leans close. “I’m going to fuck you hard, Lucia,” he promises, his voice low and intent. “I’m going to pull out my cock and fuck you right against this wall. Right here, right now.”
“Yes,” I pant. “Please.”
His lips meet mine in a hungry kiss as he frees his erection. He gets a condom from his wallet and rolls it on, lifts my leg around his waist to pull me closer, and thrusts into me in one deep, fluid stroke.
Every nerve in my body comes alive. With one hand, he holds my wrists in place above my head. He slams into me again, raw passion etched on his face. Each stroke is deep and brutal, and I choke back my gasp and buck around him.
My naked back scrapes against the stucco, and I don’t care. I wrap my leg around him tight and bring him closer. He’s bottoming out with each deep stroke. Hitting my cervix. Sharp pain blends with pleasure until I can’t tell them apart, until it is all one blazing inferno.
This is raw, animalistic passion.
It terrifies me.
And I love it.
He grips my hips and pushes deep. The hand not holding my wrists prisoner snakes between my legs and finds my swollen, aching clit and pinches. I gasp again, digging my nails into my palms to keep from screaming. A shiver of pleasure rolls down my spine, making my toes curl.
“Lie to me,” he demands huskily. “Tell me you don’t feel this.” Another thrust. I’m shaking, trembling, a hair’s breadth away from exploding. His mouth swallows my next moan, his lips taking mine in a searing kiss. “Tell me this isn’t special.”
I want to. With every fiber of my being, I want to pretend that this chemistry between us isn’t a once-in-a-lifetime thing. I want to pretend that Antonio doesn’t matter. I don’t form attachments. I can’t—I can’t afford the cost. When this ends—and it will end—it will shatter my already fragile heart.
Yet I can’t find the words to tell him that I don’t care. I can’t pretend that this isn’t affecting me deep down to my core.
I can’t lie that well. I’m not that good at pretending.
Antonio stares into my eyes, searching for the answers my mouth won’t give him. His finger taps against my clit, each tap sending a live current jerking through me. This time, he doesn’t thrust deep; he pushes into me with deliberate, toe-curling slowness.
I stay stubbornly silent.
A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “You don’t have to say it, cara mia,” he whispers into my ear. “I can see it in your eyes. The way you look at me, the way you respond to my touch.”
He pulls out almost entirely before pushing in again. His finger traces a lazy circle around my clit, and then another. I shiver in reaction. My body is on fire. I’m on the edge of release, shuddering with the tidal wave of my approaching climax.
He doesn’t let me come.
“You can deny it until you’re blue in the face.” He pulls out and slams into me. Hard. Powerful. Demanding. “Know this, though. I’m not the boy next door. I’m not sweet, and I’m not nice. What I am, Lucia, is ruthless in my desires.” Another thrust. “I’m single-minded about what I want.” His fingers strum my clit, playing me like a finely tuned instrument. “And what I want is you.”
His words are like lightning. Sizzling. Deadly. I’m shivering. Shaking. Every cell in my body is alive with the need for release.
“And so, I’ll ask you this one time. If you don’t want me in your life, tell me to back off.”
This is it. My out. He’s asking me if I want this to be a one-night stand and if I open my mouth and say yes, I know he’ll respect my wishes. He’s not interested in forcing me.
No, what he wants is far more dangerous.
He wants me. No doubts, no reservations. No obscure truths, no veiled lies.
He wants everything I have to give and more.
Antonio Moretti is not good for my peace of mind. But I can’t make myself pull free, and I can’t make myself tell him to go away. Precious little sanity remains because right here and right now, I want him to own every part of me.
One word, and I can make him back off. But once again, I stay silent.
Another smile ghosts across his face. “Good girl,” he says harshly. He lets go of my wrists and traces a finger down my cheek. His touch is gentle, almost tender, a stark contrast to his tone. “No closing your eyes, cara mia. Look at me when you come.”
And then he’s kissing me, deep and sweet, his tongue stroking mine in a rhythm that mirrors the pace of his thrusts. His hand is on my breasts, alternating the tweaking and tormenting of my nipples. I can feel him everywhere; my body is melded to his. His scent. His taste. His hardness.
He’s a drug, a fever, an addiction. And he’s consuming me.
His thrusts grow faster. More brutal. His fingers stroke my clit, and he buries his face in my neck, licking and biting until I’m panting and moaning, lost in a sea of sensation and desire, crazy with the scent of Antonio in my lungs.
My orgasm barrels toward me with the force of a hurricane. My body trembles and my muscles tighten, clenching with anticipation. It’s so close. . . It’s right there. . .
And then I’m coming apart in his arms. Thrashing, bucking, arching myself up and grinding my hips against his.
“That’s it,” Antonio growls, looking deep into my eyes, his stare burning through me like wildfire. “Take it all. Show me how much you want me. Show me how much you need me.”
His own release washes over him. “Lucia,” he says, a guttural sound of raw pleasure.
I cling to him as I ride the aftershocks of my orgasm, my vision blurry and my body trembling. Antonio wraps his arms around me and holds me close until the last shudders of pleasure fade. When I finally pull away, his eyes linger on me, heavy with satisfaction. He cups my face and strokes my cheek with his thumb, the gesture both possessive and strangely tender.
“Hey,” he says softly.
“Hey,” I say back. I want to melt into his embrace and never let go, and that thought finally gives me the jolt of panic I need.
I thought I was going to get fucked into oblivion, but he gave me more than that. He didn’t just give me his lust; he offered me passion. He just didn’t utter meaningless compliments; he gave me honesty. He didn’t just fuck me; he offered precious intimacy.
He held nothing back.
It’s so much more than I’m ready for.
Isn’t this what you wanted? You weren’t really annoyed about the bodyguard. You were just looking for an excuse to see him again. Did you steal the Titian with the noble intention of returning it to the museum, or did you do it because you knew Antonio would make good on his promise?
I was playing a game, and it’s suddenly gotten very real. Now that I’ve had a taste of Antonio, I’m reluctant to let go.
We haven’t even made it into the bedroom, and I’m already in trouble.
I stiffen and pull away from his embrace. The sexual haze has temporarily faded, and regret is quickly replacing it. What the hell was I doing, tacitly agreeing with Antonio that I wanted him in my life? I can’t get involved with him—getting involved will only bring pain. I learned that lesson when I was eighteen, and it’s not one I should ever allow myself to forget.
“The bathroom is down the hall,” I murmur, avoiding his gaze.
“And you’re telling me to clean up and leave.” A frustrated edge hardens his voice as he pulls out the condom and ties it in a knot. “Here I thought you would invite me to spend the night.”
He goes into my bathroom without another word. When he emerges, he’s clothed again. A pang shoots through my heart, but I breathe through my panic and make myself hold still. I have to throw him out before it’s too late. He has to leave before my heart gets involved.
He knots his tie and slips his jacket over his shoulders.
“What about the painting?” I burst out and immediately wish I could take back the question. What the hell is wrong with me? Am I so bothered that he’s leaving—the thing I asked him to do—that I’m reminding him about the Titian I stole from him? “Aren’t you going to take it back?”
He shakes his head, an odd gleam in his eyes. “I take the Titian; you make another attempt to steal it. And then what? I’ll come over here and fuck you again?” He gives me a steady look. “This game between us is entertaining,” he says. “But I’m done playing games. The next move will have to come from you. You have my number, Lucia. If you want to see me again, call me.”
And then he leaves.