I obey, licking every part of the gun, tasting myself on the cold metal. He tosses the gun back into the drawer and frees himself, his cock springing out.
He turns me around on the desk, so I’m now facing Eli’s corpse. “Does this turn you on, Principessa?” he whispers, his breath hot against my ear. “Want me to fuck you right here, in front of him?”
His cock presses against my ass, slipping down between my cheeks, teasing the entrance that I’m beginning to love. I moan, meeting his gaze. “Fuck me hard, Luciano.”
His hand grasps my chin, pulling me into a kiss as he enters me. I can feel myself clenching around his thickness. I bite his lip hard until it bleeds, the metallic taste flooding my mouth, stoking his fire.
Every thrust gets deeper, harder, the desk creaking beneath us as my pelvis presses into its edge. “Is that all you got?” I tease breathlessly.
He growls, slamming into me harder, bending me back to force my eyes onto the dead body. “Look at him while I fuck your tight cunt,” he demands.
I’m trembling, on the edge, gasping, “I’m about to come.”
Stars explode behind my closed eyes as I come, waves crashing through me. Luciano follows, groaning his release deep inside me. He bites my ass playfully as I collapse over the desk.
Turning to face him, I take in every sharp feature, and his fierce blue eyes. “Spread,” he says, already prying my thighs apart.
“You just can’t get enough of me, can you, Luci?”
He lowers himself, tongue flicking up my inner thighs, tracing paths that make me shiver. “Want me to clean you up, or do you want to drip my cum again?”
“If this is how you clean up, then definitely this,” I whisper. The familiar tingle dances through me as he licks me clean, his fingers scooping out the last of our mess.
“Open,” he commands, and I lick them, savoring every taste of our time spent. He pulls down my skirt and tosses me my shirt. I tie it back up while he straightens himself, the quiet aftermath of our brutal, beautiful chaos settling around us.
I glance down at the lifeless body sprawled across the floor, curiosity flickering in my eyes. “What now?” I ask.
Luciano doesn’t waste a second. “We join the others.” He pulls me close, and I lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, a silent reminder that I’m still here with him. His hand finds mine, guiding me out of the office. The door clicks shut behind us, sealing away the silence for the thumping pulse of the club’s music.
As we move closer to the dance floor, the bass swells, shaking the air around us. We slide into our booth, and I scan the room. Gabriele and Carlo look up, eyes sharp. “Where are my friends?” I ask, scanning for familiar faces. Carlo points to the dance floor where Mel and Izzy have Stefano and Mattia surrendered. A laugh bubbles up, surprising me, and I sink onto Luciano’s lap, signaling Sara for a drink.
She glides over, that fake smile plastered on like a mask. “Yes, hon. What can I get for you?”
“Strongest cocktail you’ve got. And a bottle of tequila,” I say, locking eyes with her.
She nods, then turns her attention to the men. “Anything for you boys?” