13. Gilly
Gilly
Some nightmares aren’t just dreams.
They’re memories. Waiting. Watching. Striking when you least expect them.
The air is thick, suffocating. I know I’m dreaming, but I can’t wake up. I can’t move.
I’m back in my office, the glow of the computer screen the only light in the room. The folder is open, the crime scene photos staring back at me.
The body.
The blood.
And then—Luca.
He’s standing over the man, his expression unreadable, his shadow stretching across the concrete like a phantom.
But this time, it’s different.
This time, he turns his head.
His dark eyes lock onto mine through the screen, as if he can see me. As if he knows I’m watching.
My stomach plummets.
“You think I wouldn’t find out?”
His voice isn’t coming from the computer. It’s behind me.
I whip around, but it’s too late.
Luca is there. In my office.
He moves too fast, his hands gripping my throat—not choking, just holding, trapping. My pulse slams against my ribs as his lips brush my ear.
“You ran,” he murmurs, voice silk and steel. “And now?”
His fingers tighten. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make sure I can’t escape.
“Now, you’re mine.”
---
I wake up gasping.
The room is dark, my skin damp with sweat, my heart pounding so hard it drowns out everything else.
It was a dream.
Just a dream.
But I can still feel his touch. Can still hear his voice slithering into my bones, curling around my throat like an unbreakable chain.
My breaths come fast, ragged. My hands are shaking.
I need control.
I need air.
Throwing back the covers, I slip out of bed, careful not to disturb Rafa. His small body is curled beneath the blankets, his breathing deep and even. Peaceful.
I envy him.
Moving on instinct, I pull on my robe and step into the hallway, my bare feet silent against the cool marble floors. The house is quiet, but it’s the same kind of quiet I felt before—watchful.
Like the walls know I don’t belong here.
Like he knows.
I don’t know where I’m going, only that I need to get away from the lingering ghost of my nightmare. Away from my thoughts. Away from him.
But of course, that’s impossible.
Because when I step into the library, he’s already there.
Luca is exactly how I expect him to be.
Unbothered. Effortless. Waiting.
He’s leaning back in a leather armchair, shirtless, a glass of whiskey resting lazily in his hand. The fireplace flickers low behind him, casting long shadows over his skin, highlighting every sharp angle, every inked line of his tattoos.
He’s been drinking, but not enough to dull the sharpness in his gaze when it lifts to mine.
I freeze in the doorway.
His lips curl slightly. “Can’t sleep?”
I force myself to move, stepping farther into the library. My robe hangs loose around me, my skin still overheated from the nightmare. I don’t know why I came here, why I thought this room would bring me any sense of calm.
I should leave.
Turn around. Walk away.
But I don’t.
Instead, I cross the space between us and reach for the whiskey in his hand. His fingers don’t loosen right away, and for a moment, I think he’s going to fight me for it.
Then he lets go.
I raise the glass to my lips, keeping my gaze locked on his as I take a slow sip. The burn of the alcohol is nothing compared to the way his eyes darken, dragging over my body like a silent challenge.
I set the glass down on the table beside him, then step back, folding my arms over my chest.
His smirk widens. “That bad, huh?”
I narrow my eyes. “What?”
“The nightmare.” He watches me carefully, like he already knows the answer.
I lift my chin. “Who said I had one?”
He hums, tipping his glass toward me. “Because you don’t drink my whiskey unless you’re trying to forget something.”
I hate that he knows that.
Hate that he knows me.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I mutter. “Not everything is about you, Luca.”
He sets his glass down, resting his forearms on his knees. “That’s where you’re wrong, Gilly.”
His voice is lower now, quieter, like a secret meant just for me. Like he knows exactly where my mind went the second I saw him sitting there—shirtless, watching me with that unbearable patience.
He’s giving me an out.
Daring me to take it.
Daring me to run.
I should.
But instead, I stay.
I don’t know who moves first.
Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s him.
All I know is that one second, there’s space between us, and the next, there’s nothing at all.
Luca is on me in an instant, his body pressing me back against the bookshelf, his hands gripping my waist, my robe falling open between us. A sharp gasp escapes me, but I don’t push him away.
I should.
I don’t.
His fingers are rough as they slide down, gripping my bare thigh, lifting it against his hip. I feel the hard press of him, the heat of his skin, the low, guttural growl vibrating through his chest.
"You should’ve run when you had the chance," he murmurs darkly, his lips ghosting over mine, teasing, taunting.
I’m shaking. Whether it’s from anger, from fear, or from something far more dangerous—I don’t know.
I lift my chin. "I’m not afraid of you."
His smirk is slow, predatory. "Liar."
Then he kisses me.
It’s not gentle. It’s not careful. It’s a punishment.
His mouth claims mine, his teeth nipping my bottom lip, his hands gripping my hips, dragging me against him like he wants to fuse our bodies together.
I fight him. I have to.
I fist my hands in his hair, yanking his head back, but he only groans in response, like he likes the struggle. Like my defiance is just another challenge for him to conquer.
