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I’m completely speechless. I lift my glass, but I can’t find a single word.
“To trying,” Luca says softly, touching his glass to mine, and my heart flutters in my chest in a way that it never has before.
I take a sip of the wine. It’s delicious, rich and fruity, just the right amount of dry, and as I spear a bite of my salad with my fork, I consider what this could turn into. What life with a man like Luca could be if I let myself enjoy it.
It’s clear that there’s no easy way out of this. Even if Rossi and the Bratva both were no longer a threat, Luca has made it clear that he doesn’t intend to easily let me leave. And after last night, I know that he’ll be even less inclined to do that.
After last night, I’m no longer so sure that I want to leave.
The food is delicious, better than anything I’ve ever tasted, except for maybe the food at our wedding. But that might as well have been made of sand for how little I enjoyed it—I barely even remember what was served. I can feel myself relaxing little by little as the server brings the next course, a collection of small plates with various foods on them.
“I told them to do a tasting menu of things you might order in Paris,” Luca says, sliding one of the small plates towards me. “Quail with blueberry sauce. Duck with orange. Salmon braised with lemon. Scallops in butter.”
I reach for my fork, but instead, Luca digs into the quail breast, taking a forkful of the delicate meat and holding it up to my lips. I blink at him, momentarily startled, but I obediently open my mouth, letting him slide the fork almost sensually into my mouth. “What do you think?” he asks softly, his green eyes never leaving my face.
“It’s delicious,” I manage. My heart is racing again, my skin tingling. He’s so close to me, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his skin and smell the scent of his cologne, like fresh salt air and lemons. I want to breathe him in, to lean past the forkful of scallops that he’s holding out to me and kiss him, with blueberry on my tongue and red wine on his.
Is this how it feels to fall for someone? Our fights, the humiliating night before our wedding and the way I rebelled so fiercely against everything he’s done, the fear of our wedding night and my anger all feel a million miles away. I can’t remember why I felt any of those things. I’m overcome by stars and twinkling lights, the rich taste of food that melts on my tongue washed down by expensive wine. Luca’s bright green eyes searching my face, for all the world looking as if he’s begging me to give him a chance.
I don’t understand why. Why the change of heart? But it’s hard to ask that when I can feel my own heart shifting, opening up to him despite myself.
By the time the dessert course arrives, I feel as if I’d do anything for him to kiss me. The server sets the marble tray in front of us, covered in strawberries, cheeses, and small pots of crème brulee and chocolate mousse. Luca picks up a strawberry, holding it up to my lips, and as he places it on my tongue, his fingertip brushes over my lower lip.
I make a small sound, and I feel his hand on my knee, sliding up under my skirt as he slides a strawberry into his own mouth, his full lips sliding over the fruit and reminding me of his mouth on me last night, kissing between my legs until I lost myself in pleasure like I’d never felt before.
A teaspoon of chocolate mousse is the next thing he feeds me. With every bite, his hand creeps up my thigh, his fingertips trailing up my soft skin until I feel breathless with desire, aching for him to touch me.
“Here,” Luca says, handing me the spoon. “I want to eat my own dessert.”
He winks at me, and for a wild second, I think that he’s going to slide under the table and up my skirt, but instead, he just reaches for his own pot of mousse, watching me between bites as his fingers finally reach the top of my thigh, brushing over the front of my panties as I almost choke on a bite of brulee.
“Oh,” he murmurs softly. “Lace. My favorite.”
I can’t stop the moan that slips out as his fingers slide under the edge of the thong. “You’re so wet,” Luca says in a low voice. “You must have wanted this so badly.”
Nervously, I glance over my shoulder to make sure that the server isn’t watching, biting my lip hard as Luca’s fingers trail over the outer edge of my pussy.
“Don’t worry, he can’t see us,” Luca says quietly. “As long as you don’t make any noise, he won’t even know what’s happening.”
Oh god.I know exactly what he’s planning then. For a brief second, I consider telling him to stop, even though I don’t have the slightest idea if he actually would. But the truth is that I don’t want him to.
I feel like I’m in some kind of wild fantasy, Luca’s fingers sliding upwards as I taste burnt sugar and cream on my tongue, his index finger teasing the tip of my clit as I gasp, trying to stay silent as he presses down, rubbing in small circles that grow faster and faster. And all the while, he keeps eating his dessert, as if I’m not slipping towards the edge of having an orgasm out here in the open, on the rooftop.
“Mmm,” he groans as he takes another bite. “So delicious, don’t you think?” He glances sideways at me, clearly expecting an answer just as he slides two fingers knuckle-deep into my pussy, curling them upwards as I stifle a moan, clenching around him as my body spasms with pleasure.
“Don’t you like it?” He smiles, thrusting his fingers into me again as I swallow hard, unable to speak. If I say anything, I know I’m going to moan or scream, on the verge of such an uncontrollable pleasure that I don’t know how I’ll contain it when I finally do come.
“Yes,” I manage to whimper somehow. “Yes, it’s—it’s so—oh god, it’s so good—” I can hear the words tumble from my lips, breathless—just as the server walks towards us.
Oh, fuck.Surely Luca is going to stop, I think. Surely he won’t keep going with someone standing right next to us. Even though his hand is hidden under the white tablecloth, I can’t imagine how anyone could stand next to me and see my flushed skin and heaving chest and not know what’s going on.
But surprisingly, the server seems oblivious. “Do you need anything else?”
“Maybe more wine,” Luca says, his fingers still moving inside of me as he rubs my clit faster, and I realize with horror that he’s intentionally pushing me towards an orgasm. “What would you suggest? Maybe a port while we finish dessert?”
“A port would be perfect, sir. I’ll bring it right over.”
“Luca, please—” I gasp as the server walks away. “Please—”
