8. Luca
Luca
The silence inside the SUV is thick. Heavy.
Gilly is stiff beside me, her arms crossed, her gaze locked on the window. The neon glow from Inferno fades into the night, swallowed by the darkened streets.
She hasn’t spoken since we left.
She’s trying to pretend nothing happened. That I didn’t just stake my claim on her in front of a room full of men who now know she’s untouchable.
But I know better.
I see the way her fingers twitch against her thigh, the way her breath still comes too fast. She’s not unaffected.
She’s burning.
She just doesn’t want to admit it.
I smirk, stretching one arm along the back of the seat as I watch her. I let the silence stretch, thick and suffocating.
I let her sit in it.
Let her drown in the tension.
Then, finally, I break it.
“Was it worth it?” My voice is smooth. Amused.
Gilly doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react.
She just keeps staring out the window like she didn’t just test me in the most public way possible.
Like she didn’t just let another man touch her.
I tilt my head, watching her carefully. “Testing me.”
Still, nothing.
But her fingers flex against her thigh, just enough to betray her.
A slow chuckle rumbles from my chest. Low. Dangerous. “Tell me, Gilly—did you like it?”
She stiffens.
I lean in, letting my breath ghost over her skin, just below her ear. “Because I think you did.”
Her breath catches. It’s subtle. But I hear it.
I always hear it.
She swallows hard, her throat working. Still refusing to look at me.
So I give her a choice.
“Answer me,” I murmur.
Silence.
A muscle in my jaw flexes.
Alright. She wants to play?
Fine.
The SUV rolls to a slow stop.
Gilly finally glances my way, brows pulling together. “Why are we stopping?”
I shift the gear into park, my grip flexing over the steering wheel before I exhale slowly.
“Because I’m not done with you yet.”
Her entire body tenses.
Her hands press against her lap, knuckles white. “Take me home, Luca.”
I tilt my head, watching her carefully, my patience wearing thin.
“You think you can play with fire and not get burned?”
Her pulse hammers at the base of her throat.
She knows exactly what I mean.
But she’s still pretending she doesn’t.
My smirk is slow. Dark.
And then—
I reach for her.
In a single motion, I grip her waist and pull her onto my lap.
A sharp gasp leaves her lips as she lands against me, her thighs straddling mine, her dress riding up dangerously high.
She stiffens, her hands pressing hard against my chest. “Luca—”
I slide one hand down to her hip, gripping tight, feeling the way her breath stutters against my neck.
“You had your fun, Gilly.” My voice is low, dark. “Now it’s my turn.”
Her fingers twitch against me.
She’s fighting to stay still, fighting to ignore the way her body reacts to mine. But I feel it. The way her thighs tense. The way her pulse pounds beneath my fingertips.
I drag my knuckles slowly up her thigh, barely grazing the sensitive skin.
She shudders.
I smirk.
She hates how easily I unravel her.
She shakes her head, her breath uneven. “You can’t—”
I cut her off.
“Say you don’t want me, Gilly.”
Her lips part, her chest rising and falling too fast.
I brush my fingers up, skimming under the hem of her dress, my grip tightening around her waist.
“Lie to me,” I murmur.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.
Because she can’t.
She doesn’t have an answer.
Not one she’s willing to admit.
Her hands fist against my shirt, her nails digging into the fabric, but she doesn’t push me away.
Because that would be too easy.
And we both know she doesn’t do easy.
I press my lips just below her ear, my breath hot against her skin. “Say it.”
A shaky exhale leaves her lips.
But she doesn’t.
She stays frozen, trapped between what she wants and what she refuses to accept.
Her silence is a confession all on its own.
Gilly’s breath shudders against my lips.
She’s trembling—not from fear, but from something far more dangerous.
Want.
I feel it in the way her body presses against mine, the way her fingers clutch the fabric of my shirt like she’s afraid to let go.
But she doesn’t say it.
Doesn’t give me the words I want.
I slide my hand higher, my fingertips just barely tracing the inside of her thigh.
She sucks in a sharp breath, her nails biting into my chest.
Her silence is a confession.
She wants this.
Wants me.
But she’s still fighting it.
I tilt my head, brushing my lips along her jaw. “You can’t say it, can you?” My voice is pure sin, smooth and taunting.
Her pulse slams against her throat. “Luca—”
She finally moves—pressing against my chest again.
This time, with more force.
I let her.
I exhale slowly, my hands lingering for just a second longer before I finally let go.
She scrambles off my lap, shoving her dress back into place, her breath uneven.
But she doesn’t look at me.
She can’t.
Because she knows what just happened.
She knows how close she came to giving in.
I watch her with a slow, knowing smirk as she forces herself back into her seat.
She turns her head sharply, staring out the window, but she can’t hide the way her chest still rises and falls too quickly.
I grip the steering wheel, flexing my knuckles before restarting the car.
The engine rumbles to life.
The tension between us?
Still burns.
I shift gears, pulling the SUV out of the alley, my voice low and amused.
“Better fasten your seatbelt, baby.”
Her breath catches.
I don’t miss the way her fingers shake as she reaches for the buckle.
I chuckle under my breath.
She thinks she escaped.
She didn’t.
This is far from over.