31. Luna
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
LUNA
I’m the first to break the kiss as my knees hit the floor. Nico towers above me, his underwear clinging to the hard lines of his hips, that infuriating control etched into every muscle. He thinks I’m submitting but doesn’t realize I’ll be the one in control.
“Who’s in control now, marito ?” I purr, tilting my head.
His hand fists in my hair, yanking hard. “You want to be in control?” His thumb brushes my pulse, and I curse the frantic beat betraying me. “Earn it.”
I smile, slow and seductive, and drag my nails up his thighs. “You first.”
He sucks in a breath as I press my lips to the bulge straining his briefs, breathing heat through the fabric: salt , musk, rage . I could end him here. Bite. Tear. Watch the mighty Boss crumble. But where’s the victory in a quick kill?
“You want me to beg?” I murmur against him, smiling at the shudder he tries to stifle. “Or have you forgotten?” My teeth graze the elastic waistband, peeling it down inch by torturous inch. “I didn’t invent the game, but I’ve mastered it.”
He’s fully hard now, thick and flushed, the veins mapping a territory I’ll conquer. But I don’t touch. Not yet. Let him ache. Let him burn.
“Outthink you,” I whisper, tracing the scar on his hip from the gunshot he never talks about. “You drink coffee with three sugars but claim you take it black. A lie.”
His grip tightens. Good.
“Outfight you.” My tongue flicks the head of his cock, and he jerks. “You favor your left side after that knife fight in Naples. A weakness, husband.”
“Luna.” A warning, a plea.
I ignore it. “Outlast you…” My lips close over him, taking him deep, and a guttural moan lodges in his throat. His taste floods me: sweet surrender. I hollow my cheeks, swallowing until tears prick my eyes.
He fists my hair, trying to set the pace, but I wrench back, leaving him glistening and gasping. “Not yet,” I taunt. “Unless you’re already close?”
“Fucking hell—” He lunges, dragging me up by the throat, but I’m ready. My nails claw his chest, drawing blood as I kick his legs out from under him. We crash onto the bed, him snarling, me laughing, a tangle of fury and want.
Nico flips me beneath him, pinning my wrists, but I buck hard, rolling us until I’m straddling his hips. “Still my turn,” I hiss, sheathing him inside me in one savage thrust.
He shouts, back arching, but I clamp a hand over his mouth. “Quiet, Boss. The men might hear.” I ride him mercilessly, my nails digging in deeper. “How’s that control now?”
He licks my palm, eyes blazing, and flips me again, slamming my knees to my shoulders. “Mine,” he snarls, pounding into me like retribution. “Always mine.”
I claw his back, screaming curses, but he’s relentless, stealing my air, my thoughts, my hate. When I shatter, he follows, spilling into me with a roar that shakes the mirrors.
Afterward, he traces the bite marks on his collarbone. “You’ll pay for these,” he murmurs, but his voice lacks conviction.
I stretch, cat-like, and jerk my chin at the ruined underwear on the floor. “Add it to my tab.”
As he carries me to the shower, his hands bruise my hips, possessively. Let him think he’s tamed me.
Nico pins me beneath the spray, his hands branding my hips as he scrubs the blood and sweat from my skin. His blood. His sweat. I let him play at caretaker until his thumb grazes the bite mark on my shoulder, his mark.
“Hurts?” he rasps, pressing harder.
I arch into the pain. “You wish.”
He laughs, dragging the soap down my spine. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“And you’re a hypocrite.” I twist in his grip, facing him. Water sluices over the scratches I carved into his chest, and I trail a finger through the pink-tinged runoff. “You preach control, yet here you are—hard again.”
His jaw clenches. I’m right. His cock strains between us, angry and ignored.
“Problem, Boss?” I sink to my knees, the tiles biting, and lick a drop of water from his thigh. “Let me help.”
He fists my hair, forcing my head back. “You’ll help by standing. Now.”
I laugh, low and taunting, and blow air across his tip. “Afraid I’ll bite?”
“Afraid you’ll drown.” He yanks me up, slamming me against the shower wall. The showerhead rains between us, but he doesn’t kiss me. Just watches as I gasp for air.
I hook my leg around his waist, pulling him closer. “You first.”
He drives into me without apology, his hands shackling my wrists above my head. It’s brutal—Nico’s brand of punishment. But I refuse to blink. Refuse to let him see how the stretch burns, how my pulse riots at the slam of his hips.
“Outlast me,” he mocks, biting my earlobe. “You’re shaking already.”
“Adrenaline,” I lie, “You’re just predictable.”
He stills, dangerously. “Predictable?”
I grin, panting. “You always fuck me like you’re trying to exorcise something.”
His laugh is dark, hands sliding down to grip my ass. “Then exorcise this.” He lifts me, slamming me onto him again, the angle ruthless. Water sprays into my mouth, my eyes, but I don’t look away. I won’t let him win.
When his thrusts turn brutal, I strike, sinking my teeth into his pectoral, hard. He roars, his climax ripping through us both, and for a heartbeat, his grip falters.
He recovers quickly, our breaths mingling in the steam. “ Che cazzo sei ,” he mutters. What the hell are you?
I swipe the water from his lashes. “Your wife.”
He stares, and in his eyes, I see it. The flash of dread. The realization that this marriage won’t break him. It’ll ruin him.
He shuts off the water, wrapping me in a towel, and I let him dry me, letting his calloused hands linger on my throat. Let him pretend he isn’t tracing the bruises he left behind.
As he turns to leave, I catch his wrist. “Nico?” He pauses, so I press the soap into his palm and smile sweetly. “You missed a spot.”
When he slams the door, I sink to the floor, trembling, not from fear.
From hunger.
From the ache that lives between love and loathing.