10. Luca
Luca
The house is silent.
Not in the way most houses are at this hour, where the stillness is peaceful—comforting.
No. This silence is something else entirely.
It’s thick. Heavy. A living thing that slithers through the halls, wrapping around her throat like a warning.
She thinks she’s safe behind that locked door.
Thinks she’s keeping me out.
She’s wrong.
I stand outside her bedroom, rolling my cuffs back with slow, deliberate precision. The scent of her lingers beneath the wood.
Anger.
Frustration.
Desperation.
She’s unraveling.
She knows it.
I know it.
But she still won’t stop fighting.
I don’t knock.
Don’t call her name.
I can feel her.
The way her breath hitches. The way she presses her palm against the door, like she’s convincing herself that this is enough.
That she still has control.
A slow smirk curls my lips as I drag a palm down my jaw.
Let her pretend.
Let her think this distance gives her power.
Because when that door finally opens?
She’ll realize—she’s the one who’s trapped.
---
I leave her alone.
For now.
Let her sit with it.
Let her mind run wild, twisting itself into knots, trying to figure out what comes next.
I return to my bedroom, the tension rolling through my shoulders as I pour myself a drink.
The whiskey burns smooth as I sink into one of the armchairs.
It’s late, but I don’t bother going to bed.
She won’t sleep tonight.
Neither will I.
Because this isn’t over.
Not by a long shot.
An hour passes. Then two.
And then—she makes a mistake.
A soft shuffle in the hallway.
A hesitant pause outside my door.
I set my glass down, exhaling slowly.
Waiting.
The knob turns.
Then, the door creaks open.
I don’t move.
I let her come to me.
Her steps are slow, hesitant. She lingers in the doorway, her eyes scanning the room—assessing.
And then she sees it.
The wedding ring.
Sitting on my nightstand.
Waiting.
I drag my gaze over her, taking my time. She’s barefoot, wearing a thin silk robe over whatever she slept in. The fabric clings to her body, the soft glow from the window licking against her skin.
She looks like she belongs here.
Because she does.
I tilt my head, nodding toward the ring.
“You forgot something, baby.”
Her jaw tightens.
A long, tense silence stretches between us before, slowly, she moves.
She picks up the ring.
For a moment, she just stares at it.
Then, in a defiant, almost reckless move—she slides it onto her finger.
Something dark coils in my chest at the sight.
Mine.
She swallows hard, her breathing uneven.
Then, just as quickly as she put it on—she rips it off.
And throws it at me.
The sharp clink of metal against the floor echoes through the room.
Her chest is rising and falling too fast, her fingers clenched into fists at her sides.
“You can control my body,” she bites out, voice shaking. “But you’ll never control me.”
The words sink in.
Slow.
Measured.
And then—I laugh.
Low. Dark. Dangerous.
She flinches. Just barely.
But I see it.
I push up from the chair, moving slowly, rolling my sleeves higher.
She doesn’t back away.
Good.
“That so?” My voice is smooth, amused.
I take a step toward her.
She lifts her chin, but there’s a flicker of hesitation in her eyes.
“You think you’re in control?” My tone is pure sin, my gaze dragging over her in a way that makes her swallow hard. “Let’s test that theory.”
And then—I move.
Fast.
Before she can react, before she can even think—
I pin her against the wall.
She gasps.
Sharp. Shaky.
Not from fear.
But from something far more dangerous.
Want.
Her pulse hammers against my fingertips as I press a palm to her throat, not squeezing—just feeling.
Reminding her.
Her hands brace against my chest, but she doesn’t push me away.
Because she doesn’t really want to.
I tilt my head, watching her carefully.
“Still think you’re in control, baby?”
She sucks in a breath, but she doesn’t answer.
Because she can’t.
Because we both know the truth.
She never had control to begin with.
Only I did.
Only I ever will.
And now?
Now it’s time she learns exactly what that means.
Gilly’s breath shudders against my lips, her chest rising and falling too fast.
She should push me away.
She should fight.
But she doesn’t.
Her fingers twitch against my chest, curled into the fabric of my shirt like she needs to hold on to something—like she’s trying to ground herself.
Like she already knows she’s slipping.
I drag my knuckles along the edge of her jaw, tilting her chin up until her eyes meet mine.
Defiance.
Fire.
Fear.
Not of me.
Of herself.
Of what she’s feeling.
What she refuses to admit.
A slow smirk tugs at my lips as I lean in, my voice low, teasing.
“Tell me again how I don’t control you.”
She jerks her head to the side, wrenching herself free, but I don’t let her go.
I press my body against hers, pinning her completely, feeling the way her thighs tense, the way her breath catches.
“Luca,” she warns, her voice trembling.
I hum, trailing a finger down her throat, feeling the rapid pulse that betrays her.
