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“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His lips are hot against my neck, my ear, and my cheek before finally finding my mouth. Something inside me rejoices, and I kiss him back as hard as I can, hard enough for my lips to sting. It doesn’t stop me. I doubt anything could.
“I’m sorry,” I gasp between kisses, running my hands through his hair, finally pushing his suit jacket away from his shoulders and over his arms. I have to touch him. I need the connection like I never have. “I should have been smarter about how I explained how I felt. I shouldn’t have thrown it at you like I did, especially not at the club.”
“No, no, don’t do that.” He pulls back, his hands buried in my hair to hold my head in place, and looks deep into my eyes. His love for me burning fiercely in those dark, swirling depths. The intensity of it is like a fire spreading from his body to mine. “I don’t want you to ever feel like you need to be afraid to come to me with anything. I was selfish and stupid. I didn’t know how to handle the way I felt. This is all new for me. I’ve never apologized to a woman before, for fuck’s sake,” he adds with a groan.
“I understand.” And I do. It all seems so stupid now. Stupid and pointless. I kiss him again and again, pouring all of my love into it, whimpering, panting, and fumbling with the buttons on his shirt while he tugs at the waist of my yoga pants.
“Nothing matters more than you. Nothing.” He slides a hand under my T-shirt and cups my breast, leaving me with no choice but to groan helplessly into his mouth and arch my back. My body is taking control, searching for what it needs, greedily accepting everything Luca can offer while demanding more. So much more.
At the end of the day, this is what matters—our connection. He’s my purpose, my center, and only he can make my soul sing. He’s my home.
He kisses his way over my body, almost rough, as he strips away my shirt so he can descend on me, claiming with his lips and tongue, with every touch of his knowing hands against my overheated skin. His touch is sweet fire, consuming me, stripping away everything but the basics. This, here and now. Us.
“Never fucking leave me,” he rasps, his breath hot and moist on my stomach as he works his way up my body again, licking a trail between my breasts and up my throat.
“Not ever,” I promise. But instead of pulling Luca closer and drawing him inside me, I push him up and away from me with both hands. His confusion doesn’t last long once I sit up, straddling his lap while he falls back against the cushions.
I strip his shirt away, running my hands over the intricately inked letters spanning his chest and lifting myself high enough to finish undoing his pants. He raises his hips and yanks them down along with his boxer briefs. Wrapping my fingers around his rigid length makes him suck in a sharp breath as he moans. “That’s good. You make my cock feel so good.”
“I know how to make it feel even better.” I take a moment to savor the hold I have over him before taking him inside my aching pussy. After hours spent lost in helpless confusion, I need him deep inside me like a permanent reminder he’s here with me, and that’s all that matters.
Setting my own pace, I slowly slide down his length, watching sheer pleasure overtake him. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, groaning when I grind against his base. “Oh, fuck. That’s it. Ride me,” he grunts out, taking hold of my hips and squeezing until I suck in a pained breath. The brief flash of pain only intensifies the pleasure, making me drop down hard and fast, and we both moan when our bodies slam together.
He catches the back of my head with one hand, pulling me in for a deep, passionate kiss that steals my breath. I move my tongue in time with the slow, rhythmic grinding of my hips, drinking in every deep, guttural moan that comes from the man now inside me. When I pull back, gasping for air, he runs his lips over my throat, planting kisses against my collarbone, worshiping my breasts while I rock my hips harder and faster, swept up in that special potent magic that only comes to life between us.
“Fuck, so good,” Luca grits out through his clenched jaw, overcome as I am, jerking upward with his hips to match my strokes. He wraps my hair around his fist and pulls my head back possessively, making me wince but making me ride harder. Something about it gets my heart racing faster. “You’re mine. Say it,” he demands.
“Yours,” I whimper out, grinding desperately. “I’m yours.” He captures my mouth again, invading me, and I drink him in.
Sweet Lord, it’s so good. The pressure against my clit is almost unbearable, and the friction between our bodies has me ready to burst into flames. The tension rises as I chase my release, holding him tight and running my nails over his skin while he grunts against my neck.
So close. I just need a little bit more.
“Come for me,” he growls out, and the words have their intended effect. My orgasm takes over so intensely I clutch him close, needing to hold him as I ride it out, my hips still jerking. Jolts of aftershocks pulse through me, my body tensing, and my breath chokes me.
Luca groans, his release hitting him with force. He grabs my hips, holding me in place as he bucks up into me, sending a rush of warmth deep inside. With a final jerk, a growl reverberates deep in his chest, and I fall against him, weak now, exhausted but exhilarated.
His heart races against mine but begins to slow down as we stay locked together in a tight embrace. No one is going to pull us apart.
Not now, not ever.
Because while I belong to him, he belongs to me.
10
LUCA
“That’s fine. We’ll be there soon. I’m expecting everything to be in order when we arrive.” With that, I end the call, lifting a hand to let Vinny know we’ll be on our way shortly. He’s leaning against the limousine in a holding pattern.
Opening the door, I step into the house, and even though the door to the bedroom is closed, the scent of Emilia’s perfume hangs in the air. A smile stirs my lips, and I clear my throat, raising my voice. “How’s it going? Do we have an estimate of how much longer until we can leave?”
“Sorry!” she calls back through the closed door. “I’m sorry, just a few more minutes. I want to look my best.”
“You looked your best when you woke up this morning,” I call back, checking the time on my Rolex. Not that it matters. It isn’t like we have a reservation dictating our schedule. But she doesn’t know that.
We need this. She deserves a night out, and as for me, I need a diversion. There’s guilt, of course. My father is up there in the house, and for all I know, he could be dying. Fuck knows I’ll never get a straight answer out of anybody.
It seems even Dante has clued into the fact there’s something we are not being told. I’ve noticed him watching Papa when he isn’t looking. His narrow-eyed expression and the tight set of his jaw scream out his concern.
