Chapter Forty-Two
Chiara
I feel warm and cozy. Wherever I am, I don’t want to leave, this is absolute bliss.
I snuggle closer and enjoy the warmth until I register Lucas’ cologne.
I blink my eyes open and immediately notice the broad chest against which I am currently plastered.
Correction—the very nice-looking broad chest I am glued to.
I follow the outline of the black sun and the letter of my name with my eyes, heart hammering and throat dry.
“You can touch it if you want, cara mia.” Lucas’ raspy voice makes me jump and my eyes snap to his face to find him smirking down at me.
Shit, he caught me ogling him.
I hastily turn to jump out of bed, but he is faster and catches me to plaster my back against him with a teasing chuckle.
“Don’t go, love. You can look as much as you want, as long as that look is for me only.
” He nuzzles my hair with his nose, chuckling silently when I struggle with a distressed yelp.
I go still when I feel him hard against my buttocks.
We have been fake-married for almost two weeks now and he still doesn’t show signs that he is tiring of me.
If anything, he can’t seem to stay away, and the air is crackling with energy every time we are close.
He slowly turns me around to face him and greets me like every morning since we got married.
“Good morning, my wife.” He kisses me tenderly on the lips and leans back, as if waiting for my reply. But I can’t bring myself to return his lie, so I remain silent.
It doesn’t seem to faze him, though. He brushes a kiss on my nose and straightens to raise from the bed.
“Come, cara mia.” I take his outstretched hand to let him pull me up and out of bed. “There’s a place I haven’t shown you yet. Get dressed and meet me downstairs. Your clothes are in the bathroom.” And he is out the door, leaving me staring after him.
This man and his overbearing attitude.
I frown and turn to go into the bathroom. There I see the clothes—my usual sports outfit is lying on the counter. I frown. What does he want? There’s only one way to find out, so I take a quick shower, brush my teeth and dress hastily in my tank top and gym shorts. Then I go down the stairs.
Lucas is waiting for me. He has dressed in gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt. And I’m not noticing how the fabric clings to his arms or his broad chest, or how the low-slung sweatpants are robbing me of my last sane thought. No, definitely not!
He steps closer when he sees me and wordlessly takes my hand.
Then he pulls me after him into a hallway, then down a flight of stairs.
When he opens a door and ushers me through, my jaw drops to the floor.
There is a huge gym taking up half of the ground floor.
It is fully equipped and looks more like a military training ground than a gym in someone’s home.
I had no idea! Lucas removes his shoes and socks and walks over to the mats taking up the center of the room.
Then he turns to me and sends me a challenging look.
“Winner gets to tongue-fuck the first one who touches the mat with their back.”
I huff with a glare. “That’s hardly an incentive.”
“Oh, it is.” He smirks with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “It is.”
“How about this—the winner gets to wipe that cocky grin from your face with their fist?” I grouse as I follow him onto the mats after I’ve removed my shoes and socks, too.
He gives a low whistle. “So violent, cara mia. Didn’t they teach you that making love is more gratifying than making war?”
“No, I was only taught to beat up arrogant Mafia men.”
“Well then, give your best.” He winks and gets into position, hands in front of him, feet nimble and muscles coiled.
I’m so wiping that damn grin off his face. And now I know he’s skilled in Brazilian Jiu-jitsu, I won’t let him catch me by surprise again.
I mirror his stance, knees loose, hands up, weight centered. Focused. We circle each other in silence, the air between us is tight and humming with tension. Neither of us wants to give the first opening.
Finally, he advances, giving me the opening I was waiting for. I don’t wait for him to test me. The moment he’s close enough, I lunge and strike. My right fist snaps out in a clean jab aimed straight at his mouth.
He dodges it with infuriating ease. “Too slow,” he drawls.
I snarl and follow with a hook, then another jab, my blows fast and angry, each one fueled by weeks of fury I haven’t allowed myself to feel. He blocks, deflects, gives ground, but he never fully retreats.
“You’re angry,” he observes calmly, dodging another hook. “That’s adorable.”
I’ll give you adorable! I let out a frustrated growl and answer with another jab. I know he will duck and I pull my knee upward when he does, hoping to slam it into his throat.
It catches him in the ribs, not hard enough to injure, but enough to make him grunt. Satisfaction flares briefly in my chest, but I don’t linger. He’s already moving again, hands reaching out, trying to close the distance.
No. If he catches me, it’s over. I pivot out, striking again, my punches coming faster now as my muscle memory is taking over and my fury is rising by another notch, fueled by his overconfident smirk.
He’s riling me up on purpose, I register dimly through the haze of my aggression.
I strike again, and he takes a blow to the shoulder this time. “Careful,” he says with a grin. “You’ll hurt someone.”
“That’s exactly the point,” I snap, driving my palm toward his throat in a Krav Maga strike. He reacts instantly, batting it away and surging forward, arms wrapping around my waist as he tries to clinch.
I sense the danger immediately. I duck and slam my forearm into his ribs before he can pull me fully in. He laughs under his breath, the sound vibrating against me.
“That’s it, my little warrior,” he murmurs, something dark and primal creeping into his gaze. “Fight me. Get it all out. The anger, the hurt, the sadness. I can take it all.”
I twist with another snarl, wrenching free just as he tries to hook my leg. He catches my ankle anyway, yanking, and suddenly I’m airborne for half a second before I hit the mat. I roll sideways, barely avoiding being pinned, and jump up to face him again.
