I suck in a breath. “Vodka—”
“Can I get you two started with a drink?” she asks, leaning in slightly.
Luca’s hand moves—a sharp, intentional flick that sends a jolt through me so violent I almost lift off the seat. I grip the armrests, my knuckles white, trying to keep my facial muscles from betraying the riot happening under the blanket.
“I—uh,” I start, my voice an octave higher than usual. Luca doesn't stop. He speeds up, his touch becoming the most tantalizing source of friction and he has me teetering on the very edge. “We’ll have...a vodka soda. For him.”
The attendant nods, her pen hovering over her pad. “And for you, ma’am?”
Luca’s fingers curve, hooking deep, and I feel the first wave of the internal earthquake start to roll. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. All I can feel is him, claiming me at thirty thousand feet while the world goes on as usual around us.
“A... a club soda,” I manage to choke out, my eyes fluttering shut as the climax hits me with the force of a tidal wave. I bury a moan in the crook of my shoulder, my body trembling under the heavy weight of the blanket.
“Coming right up,” she says, blissfully unaware of the wreckage she’s leaving behind and she moves on to the next passenger.
As she disappears back toward the galley, Luca leans over, his lips brushing my ear. He doesn't move his hand yet, letting me pulse against him as I come down.
“Good job, wife,” he whispers, a dark, triumphant vibration in his chest. “I think I’m going to like being married to you.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Rib-Sauce, Renegades + a Backyard Blessing
Aspen
I’m exhausted. I’ve spent the last six hours at the Biddy Mason clinic, coordinating a back-to-school drive and administering vaccines to rows of nervous, wide-eyed kids. The day was a marathon, but the donation from Dr. Diego Contreras and his foundation made it all possible. Seeing those families leave with one less worry made every bit of my current backache worth it.
Lately, life has been a rush of high-speed motion. Now that Luca doesn't need me as his full-time nurse, I’ve dived back into the deep end of my own career. Between my concierge clients—including two of Luca’s teammates who are surprisingly high-maintenance—and running these clinics, I’m running on caffeine and pure adrenaline. I haven’t even been able to indulge in my favorite yogurt these days.
Luca is back to his regular training schedule, and he’s even started coaching the Young Strikers in his downtime. It’s like we’re finally finding our rhythm, even if that rhythm is more Hip-Hop than R&B. Fast-paced. Loud. Perfectly in sync.
When I let myself into the penthouse, I’m expecting a quiet evening of takeout and a mixture of back and foot rubs. Instead, I’m greeted by the frantic sounds of gunfire and explosions echoing from the living room.
“Get him, Manny! On the left!” Croix’s voice booms.
I pause in the foyer, blinking at the scene. Luca and Croix are hunched on the edge of the sofa, flanking a kid I don’t recognize. The boy has his tongue poked out in pure concentration, mashing buttons on a controller with professional speed.
“Hey, babe,” Luca says, his eyes glued to the screen.
“Hey, Pen,” Croix adds, not even glancing up.
I just stand there for a second. Is this actually happening right now? “Hi?”
“Eros was running late after the Young Strikers practice, so I brought Manny home with us for a bit,” Luca explains. “Hope that’s alright, love.”
“Hi?” I repeat, still trying to process the sight.
“Croix came over to review game footage,” Luca continues, “but apparently, he couldn’t turn down aCall of Dutychallenge from an eight-year-old.”
“So, husband?” I say wearily. “I’m going to go get cleaned up. When I return, would you mind telling me how our home became the scene of Daddy Daycare?”
Luca finally looks back, flashing a mischievous grin and a wink. “Whatever you like, my love. Welcome home.”
I chuckle, shaking my head, but then a scent hits me. It’s smoky, tangy, and dangerously familiar. My heart skips a beat as I turn toward the balcony.
“Uhh, Luca?”
“Yes, love?” he calls out.
