She winces and I swear.
“Your bruise,” I bite out.
“Turn me,” she orders.
I frown before understanding dawns. I drop onto the couch and gently help her shift her weight until she’s straddling me. She lopes one arm over my shoulder, keeping her other arm at her side, as she grins at me. Her eyes are bright, flickering with heat and want and amusement.
My palms splay wide on the tops of her thighs, her skin hot beneath my touch.
She rolls her lips together once before leaning into me, capturing my mouth, and kissing me with abandon.
It’s delicious and intense and the release I crave.
I turn off my head, stop overthinking, and let myself savor this moment. I give myself up to Carla and everything she’s offering, everything she’s taking, and it’s better than I could have imagined.
It’s a fucking game changer.
13
Carla
Kissing Luca DiBlanco is even better than the countless fantasies I’ve played out in my mind since I was fourteen years old. His hands on my body, his delicious scent—spicy and sexy and so richly male, the feel of his mouth moving over mine…what even is this life?
I fight the urge to scream because this is a scene I never thought I’d be lucky enough to star in. I don’t want it to end. I want to escalate and take this to my bedroom.
I deepen our kiss, reaching for the hem of his shirt and dragging it up his body.
Luca breaks the kiss, his eyes searching mine. Whatever he sees convinces him that I’m not playing. I’m done waiting. He reaches behind his neck with one hand and pulls his shirt clear off.
His abs ripple with the movement, jostling me, and then I’m straddling his hard length and fucking whimpering. My hands fall to his shoulders, and he grasps my hips, careful of my bruise. His eyes darken to midnight sans stars.
“Dio, Carla,” he murmurs.
I smile at the sound of my name—my real name—rolling off his lips.
“Tell me to stop,” he repeats.
“Not a fucking chance.” I slide my palms down his bare arms, fall forward onto his strong chest, and kiss him again.
We make out like horny teenagers and it shouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as it is. But I lose track of time and spend every second enjoying this connection with Luca.
When his knuckles brush my ribs, I wince and he freezes.
Fuck me for pulling him out of this moment and reminding him of all the shit that happened today.
“Carla, you’re hurt.”
“Forget it,” I say, trying to capture his lips again.
He turns his head, his fingers flexing on my thigh. “I can’t.”
Sighing, I sit back on his lap. Reluctantly.
Luca’s lips gleam, tempting the hell out of me. But his eyes are serious. He averts his gaze, muttering Italian swear words under his breath.
As I watch the realization of what we just did wash over his face, my hackles rise.
“Don’t make this into something it’s not,” I whisper, an edge to my tone. I’ll lose my shit if he tells me this was a mistake, if he brings up my brother, or tells me it can’t happen again.
