48 | Like what you see, principessa?
[Warning]
A few hours later, Luciano's bedroom is dimly lit when I step inside, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the walls.
The night has been exhausting, all the hushed whispers, the pointed looks, the weight of my sister's name hanging in the air like a ghost that refuses to leave me alone. But now, all the guests are gone, and I can finally breathe.
Or so I think.
Because the moment I step in, my breath catches in my throat.
Luciano stands near the dresser, a towel wrapped low around his waist, his muscled body still damp from the shower.
Droplets of water slide down his tanned skin, tracing the sharp lines of his abdomen before disappearing beneath the fabric.
The tattoos running down his arms and across his ribs are bold, dark against his olive complexion, a map of his sins written in ink.
He smirks when he catches me looking. "Like what you see, principessa?"
I roll my eyes, but my throat is dry. "Eh. I've seen better."
Liar.
Luciano is a large man, powerful in a way that commands attention without him even trying. I hate admitting it, but there's something about the way his body moves, fluid, controlled, dangerous that makes it impossible not to notice.
I turn away before he can see the effect he has on me, walking toward the vanity mirror as I reach behind me to unzip my dress. The dark satin slips from my shoulders, pooling at my feet, and I step out of it, kicking off my heels.
Now, I'm left in nothing but my lingerie, delicate lace that clings to my skin, tracing every curve, leaving little to the imagination.
Without hesitation, I unclasp my bra, letting it slip from my shoulders before reaching for a white shirt. It's oversized, soft against my skin, a familiar comfort. I always sleep like this, just my underwear and a shirt, a habit I refuse to change, even with him in the room.
Though, I pretend not to notice the way his gaze darkens as he watches me through the reflection of the mirror.
Luciano doesn't speak. Instead, he moves.
I hear the soft rustle of fabric as the towel drops to the floor.
My fingers grip the edge of the vanity.
I know I shouldn't look. I shouldn't care. But the mirror betrays me, giving me an open view of him as he pulls on his dark briefs. His back is strong, muscles shifting as he moves, the outlines of his body sharp enough to make my stomach twist.
My breath hitches again as his thick, long cock comes into view. Heat floods my cheeks, and I snap my gaze back to my own reflection, pretending to focus on the brush in my hand.
My heart's racing, thudding against my ribs. I've never seen him naked before, not once in all the time we've known each other, and now I can't unsee it.
I steal one last glance as he finishes pulling up his briefs, and I turn away, blushing furiously, hoping he didn't notice me staring.
When I turn back around, he's already in bed, lying against the pillows like he belongs there, like he's been waiting for me to join him all along.
My pulse thrums in my ears.
I take a deep breath before I turn off the lights in Luciano's bedroom.
I carefully slid into the bed, the sheets cool against my bare legs. Inch by inch, I edged toward the far side of the bed, putting as much space between us as possible.
Distance.I needed distance from him, his scent, his presence, the way he made my skin hum even when I swore I hated him.
But I could feel him anyway. The heat radiating off his body, a silent pull that curled around me like smoke.
I clutched the edge of the blanket, willing my heartbeat to slow, telling myself I could ignore it, ignore him.
"Aurelia..."
His voice cut through the dark, low and rough, a whisper that felt like a touch.
It sent a shiver racing down my spine, and I hated it.
"What?" I snapped, sharper than I meant to, my defenses bristling.
"You don't need to be so far away from me," he said, softer now, almost gentle. "I can sleep on the couch if it's a problem."
I swallowed, my throat tight. The couch? No, that wouldn't do. It was his damn bedroom. I wasn't about to be the one who ran.
"No," I said, forcing my voice steady. "You can sleep here. It's your bed."
A beat of silence stretched between us, heavy and loaded until he shifts, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight.
"Will you be able to fall asleep?" he asked, and I could hear the faintest smirk tugging at his words.
No. Not a chance in hell. Not with him this close, not with the way my body was already traitorously aware of every inch of him. But I lied anyway.
"Yes," I said, clipped and quick, praying he wouldn't hear the tremor beneath it.
He didn't buy it because I felt him move slowly until his warmth was against me, his chest pressing into my back. My breath caught as he molded himself to me, his arm snaking around my waist.
"Even if I'm this close to you, principessa?" he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.
I couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. His bare chest burned against my spine through the thin cotton of my shirt, and lower,God help me,I could feel him, hard and straining against his briefs, pressing into the curve of my ass.
My pulse jackhammered, heat pooling low in my belly despite every ounce of willpower screaming at me to pull away.
He was everywhere, overwhelming, and I hated how much I didn't hate it.
His hand moved then, slipping under my shirt, rough fingers skimming up my stomach. I tensed as he found my breast, cupping it with a possessive grip that made my nipples tighten under his palm.
"How does this feel?" he asked, his thumb brushing over my nipple in a slow, deliberate circle.
