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We stand silent, the water anointing our bodies as he fills the space too long left empty with his loss, and then the walls of my core clench around him, and he begins to move.
“Don’t you fucking come until I tell you,” he warns.
My fingers splay against the tiles as his hands spread my ass cheeks, giving him deeper access. He pounds into me, hard and brutally fast, and one hand comes around to play with my clit. I stiffen and sink my teeth into the flesh of my arm, trying to stave off the building orgasm.
“I’m so close, Luca. I can’t—”
With a muffled curse, he slows and shallows his thrusting. “Not yet.”
Nine times he thrusts shallowly, never fully withdrawing. On the tenth, he slams inside, hard and painfully deep. A hoarse cry falls from my lips, and I struggle to hold on to the sensation, to keep him with me, but he’s there only for a moment, and then he’s gone again.
Each time he pulls almost all the way out, just to the point where my pussy clutches at him with a desperate hope, and then he starts the sequence all over again. Again and again, he repeats the process until I’m shaking and whimpering and begging for release. “Please, Luca, I need to come—“
He pauses, balanced on a razor’s edge of torment, and then surges forward to bury his cock deep within me in response. This time he doesn’t retreat immediately. He lays himself flat against me, his chest to my back, his forehead to my shoulder. His lips brush against my skin briefly, a stolen caress as we do nothing more than breathe.
His arms steal around my torso, one hand snaking between my breasts to grip my throat, the other cupping my pussy.
And then he begins to move. “Come for me, Carina.”
It’s different this time; the movement is calculated to bring me to release. The hand cupping my pussy applies pressure to my clit, two fingers pinching in tandem, and in a matter of seconds, I explode, the climax ripping through me in a release that leaves me limp and shuddering in Luca’s arms.
Luca follows moments after.
He goes still above me, his hands moving restlessly over my hair and back. I feel his lips brush my hair before he disengages, and a moment later, the water shuts off. Then he’s wrapping me in a towel and carrying me from the bathroom to the bedroom, where he lays me on the bed and pulls the covers over me.
“I have to go.”
What?He said he was staying. I close my eyes. A tear trickles from the one turned toward the pillow, but he can’t see it, so I don’t bother wiping it away.
“I’ve made sure you’re safe until I find out what that was all about,” he continues, the rustle of fabric telling me he’s getting dressed. “The shooter, I mean.” His hand curls around my skull, tangling in my hair.
“Carina…”
I rouse myself enough to speak. “Thank you.”
His fingers tighten. “For what?”
“For the fuck. Good night, Luca.”
Chapter 11
Luca
Itightenmygripon the steering wheel, my fingers aching with the effort. The streets of Manhattan are always busy, but today they seem more chaotic than usual. I’m on my way to the Marzano mansion, summoned by my father for an important meeting. It’s a rare occasion for him to call me in, and I know that whatever he has to say is significant.
I’m torn between a sense of curious dread over this meeting and lingering shame over my treatment of Carina last night. I can’t believe I ran after we fucked.
Thanks for the fuck.
I’m a fucking coward. I hit the steering wheel, releasing a short pop of sound that startles the skinny delivery guy on the bike beside me. He starts to flip me off, thinks better of it, and makes a right-hand turn instead.
Smart man.
I couldn’t stay. I made sure I left men to guard her place—one in the vestibule, one in the parking garage, and another on the street—but it was too much. All the feelings I had buried over the past five years came rushing back in a torrent of emotion, and if I had stayed, I’d have found myself cuddling her and painting her goddamn toenails while I made her a mixtape.
So I ran.
As I approach the mansion, I can’t help but feel a twinge of pride for my family. They’ve always been proud of the fact that they never moved to the outskirts of the city. They’ve always remained in the heart of Manhattan, close to the pulse of the city. Their high-rise mansion is a testament to their wealth and power, a reminder of their golden days.