His fingers dig into my thighs, lifting me. My legs wrap around his waist on instinct, and in one swift motion, he turns, slamming me down onto the leather armchair he just vacated.
I barely have a second to catch my breath before he’s on me again, tearing at my robe, shoving it off my shoulders, baring my body to him completely.
A sharp inhale. A flicker of something dark in his eyes.
Then his hands are on me, his palms sliding up my waist, rough fingers brushing over my already hardened nipples.
"You were never good at pretending," he rasps, dragging his thumb over one tight peak, watching as my breath stutters, as my body betrays me. "You want this. You always wanted this."
I shake my head, but it’s useless.
He knows the truth.
He sees it in the way my back arches when his mouth closes over my breast, in the way my thighs tighten around him as his tongue flicks, as his teeth scrape, sending sharp, electric pleasure shooting through me.
"You can fight me all you want, Gilly," he murmurs against my skin. "But your body? It belongs to me."
His words make something snap inside me.
I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. I shove at his chest, flipping us over, straddling him in the chair, my hands bracing against his shoulders.
His surprise only lasts a second before his smirk returns, his hands gripping my hips, holding me in place over the hard ridge of his cock.
"This is what you want?" I hiss, rolling my hips against him, feeling the delicious friction between us. "You want me to lose control?"
His grip tightens. "I want you to stop fucking lying to yourself."
I don’t let him have the last word.
I lean down, crashing my lips against his, taking, demanding, owning him the way he always tries to own me.
His groan vibrates through me, his fingers digging into my thighs, his body tensing beneath me.
Then suddenly, I’m the one losing control.
Because his hands are everywhere—on my waist, my back, my ass—gripping, holding, claiming.
He lifts me, shifts us, and before I can blink, I’m on my back on the couch, Luca looming over me, my legs spread wide, my breath coming too fast.
His lips brush over my jaw, down my neck, trailing lower, lower—
Then he’s there.
Between my thighs.
His tongue glides through my slick folds, slow, deliberate, a teasing flick before he groans against me.
"Christ, Gilly," he rasps, his breath hot against my sensitive skin. "You taste like fucking heaven."
I want to push him away. I want to close my legs, to deny him this last piece of me.
But I can’t.
Because his mouth is on me again, his tongue stroking, circling, sucking, his fingers sliding deep inside me, curling, finding that perfect spot that makes my entire body jerk.
I cry out, my back arching, my hands flying to his hair, gripping, pulling.
He groans against me, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure shooting through me.
Then he devours me.
His tongue is relentless, his fingers unyielding, fucking me with slow, precise strokes that make my vision blur, my breath come in ragged gasps.
I’m close. Too close.
And he knows it.
I feel his smirk against my skin as he sucks my clit between his lips, flicks his tongue, pushes his fingers deeper—
I shatter.
A strangled moan rips from my throat, my body convulsing, pleasure slamming into me so hard it leaves me shaking, breathless, lost.
Luca doesn’t stop.
Not until I’m trembling. Not until I’m boneless beneath him, my body completely spent.
Only then does he rise, his eyes dark, filled with something dangerous.
"You’re mine, Gilly," he murmurs, gripping his cock, dragging the thick head through my wetness, teasing me. "And now, I’m going to fuck you like you belong to me."
I barely have time to take a breath before he thrusts inside me.
Hard.
Deep.
Fucking brutal.
I cry out, my nails raking down his back, my body stretching, adjusting to the sheer size of him.
Luca groans, his forehead dropping to mine, his breath ragged. "Christ. You’re so fucking tight."
I bite my lip, my thighs tightening around his waist, my hips rocking instinctively, trying to take more, needing more.
He grips my jaw, forces me to look at him. "Say it."
I pant against him, my mind too fogged with pleasure to think. "Say what?"
A dark smirk. A slow thrust.
"Say you’re mine."
I hate him.
I hate that he’s doing this to me. That he owns my body this completely. That even as my mind screams at me to resist, my body is already surrendering, already clenching around him, already giving in.
"Say it, baby," he rasps, his thrusts deep and slow, dragging pleasure out of me like a confession.
I shake my head, biting my lip, refusing.
His fingers slip between us, pressing against my clit.
I scream.
"Luca—"
"Say it."
I break.
"I’m yours," I gasp, my body convulsing as another orgasm crashes through me. "I’m yours."
His groan is raw, guttural, his thrusts turning desperate, erratic.
And then he’s right there with me.
With one final, bruising snap of his hips, he shudders, burying himself deep, marking me from the inside out.
We stay like that, tangled, breathless.
I don’t remember falling asleep.
One moment, I’m coming undone beneath him.
The next, I’m warm, safe. Held.
That’s what startles me awake—not the nightmare this time, but the opposite.
Luca doesn’t leave.
For the first time, he stays.
His arm tightens around my waist, his breath steady against my hair.
Then, just as I start to drift off again, I hear him.
A whisper.
A single word, low and quiet, meant only for me.
"Mine."