A moan clawed its way up my throat, and I bit it down hard, clenching my teeth. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"I've felt better," I forced out, aiming for indifference even as my body arched into his touch.
His chuckle was a low rumble against my back, dangerous and knowing.
"Liar," he whispered, pinching my nipple just hard enough to make me gasp. "Your mouth says one thing, but this—" His hand slid lower, dipping beneath the waistband of my panties, his hand between my thighs. "—this tells me you're fucking soaked for me."
I jolted the moment his fingers found my clit, a sharp breath escaping before I could stop it. He wasn't wrong, and that pissed me off even more. His fingers teased me, tracing slow, torturous circles that had my hips twitching against him.
"You're an arrogant bastard," I hissed, but it came out breathless, needy, and I cursed myself for it.
"And you love it," he shot back, pressing a finger inside me, slow and deep, curling it just right. "You love how I don't play nice, how I take what I want. Tell me to stop, Aurelia. Go on, say it."
I couldn't. I wouldn't. My head tipped back against his shoulder, my resolve crumbling as he added a second finger,circling my clit in a rhythm that made my toes curl.
"Fuck you," I managed, but it sounded like a plea, and he knew it.
"That's my girl," he murmured, his free hand tangling in my hair, tugging my head back so his mouth could claim the side of my neck.
His teeth grazed my skin, a sharp sting followed by the wet heat of his tongue, and I was done for.
"You feel so good around my fingers, principessa.
Tight and wet and all fucking mine."
My thighs trembled, heat spiraling tighter and tighter as he worked me, his cock grinding against my ass like a promise.
I hated how much I wanted it, how much I wanted him but the fight in me was slipping, drowning in the dark tide of him.
"Luciano—" His name spilled out, a broken moan, and I felt him smirk against my skin.
"That's it," he rasped, his voice raw with hunger. "Let me hear you. Let me feel you come all over my hand, baby. I've got you."
He did. Goddamn him, he did. His fingers thrust deeper, his thumb pressing against my clit, and I shattered, pleasure crashing over me like a storm, relentless and consuming.
I cried out, back arching, nails digging into the sheets as he dragged me through it, murmuring filthy praise against my ear until I was a shaking, breathless wreck-
My body is warm, and it takes me a moment to register why, to piece together the remnants of my dream.
Luciano.
His hands on my body, his mouth against my skin, the way he whispered my name like it was a prayer and a curse all at once. The way he—
I sit up abruptly, my breath caught in my throat. What the fuck?
I turn my head to the side, my gaze landing on Luciano. He's still asleep, his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm, his face calm, unbothered. He looks almost peaceful like this, nothing like the ruthless man he is when awake.
I swallow hard and carefully slip out of bed, keeping my movements quiet as I tiptoe toward the bathroom. Once inside, I shut the door behind me and press my hands against the cool marble sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
My face is flushed, my lips slightly parted as if I had whispered his name in my sleep. My skin prickles with lingering heat, and I curse under my breath.
What the hell did I just dream about?
I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head. Am I crazy?
I shouldn't be thinking about him like that. I shouldn't be dreaming about him like that. Not after Ciara.
My hands shook as I yanked open the drawer, shoving aside half-used tubes of toothpaste and a hairbrush until my fingers closed around it, the little switchblade.
The metal was cool against my palm, a familiar weight that steadied me even as my pulse raced.
I flipped it open, the blade catching the light, sharp and clean. It wasn't about him, I told myself, It was about me, about punishing the parts of me that wouldn't listen.
I slid down to the floor, the tiles biting into my knees, and tugged my sleep shorts up to expose the soft skin of my inner thigh.
I pressed the tip of the blade against my skin, just below the last mark, and took a shaky breath.
This wasn't about pleasure. This was about control, taking it back from the mess he'd made of me.
The first cut stung, a quick, shallow slice that bloomed red against my pale flesh. I hissed through my teeth, the pain sharp and bright, cutting through the fog of the dream like a slap.
Good. I deserved it.
I pressed harder, dragging the blade a little longer this time, watching the blood bead up and trickle down my leg.
My breath hitched, a sob catching in my throat, but I swallowed it down.
"Why him?" I whispered to the empty room, my voice hoarse and broken.
Why him out of all the men I could've dreamed about?
I made another cut, this one deeper, and the pain flared hot and fierce, grounding me.
The blade slipped in my grip, slick with blood, and I dropped it with a clatter, staring at the mess I'd made.
Three fresh cuts, red and angry, streaking my thigh like accusations. My chest heaved, tears burning behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.
I stood on shaky legs, wiping the blood from my thigh with a damp cloth, careful to leave no trace for anyone to find.
The bathroom floor gleamed cold and accusing under the flickering light, but I scrubbed away the evidence, my shame, my weakness until it was gone.
I stumbled back to the room, collapsing onto the bed next to Luciano.