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“For now”—his tone comes out deep and guttural as he places a knee on the mattress and leans over me—“I want you in what you’re wearing.”
Breathing becomes near impossible as he tears the blanket I’ve been holding to my waist out of my grasp. I practically jump as his fingertips touch my leg, then lightly trail upward to the hem of the T-shirt.
His eyes still boring into mine, he begins to lift, exposing me little by little. Leaving a trail of fire inch by inch. It’s as if he’s daring me to stop him. Giving me time to say no.
I won’t, of course. Even if my mouth hadn’t gone so completely dry that speaking is impossible, I would be damning my father and sister.
So I let him tug the material over my hips and tummy, then over my rib cage. The pad of his thumb grazes my right nipple as he uncovers my breast, and only then does he look down.
A full-body blush suffuses me as the heat of his stare touches every bit of it. His large hand follows, covering my breast fully, then slides down.
“Spread your legs, Carina. I want to see your pussy.” He takes hold of my knee and pulls it away from where it’s pressed against the other one.
Cool air hits my core, but it’s not the cold that makes me shake. It’s the vulnerability of this position, where I’m spread eagle, everything on display for his hungry eyes, that makes me tremble.
He reaches forward and runs the back of his knuckles over my slit. I suck in my lower lip, fighting the need to moan.
Something that doesn’t escape his attention.
“You’re wet,” he states, and I hate that he’s noticed that too.
“Women are…” I hiss when he slides a finger inside me so deep the heel of his palm presses against my clit, creating a delicious friction that makes it hard to think. “Women are always wet.”
“Not like this.” He pulls out and brings his fingers to my mouth. Gingerly, he rubs my juices onto it. Then he leans toward me and licks the moisture off my lips, groaning as he does. “You taste exactly how I imagined.”
“What do I taste like?” I whisper.
“Like sin,” he says a second before he kisses me with sheer brutality, wild and painful. It’s a kiss meant to rob me of something, maybe my dignity.
Perhaps my soul.
Whatever it is, I’m powerless to stop him. The slide of his tongue against mine muddles my thoughts, making me open myself to him more. Wanting him to take, take, take.
He breaks the kiss only to nibble his way over my jaw, to my throat. The sting of his teeth only enhances the throbbing that’s starting between my legs.
His lips are on me, yet he’s much too far away as he hovers over me, holding himself up with his arms.
Grabbing onto his forearms, I thrust my hips upward, where my clit meets the rough material of his jeans. Pumping against him, I grind and rub, bringing myself close to the brink until, suddenly, he grabs my waist and slams me back onto the mattress.
“No,” he says.
Staring at him in confusion, I pant and try again, but he clamps down harder and moves so only his upper body is on me now.
“I said no.”
We remain like that, with me breathing hard and him over me for a few seconds. When I calm and think it’s over, he kisses me again.
Once again, he stokes the flames, invading all of my senses. Luca fills my mouth with the taste of him before he grazes my skin with the stubble of his cheeks as he moves downward. He secures my T-shirt high on my chest, then I feel his breath on my nipples, hot and teasing.
Instinctively, I lift them toward him, wanting more. But he doesn’t give me what I want. Instead, he presses his lips to the underside of my breast, the sides, anywhere but my nipple. It’s both erotic and maddening. So much so that by the time he finally does, the contact sends a jolt of electricity through me, straight to my core.
He moans as he suckles me, and I dig my hands into his thick hair to hold him to me. I screw my eyes shut, reveling in the delicious torture.
Liquid heat pools low in my belly, and I squeeze my thighs together in hopes of relieving some of the pressure building there.
Abruptly, he stops and moves off me. He waits again until I’ve cooled, and I realize this is the game. This is what he meant when he said he wouldn’t let me enjoy it.
My scalp prickles and rage boils through my veins like lava. I sit up, yanking my shirt down.
