Forces me into him.
“Let me go,” I say, though my voice is nowhere near convincing.
“Why?” Luca asks, stepping closer, his thigh sliding between mine. “So you can run off and shoot me?”
“That was the plan.”
“Mm.” He leans in, lips brushing my jaw but not quite touching. “I’ve got a better idea.”
His other hand slides along my waist, fingers hooking just at the edge of my shirt, heat moving up my spine.
I choke on a breath. “Luca?—”
He tilts his head so his mouth grazes my ear. “I’ve wanted you like this for so long,” he murmurs. “Pinned. Cornered. Looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” I breathe.
He smirks, his hips press closer.
The blaster slips from my hand.
He looks at me with a hunger that feels like an electric current straight through my body,
“Tell me to stop,” he says.
I don’t.
I can’t.
He grabs my waist and drags me fully into him. His thumb strokes the corner of my mouth.
Then he kisses me.
His hands slide into my hair, tugging just enough to make my knees go weak. I fist the front of his vest and pull him down harder, because suddenly I don’t care about air, or balance, or anything that isn’t him tasting like desire.
He groans into my mouth. His thigh shifts between mine, pinning and rubbing against me.
I don’t know how long the kiss goes on. Could been hours, lifetimes.
“I will never be able to get enough of your lips.” He pants.
He kisses me again, nibbling on my lower lip. My hands slide up his neck and into his hair.
The buzzer sounds overhead and we both look up.
“Round two… outside the arena?” Luca’s voice is rough.
I swallow hard. “Yeah. I think you owe me a rematch.”
His smile turns feral. “Good. Because I’m not done with you.”
We stepout of the arcade, the night air cooling my nerves. The city hum fades behind us, replaced by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant glow of street lamps.
I glance at him, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “That… was insane,” I breathe, still buzzing. “I’ve never laughed that much in… I don’t even know how long. You really know how to show a girl a good time.”
He smirks, eyes twinkling even in the dark. “Good,” he murmurs. “Hearing that laugh, seeing that smile… It’s worth everything. You deserve it, Isobel. You deserve to feel happy. All of it.”
Warmth spreads through my body at the sincerity in his voice. He’s my Luca: flirty, teasing, dangerous, all-consuming. Yet somehow, underneath it, there’s that flicker of care, fleeting and hazardous in its intensity.
