Chapter 11
GIA
My chest heaves, every breath scraping against my lungs like broken glass.
I lie on my back in the middle of the dark silk sheets, my knees still parted, my pussy throbbing with a violent, white-hot ache. The pulse between my thighs is hammering so hard I can feel it vibrating through my pelvis.
He pulled out.
Luca Valentino took me to the absolute edge of a cliff, watched my eyes go dark as I hovered on the brink of coming, and then snatched his hands away like a coward playing a game of parlor tricks.
In this house, you don’t get to come until I decide you’ve earned it.
A quiet, dangerous laugh bubbles up in the back of my throat. It isn’t a hysterical sound. It’s the cold laugh of a trauma surgeon who just realized her opponent brought a plastic butter knife to a gunfight.
I sit up, my spine locking back into surgical alignment. I sweep my hair over my shoulder and look across the master suite toward the heavy mahogany double doors leading to his private adjoining room.
The door isn’t closed.
He pulled it to the frame, but he didn’t latch it. There is a precise, one-inch gap of pitch-black space slicing vertically through the dark wood.
I stare at that crack for three slow seconds.
He left the door unlatched so I would lie awake in the dark, tossing and turning, my body screaming for the release he denied me. He thinks if he waits an hour, I’ll crack. He thinks I’ll crawl across the mahogany floorboards, knock softly on his door, and beg Valentino to finish what he started.
He thinks he bought a mafia brat who breaks when her toys are taken away.
He forgot one very important detail: I’m no naive debutante, I make a six-figure salary saving men’s lives, and I travel like a woman who doesn’t rely on anyone else for her satisfaction.
I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress. My feet hit the cool mahogany floorboards. I don’t hurry. I don’t rush. I walk calmly across the room to the velvet bench where my luggage sits.
I pull my dark silk robe closed. I unzip the front compartment of my silk weekend bag, reach past my spare underwear, and wrap my fingers around a sleek, heavy cylinder.
My medical-grade, dual-motor silicone wand. Soft-touch matte black, waterproof, and capable of ten thousand vibrations per minute.
I pick it up, turn around, and walk straight back to the bed.
I don’t keep the room dark. I reach out and snap on the heavy brass bedside lamps on both sides of the headboard, flooding the entire master suite in a bright, warm amber halo.
Every inch of the dark iron bed frame, the black silk sheets, and the velvet headboard is illuminated in high-definition clarity.
Through the gap in the connecting door, I hear the sudden, sharp shift of movement.
The mahogany door swings open three full feet.
Luca steps into the doorway.
He hasn’t changed. He still wears his dark, tailored suit trousers and his white dress shirt, but the tie is gone, his collar is torn open at his throat, and his dark hair is disheveled where his fingers have dragged through it.
He stands framed in the doorway, broad and looming: his dark eyes burning with a feral intensity that looks entirely ungrounded. Even from across the room, the smell of him invades the lamplight: cedarwood and gun oil cutting straight through my clean hospital soap.
He sees the wand in my hand. He sees the lamps blazing.
I don’t flinch. I don’t pull the sheets over my lap.
I climb back onto the mattress, prop my back comfortably against the soft velvet headboard, and pull my knees wide open, angling my body in full, direct line of sight of where he stands.
I untie the belt of my dark silk robe, letting the fabric fall wide open over my hips, exposing my bare thighs, my midnight-silk lace, and my flushed, golden skin to the amber light.
I press the power button on the wand.
The motor turns on with a deep, low, electric hum that echoes through the quiet suite like a purring predator.
I slide my hand down, hook my index finger into the lace at my waist, and pull the silk completely to the side, exposing my swollen, dripping pussy to his gaze.
I hold the soft silicone head of the wand right over my clit.
The moment the high-frequency vibration hits my swollen nerve endings, my entire body jolts. A sharp, ragged gasp rips from my lips, echoing off the high ceilings. My hips lift off the silk, my inner thighs quivering as the intense, relentless pressure erases the agonizing ache Luca left behind.
I click the button twice, cranking the motor to its highest, most violent setting.
The hum turns into a steady, vibrating roar.
“Fuck,” I groan out loud, locking my eyes straight onto his.
Luca’s jaw clenches so hard I can hear the bone grind across the room. He takes one slow, heavy step out of the doorway, coming to a halt at the foot of the iron bed frame. He doesn’t say a word. He can’t. He looks like a man suffocating in open air.
