His groan rumbles through me. My body clenches around his fingers, and a cry tears free.
I'm close, so close, and I can feel him holding me back, slowing down, edging me toward the brink.
"Please," I gasp.
"You're so fucking perfect," he growls, nipping the inside of my thigh.
I arch, trembling.
Then his mouth starts sucking on my clit.
My vision goes white.
Pleasure rushes through me. My toes curl, my breath coming in desperate pants. The orgasm rolls through me, endless and sweet. It's too much. Too overwhelming. But I can't make it stop.
"Please," I sob. "Oh, please, Luca?—"
His only answer is another low, wicked chuckle. He's still going, relentless, his fingers driving deep inside me, his mouth hungry, his grip on my thighs tightening, and I can't take it anymore, I can't.
"Please," I choke, desperate.
His lips curve, his eyes glittering in the dark.
And he. Keeps.Going.
I can't handle this. It's too much. I'm still coming, still tender, but he just won't stop. His tongue is still flicking over me, his fingers stroking, curling. My whole body goes tense against the pleasure.
"You're so perfect," he rasps, "so sweet and so perfect. My angioletto. My light."
"Luca," I gasp, and then his tongue strokes me again, his fingers crook, and suddenly I'm coming for a second time.
It's the most overwhelming thing I've ever felt. It's not just the pleasure, it's the sheer intensity. Like being caught in a riptide. It's his hands holding me down, his lips against my skin, his eyes watching.
The orgasm rolls through me, and this time, I can't breathe.
Darkness presses at the edges of my vision. I slump, wracked by tremors, Luca's mouth still spelling ruin on me.
"Go to sleep, angel," he croons as he laps up my juices. "I'll be right here when you wake up."
So I do.
I close my eyes and fall asleep in his arms.
8
LUCA
She’s still asleep when the first gray sliver of morning light begins to creep over the edge of the city skyline.
She’s curled into me, her breath warm against my chest, her body soft and trusting beside mine like she’s always belonged here. My shirt hangs off her shoulder, the fabric barely covering her thigh. Her hair spills across the pillow like silk.
I haven’t slept.
Not because I’m tired. I’ve known real exhaustion, bone-deep and soul-weary. This is something else entirely. I haven’t slept because I couldn’t stopwatchingher.
The rise and fall of her chest. The way her brows knit when she dreams. The small, contented sigh she let out just before her breathing deepened into slumber.
She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s mine.
