21. Gilly #2
Luca groans, his forehead dropping to mine, his body tensing beneath my touch.
“Christ, Gilly.”
I stroke him slowly, watching as his control frays at the edges. The way his jaw clenches, his fingers tightening on my thighs.
I should take my time.
But I don’t want slow.
I want desperation.
I want reckless.
I guide him to me, the thick head of his cock pressing against my entrance, so close, so impossibly close.
Then—one hard thrust.
Luca fills me completely, burying himself to the hilt, tearing a ragged gasp from my lips.
A deep, guttural groan rips from his throat.
“Fuck,” he growls, his head dropping to my shoulder. “So tight. So fucking wet.”
I whimper, my nails biting into his shoulders, my body stretching, accommodating, taking all of him.
For a second, he doesn’t move.
He just stays there, buried inside me, his breath ragged against my skin.
Then he pulls back.
And slams into me again.
Hard.
Deep.
Fucking devastating.
My head falls back, a moan tearing from my throat as he sets a brutal, punishing pace. Every thrust pushes me against the wall, his hands gripping my thighs too tight, too perfect, too much.
“This is what you wanted,” he grits out, his voice strained. “Me fucking you like you belong to me.”
I do.
I always have.
Luca’s mouth is everywhere—my jaw, my throat, the curve of my shoulder.
He bites.
He licks.
He devours.
Pleasure builds fast, too fast. My body clenches around him, my nails raking down his back, and he feels it.
He knows.
“Come for me,” he orders, his breath ragged. “I want to feel you.”
I break.
The orgasm slams into me, sharp and shattering, tearing me apart from the inside out.
Luca follows, groaning my name, burying himself deep, filling me, marking me, owning me.
We stay there, tangled together, bodies still trembling.
Then, slowly, he moves.
Luca carries me to the bed, laying me down, slipping beneath the covers beside me.
For the first time, he doesn’t leave.
He stays.
His arm drapes over my waist, his body curled protectively around mine.
I should say something.
Tell him the truth.
Tell him I love him.
But I don’t.
I just watch him.
The way his chest rises and falls. The way his fingers flex against my hip, even in sleep, as if some part of him knows he can’t let me go.
I don’t deserve this.
But for tonight, I take it.
Because I don’t know if I’ll ever have it again
I don’t know how much time passes before I can breathe again.
The room is dark, the scent of him wrapped around me like a second skin.
I should be exhausted. I should be sated.
But I’m not.
Because this was never just sex.
Not for me.
I turn my head slightly, my cheek pressed against the pillow.
Luca’s face is softer in sleep, the sharp lines of his jaw relaxed, his usually cold expression unguarded.
He looks peaceful.
And that’s what kills me.
Because after everything I’ve done, I don’t deserve to see him like this.
I don’t deserve him.
My chest tightens as I reach out, my fingertips barely brushing against the ink on his forearm. The same arm that held me down. The same arm that pulled me close.
The same arm I once thought was capable of murder.
A lump forms in my throat.
I ruined everything.
I don’t even realize the words are rising up my throat until they spill from my lips in a whisper, so quiet that only the night can hear.
“I love you.”
Luca doesn’t stir.
Doesn’t hear me.
And that’s the only reason I have the courage to say it.
Luca shifts in his sleep, his arm tightening around me.
For a second, I stop breathing.
His grip is possessive, even unconscious, like he knows I don’t belong anywhere else but here.
I let my eyes trace his face in the dim light filtering through the window. The sharp angles of a man who’s been forged in war, in blood and violence and survival.
And yet, with me, he sleeps.
Like he’s safe.
Like I won’t destroy him.
My stomach twists.
I don’t deserve this.
I don’t deserve the way he touches me, the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not watching. The way he pulled me apart tonight—not just my body, but everything inside me.
I was supposed to be strong. Supposed to keep my walls up.
Instead, I let him in.
My fingers graze along the ink on his forearm again, barely a ghost of a touch.
I should tell him.
I should wake him up, say the words out loud, let them sink into his skin the way his name is carved into my soul.
But I don’t.
Because tomorrow, everything will change.
Because love doesn’t save people like us.
It destroys them.
And if Luca knew I loved him, he would never let me go.
He would never let me make the choices I have to make.
I swallow hard, my breath shaky.
This might be the last night I have him like this.
So I don’t sleep.
I just watch him.
The slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. The quiet part of him no one else gets to see.
The part that, for some reason, he only shows me.
A lump rises in my throat, thick and heavy, but I force it down.
Don’t be weak.
I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling, letting the silence press against my ribs.
I don’t know what’s coming next.
But I know it won’t be this.
Won’t be peace.
Won’t be him.
---
The faintest hint of dawn begins to creep through the windows.
I hate it.
Hate that time won’t stop.
Hate that this moment can’t stretch forever.
I shift slightly, and Luca stirs, exhaling a deep breath. His hand flexes against my hip, his fingers warm, steady, claiming.
Even in sleep, he holds on.
He’s always held on.
I was the one who let go.
And now I have to live with that.
Slowly, I ease out of his grip, careful not to wake him.
His brow furrows slightly, as if some part of him feels my absence.
But he doesn’t wake.
Not yet.
I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.
I can still feel him everywhere.
The heat of his hands. The burn of his mouth. The weight of his body over mine.
My throat tightens.
Because I already know—no matter what happens tomorrow, no matter where this war leads us—I’ll never have this again.
I press my palms against my eyes, forcing the emotions back down.
Get up.
Get dressed.
I stand, slipping into the first piece of clothing I can find—his shirt.
The fabric is too big, the sleeves falling past my wrists, the hem brushing my thighs.
It smells like him.
Like smoke and whiskey and something dark.
I turn, glancing back at the bed.
Luca shifts again, his brow furrowing slightly, his hand reaching for something that isn’t there.
Me.
I swallow hard.
Walk away, Gilly.
But my feet don’t move.
Not yet.
Because I can’t stop myself from looking at him.
From memorizing this exact moment.
The morning light catching on his skin. The way his hair falls over his forehead. The way his fingers flex against the sheets like he’s still reaching for me.
He would never let me leave if he knew what I was thinking.
If he knew what I felt.
I take one slow step back toward him.
I shouldn’t.
But I do.
I brush my fingers over his hair, a featherlight touch.
I don’t even know why I do it.
But then his breathing shifts.
And his eyes open.
Green. Intense. Still hazy from sleep.
They lock onto me instantly.
I freeze.
For a moment, we just look at each other.
Neither of us speak.
Neither of us move.
Then his gaze drops—to the fact that I’m wearing his shirt.
A muscle ticks in his jaw.
Possessiveness flares behind his eyes.
A slow smirk tugs at his lips.
“You trying to tell me something, hellcat?” His voice is still rough from sleep, too damn knowing.
My stomach flips.
I school my face into neutrality.
I can’t let him see the war raging inside me.
So I force a smirk of my own.
“I just needed something to wear.”
Luca hums, eyes dragging over my bare legs. “That right?”
I turn before he can see me break.
“Go back to sleep, Marchesi.”
I hear the smirk in his voice.
“Not a chance.”