“Say it, baby.” My mouth brushes against the shell of her ear, my breath warm against her skin. “Say you don’t feel this.”
Her entire body locks up.
Her lips part, but nothing comes out.
Because she can’t.
Because she knows.
Knows that what’s burning between us isn’t something she can just shut off.
It’s been there since the beginning.
And it’s only getting stronger.
I press my hand lower, letting my fingers skim the soft silk of her robe.
She shudders.
A soft, unsteady inhale.
Her fingers curl tighter against my shirt.
I smirk.
“Luca…” It’s barely a whisper.
A plea?
A warning?
She doesn’t even know.
Neither do I.
And I don’t care.
Because she’s mine.
And it’s time she stops pretending otherwise.
Her eyes flick to mine, something wild flashing behind them.
Then—she shoves me.
Hard.
I don’t move.
Don’t even stumble.
But she tries again, her palms pressing flat against my chest, frustration radiating off her in waves.
“I hate you,” she spits, her voice shaking.
I chuckle.
Low. Dark. Amused.
“That’s what makes this so much fun.”
She sucks in a sharp breath, her nostrils flaring.
And then—she does the worst possible thing.
She looks at my mouth.
Her mistake.
I don’t give her time to regret it.
I crash my lips against hers, swallowing her sharp gasp as I drag her deeper into me, my fingers twisting into her hair, my grip tightening against her waist.
A war.
She bites my lip, punishing.
I growl, my grip tightening, my body pressing harder against hers, pinning her completely.
Her robe is slipping, revealing glimpses of bare skin, and when my hands skim her waist, my fingers dragging over soft curves, she shudders beneath me.
“Still want to pretend you don’t want this?” I murmur against her lips.
She lets out a shaky breath, her fingers twisting in my shirt.
“I—”
I don’t let her finish.
I lift her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around my waist, my hands gripping her thighs, dragging her against me so she can feel just how hard I am for her.
She gasps, her body arching, her head falling back against the wall.
“Luca,” she breathes, her voice wrecked.
I smirk, dragging my lips down her throat, sucking, biting, marking her.
She’s mine.
She always has been.
I step away from the wall, carrying her to the bed.
She tries to fight it.
I feel the tension in her body, the way she’s battling herself, the way her fingers dig into my shoulders like she’s trying to hold on to the last piece of her resistance.
But when I throw her down onto the mattress, when I strip off my shirt, when I stand above her—breathless, hungry, fucking starving for her—
She breaks.
Her gaze scorches over my body, her lips parting as her eyes trace the muscles, the scars, the ink that marks me as something lethal, something dangerous.
And something hers.
She drags her gaze back to mine, dark and full of something she can’t hide anymore.
Want.
Need.
Fucking surrender.
I smirk as I reach for her ankles, dragging her to the edge of the bed, parting her legs, baring her completely.
She gasps, her hands gripping the sheets, but she doesn’t close her thighs.
She stays open for me.
Waiting.
Breathless.
Mine.
I exhale slowly, my gaze drinking her in. “Look at you, baby.”
Her breath hitches, her back arching slightly, her chest rising and falling too fast.
I lean in, my lips brushing over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.
She shivers.
I grin against her skin.
"Still think you’re in control?" I murmur.
She doesn’t answer.
She can’t.
Because she already knows the truth.
I press a slow, lingering kiss right where she’s aching for me, groaning when I feel how wet she is.
"Christ, Gilly," I rasp. "You’re soaked for me."
She lets out a soft whimper, her fingers tightening in the sheets.
I slide my tongue against her, teasing, tasting, watching as her thighs tremble.
She’s so fucking responsive.
So mine.
I grip her hips, holding her in place as I devour her.
She writhes, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her hands flying to my hair, pulling, tugging, desperate.
“Luca,” she moans, her voice pure sin.
I hum against her, the vibration making her jerk, gasp, cry out.
I don’t stop.
I don’t let up.
I don’t give her a single second to escape the pleasure tearing through her.
And when she finally shatters, when she moans my name like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to this world, I don’t fucking stop.
I drag it out, licking and sucking until she’s trembling, gasping, clenching the sheets like she can’t take anymore.
Then—and only then—I pull back, crawling over her, pressing my forehead to hers.
“You still hate me, baby?” I murmur.
Her breath is uneven, her fingers sliding over my jaw, her lips parting—
Then she pulls me down, kissing me like she wants to destroy me.
I groan against her lips, dragging my cock against her entrance, teasing, pushing, almost giving her what she needs.
Her thighs tighten around me.
Her hands tangle in my hair.
She arches, desperate, undone.
“Luca,” she breathes.
I grip her jaw, forcing her to look at me.
"Say it, Gilly." My voice is dark, demanding.
She swallows hard.