Slowly, deliberately, Luca brings his right hand up to his mouth—the same hand he used to fuck me minutes ago.
He keeps his dark, possessive eyes locked on mine as he presses his long, scarred fingers to his lips.
He licks his own knuckles, his tongue dragging over his skin, tasting my wet slick right in front of my face.
His throat works as he swallows me down, his pupils blown so completely black that the dark iris has disappeared.
A hot, electric wave crashes straight down my spine.
I work the wand over my clit in tight, relentless circles, using two fingers of my free hand to push deep inside my own wet, tight pussy.
“Is this what you wanted, Valentino?” I murmur, my voice thick and dripping with unashamed defiance. “You wanted to see me squirm? Look at me.”
Luca lets out a low, guttural growl from the back of his chest.
His left hand goes to his waist. With two swift, violent twitches of his wrist, he unbuckles his leather belt and yanks his zipper down. He reaches inside his briefs and pulls out his dick.
He is stone-hard. A thick vein-ridged shaft, dark and throbbing, pre-cum glistening at the blunt tip.
Luca wraps his calloused palm around the base of his cock and begins stroking himself right at the foot of my bed.
He doesn’t rush. He pumps his hand up and down his shaft in long, brutal slides, his grip tight, his chest heaving under his open shirt as he watches my fingers slide in and out of my wet pussy while the wand grinds over my clit.
The sight of the Don of New Orleans, the ruthless, untouchable Luca Valentino, reduced to a ruined, panting spectator stroking his dick at the foot of my bed sends my mind completely over the edge.
He tried to control me. He tried to rule my body. And now he’s standing in my room, enslaved by his own eyes, pumping himself ragged just to watch me give myself what he couldn’t finish.
“Luca,” I moan, rolling my hips against the silicone, my inner walls clamping tight around my fingers.
Luca strokes himself faster, his hand a blur against his cock, his ragged panting filling the room alongside the roar of the motor. “Come for me, principessa,” he rasps, his voice a ruined whisper. “Let me watch you fucking come.”
“I’m not coming for you,” I whisper back, my gaze burning into his. “I’m coming for me.”
I press the wand harder against my clit and drive my fingers deep inside.
The pressure inside my belly winds so tight it snaps, unleashing a volcanic, body-cleaving orgasm that crashes through my pelvis in relentless, violently hot waves.
My abdominal muscles lock tight. My toes curl into the dark silk sheets. My pussy clamps hard around my fingers, milking empty air as my thighs shake uncontrollably against the mattress.
“Luca!” I scream his name as my climax shatters through me, my vision blurring, my throat raw with unfiltered, explosive pleasure.
Luca lets out a harsh, choked curse at the sound of his name, his hand pumping his dick in a frantic, desperate rhythm as he watches my hips buck against the bed.
He stays right on the edge, his muscles quivering, his body locked in agonizing, self-inflicted torment as he forces himself to endure the sight without touching me.
I ride the vibration all the way through the peak, letting the roaring orgasm wash every drop of tension out of my body until I’m left floating, breathless, drenched in sweat, and completely victorious.
Slowly, the waves fade into a warm, heavy hum.
I pull my fingers out of my wet pussy, lower the wand, and hold down the power button.
The buzzing motor cuts off. Absolute, deafening silence drops over the master suite.
Luca stands at the foot of the bed, his dick still gripped in his hand, his chest heaving, his face flushed, ruined and unraveled.
I lie back against the velvet headboard, my chest rising and falling in slow, languid rhythm. I wipe my fingers on the silk sheet, adjust my robe over my lap, and look directly into his dark, wrecked eyes.
I offer a small, razor-sharp smile.
“Did you enjoy the show, husband?” I ask, my voice smooth, quiet, and entirely triumphant.
Luca stares at me, his knuckles white around his cock, his jaw working as he swallows hard. He doesn’t say a word. He can’t. He knows he’s been completely, utterly undone.
I reach over, click off both bedside lamps, and plunge the master suite back into darkness.
I pull the dark silk sheet up over my bare shoulders, rest my head against the soft pillow, and close my eyes. Within sixty seconds, I am drifting off into the deepest, most peaceful sleep I’ve had in weeks.
And nobody tells me when I’m allowed to come.