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“Aah…” Luca bites into his lips, his pale eyelashes flutter. “Fuck.”
“Luca.” I murmur his name deep in my throat. “I’ll never love you. But I’ll hate you more than anyone else in the world. All my hate, just for you. Sad little psycho. Would you like that?”
He closes his eyes like he’s in pain. “Yes…”
I laugh, low and breathless and barely disguising my own excitement. “Good boy. Now come for me.”
He comes with a low cry, fingers grasping uselessly at the glass, mouth hanging open. His eyes squeeze shut as he strokes himself through his orgasm, cum hitting the glass between us. When he’s done, he slumps forward with an exhausted gasp, face pressed to the glass.
I kiss his cheek through the glass. “Being a needy slut suits you, Luca.”
And then I leave him to his mess and run off in search of some clean clothes.
Thirty minutes later, I’mhaving a cigarette at my bedroom window when Luca comes in, wearing black trousers and a towel around his neck. His hair is still wet, but it’s slicked back, and he’s once more pale and composed. He strides across the room straight to the window, and he plucks the cigarettefrom between my lips before crushing it into the ashtray I’ve got balanced on the windowsill.
I slap his shoulder. “Hey, that was my last one!”
“You deserve a worthier death.”
I roll my eyes. “How romantic.”
He pulls something out of his pocket—a small box shaped like a red heart—and hands it to me.
“What’s this?” I ask, taking it with a frown.
“A gift.”
“Agift, Luca?” I pout up at him. “You know I’m not your girlfriend, right?”
“I know you’re not.” He smiles. Not a smirk, not a grimace. A real smile that sits strange on his knife-sharp face and makes shivers run down my back. “You’re so much more than that.”
My chest tightens as though my ribcage is trying to imprison my heart, and I tuck my hair behind one ear, looking down at the box. I open it. On the little red cushion inside, there’s a key in the same exact colour as my bracelet and a card with a number written on it.
I glance up. He tilts his head, saying nothing. I give him the key. He takes it, reaching for my arm, and unlocks the bracelet. I raise my hand, turning it in the air, and then I cock an eyebrow at Luca.
“You’ve put trackers in every pair of boots I own, haven’t you?”
He shakes his head, shoving the bracelet in his pocket. “No trackers.”
“How are you going to stalk me through London?”
“I suppose I’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way.”
I give him a wink. “You’re gonna put a ring on my finger?”
“If I married you, Lynch, I wouldn’t put a ring on your finger, I’d put a collar around your neck.”
“Arf arf.” I look down, lick my lips. Finally, I pick up the card, gingerly, between the tips of my index and middle finger. “And what’s this, Luca? The number to a good therapist, I hope?”
His lips curl. “Is that what you asked me for?”
“I asked you for the code to your office door.”
“Yes.”
“Really, Luca?” I ask in a whisper, looking back down at the card, the numbers handwritten there. “I lost the hunt.”
“So? You asked, didn’t you? I told you I was willing to be generous. So I have one more present for you. It’s in there.”