We’re both breathing harder now. My heart is racing, but my mind is clearer than it has been for the last weeks.
He’s on me again in a heartbeat, moving like a predator, fluid and relentless. “Still think you’re wiping that grin off my face?” he asks, voice strained but amused.
I leap back, avoiding him by a hair’s width, sweat slicking my palms.
“I haven’t started yet,” I pant heatedly. I come at him again, reckless now from anger. He redirects the blow, dodges, waits me out with infuriating patience.
Then he changes tactics. He lets one of my punches land on his shoulder, letting me come close.
Suddenly, his arms are around me and I am trapped.
I fight it, slamming my knees up, digging my elbows into his side, but he manages to catch my wrists and hooks his foot behind my leg, making me lose my balance.
We go down hard. My back slams onto the mat, the impact knocking the air from my lungs. Before I can roll away, he has me pinned down with his weight, knees bracketing my thighs.
“Got you,” he murmurs, breath harsh against my cheek.
I buck against him, fury flaring to a new high, but he pins my wrists above my head, making it impossible to escape his grip.
“Get off me,” I snap.
“Never.” He chuckles darkly, leaning down to brush his nose along my jaw. “We’ve already established that, haven’t we?” His grin is gone now. Up close, there’s nothing cocky left in his face, only heat and focus. And something dark intense that makes my pulse hammer.
“I won,” he says quietly. “Admit it.”
I glare up at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “In your dreams.”
He chuckles again, and I can feel his pulse slamming into me where his chest is pressing against mine.
For a moment, neither of us moves. The silence is only interrupted by our ragged breathing.
Then his gaze snaps to my lips. The mood shifts, the air becomes electric, and goosebumps explode over my skin.
He leans in. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against my mouth, voice rough.
I don’t. Instead, I lift my chin in an angry challenge and narrow my eyes, daring him.
That’s all it takes. He slams his mouth over mine, and kisses me hard, all his restraint finally snapping.
My wrists are still pinned, my body captured beneath his.
I am helplessly trapped under him, and the realization sends a shiver straight down to my pussy.
I kiss him back furiously, refusing to submit.
Refusing to admit that my fury is melting into scorching heat.
His tongue strokes against mine in a deep and possessive kiss.
Lust is pooling low in my belly, and I can’t fight my moan from slipping into his mouth.
He chuckles low and leans back with a victorious smirk.
“Now I’m collecting my prize.”
“P-prize?” My mind is too confused to remember. But then the memory crashes back.
Too late. He is already pulling my shorts and panties down my legs, discarding them in one swift motion.
Then his mouth is on mine again and my last sane thought flies out the window.
When he trails his lips over my jaw and down my throat to my collarbone, I am already too far gone to resist the overpowering wave of pleasure pulling me under.
Suddenly he grabs my upper arms and spins us around.
He is now lying under me and hoists me up over him so that I am on my knees, my pussy hovering over his face.
I look down into his eyes and our gazes lock for a beat.
Then realization hits and I gasp, trying to twist away.
But he grabs my hips, fast as lightning, locking me in place to keep me right where he wants me.
“Fuck my face, cara mia,” he demands, voice rough and gaze scalding.
“Lucas,” I start to protest. “I—”
I let out a hoarse cry when he suddenly leans up and sucks my inner lips and clit into his mouth.
I’ve never been in this position before and it feels depraved to be displayed this way.
But I don’t have time to ponder, Lucas starts to eat me out like a starved man, eyes trained on my face and hands gripping my hips, pulling me down onto his face.
He is pushing me so fast and mercilessly toward blinding pleasure, that all I can do is surrender to him.
His mouth and tongue are merciless as he devours me, the sensation overpowering and all-consuming.
“Oh god, Lucas—” I throw my head back with my eyes closed, my hoarse moans echoing loudly in the room.
His guttural growls vibrate through my body, coiling my clenched muscles even tighter.
His grasp on my hips is absolute, his fingers digging into my skin hard enough to bruise.
He is now sucking on my clit, his tongue darting in and out of me in a rhythm that keeps propelling me into an agonizing spiral of pleasure.
The pressure is building faster and faster.
I arch back, resting my hands on his torso behind me and grind myself against his face, drowned by waves of pleasure.
My hoarse cries resound in the expanse of the gym as he picks up speed.
Until I shatter with a loud cry. I come so hard that light sparks behind my closed eyelids, blinding and disorientating.
My orgasm goes on and on, devastating, and so intense I am going to faint.
When he stops at last, I am so weak that he has to lift me up and support me to keep me from collapsing over him. I breathe hard, pulse erratic and gaze unfocused.
Lucas hoists me up and sits, kissing me tenderly as he gathers me into his arms. Then he stands, carrying me as if I weigh nothing.
My mind is too fuzzy to register where he is carrying me, but when my consciousness returns, I register that he has taken me to the shower stall in his suite.
He turns on the water and carries me under the spray.
Then he puts me down and turns me around, nuzzling my neck from behind, hands encircling my waist to bend me over.
“Hands on the wall,” he orders in a rough voice. “And don’t move.”
He positions himself behind me and grabs my hips. Then he slams inside me in one hard thrust. I cry out from the sensation of him filling me so perfectly and I surrender again, letting a new wave of intense pleasure sweep me off my feet.