3. Sarah
Sarah
Idon’t know why I’m still here. Actually, that’s a lie. I know exactly why I’m still here, which is somehow worse.
Luca is asleep beside me with one arm wrapped around my waist like he thinks I’m going to make a run for it.
His chest rises and falls beneath my hand.
At some point during the night, I’d ended up practically on top of him, one leg tangled with his and my face buried in his shoulder.
I should move. Any woman with a functioning survival instinct would move.
Instead, I’m lying here tracing a snake tattoo across the chest of a man who just informed me he’s in the fucking Mafia.
I drag my hand over my face and stare at the ceiling.
Not only am I still here, I had sex with him.
After the crying. After the life-altering revelations.
After finding out Michael isn’t just a billionaire CEO but an actual honest-to-God mob boss.
After realizing that if Michael is in the Mafia, then Luca is too.
I had all the information, and I still took his pants off.
My eyes squeeze shut.
The truly infuriating part is that I can’t even blame it on shock.
I wasn’t in shock when it happened. I’d already cried.
I’d already yelled at him. I’d already had my existential crisis.
By the time we ended up in bed, I was fully aware that the man kissing me belonged to an organized criminal enterprise.
The thought should be more alarming than it is.
Luca shifts beside me and makes a low sound in his sleep.
His arm tightens around my waist for half a second before relaxing again.
I glance over at him. The asshole looks unfairly good asleep.
His dark hair is a mess. There’s stubble on his jaw.
The blanket is hanging low on his hips. If somebody took a picture of him right now and showed it to a random person on the street, nobody would guess mafia.
They’d probably guess firefighter, or contractor, or a guy who owns three Labrador retrievers and grills every weekend. Definitely not a criminal. Unfortunately, I’ve met him, and now I know better.
I stare at him for another second before dropping my head back onto the pillow. I’ve known this man for three months. Three months ago I was working, paying my bills, minding my own business, and now I’m lying in a mobster’s villa having sex with him.
At what point exactly did my life become completely unhinged?
“Hey,” Luca says.
I lift my head and find him watching me. The man is barely awake. His eyes are squinting against the light, and his voice sounds like he swallowed gravel sometime during the night. Any sane woman would probably use this opportunity to remind him he’s a criminal and then flee the premises.
Instead, my first coherent thought is, that’s annoyingly cute.
There is something fundamentally wrong with me.
“Hey.”
“You okay?”
His fingers slide through my hair, tucking it behind my ear.
“Yeah.”
He smiles.
“Good.”
He has a hand at my waist, and in one quick motion he flips me onto my back as he settles over me on the bed.
One hand braces next to me on the mattress while the other trails down my side.
I wrap my arms around his neck and pull his mouth down to meet mine.
The kiss starts slow. His lips are warm, still soft from sleep.
He tastes like the beginning of the day, and I sink into it.
His tongue slides against mine, and I moan into his mouth.
He brushes his thumb across my lower lip. “What’s running through that head right now?”
I don’t want to say it, but he asked.
“That I should probably be scared of you.” I pause.
His expression doesn’t change. He watches me, his hand moving to cup my jaw.
“Are you scared of me right now?”
I consider it. His body is pressed against mine. He’s stronger than me. He could do anything he wanted, and I couldn’t stop him. But that’s not what I feel when I look at him.
“No.”
“Then don’t think about the rest.” He leans down and kisses the corner of my mouth. “Just be here with me.”
I nod. His hand slides down my body, palm skimming over my ribs, my hip, the outside of my thigh. He hooks his fingers under my knee and pulls my leg up, opening me to him. I feel him hard against my thigh. The anticipation coils low in my belly.
He kisses down my neck, biting lightly at my collarbone. I arch into him as my fingers thread through his hair.
“You feel so good already,” he murmurs against my skin.
I moan, a low sound that vibrates in my throat. His hand finds me between my legs, and his fingers glide through my wetness. He makes a pleased sound.
“Look at that,” he says. “You’re ready for me.”
“Luca—“
He chuckles, shifting his weight and positioning himself. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
He pushes in slowly, and I feel every inch. I gasp, my hands gripping his shoulders.
“You can take it,” he says. “You always can.”
He pushes farther in, but stops when he’s fully inside. His forehead rests against mine.
“Feel good?” he asks.
“Yes.” The word comes out shaky. “So, so good.”
He starts to move. Slow, deep strokes that drag against my walls. I moan with each one. His breath is hot against my ear.
“Look how pretty you are,” he says. “All wrapped around my cock.”
I groan, and his pace picks up, just a little. The sound of our bodies meeting fills the room.
“This is what you wanted, right?” he whispers.
“Mhm,” I gasp.
“Use your words, Baby Girl.”
“Yes, please don’t stop,” I breathe.
“I won’t.” He kisses me, open-mouthed and messy.
The pressure builds, and I moan louder, my nails digging into his back.
“That’s it,” he says. “Let me hear you.”
I can’t help it. Every sound escapes me. He drives into me, steady and relentless.
“You’re close,” he says.
“Yes. Yes, please.”
“I want to feel you come on my cock.” His voice is rough.
That’s all it takes. The orgasm crashes through me. My body clenches around him, and I cry out, shuddering beneath him. He keeps moving through it, drawing it out until I’m trembling. When I start to come down, he slows. He’s still hard inside me. He looks down at me.
“One more,” he says. “I want to feel you come again.”
I’m still sensitive, but I nod.
“Beg for it,” he says.
“Luca, please.”
He doesn’t move.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Please make me come again,” I say louder.
He starts moving again. He drives his cock harder than before, and I’m not sure I can take it anymore.
“You can do it,” he says. “You’re so beautiful like this.”
I moan, and my hips meet his thrusts.
“Almost there,” he says. “Come for me, Baby Girl.”
That fucking nickname. I come again, harder this time, my back arching off the mattress. He groans and follows, his body tensing as he spills inside me. He stays there, buried deep, his forehead pressed to mine.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. Then he pulls out slowly and rolls onto his side, pulling me with him. My cheek rests on his chest. His hand strokes my hair.
“See?” he says. “Nothing to be scared of.”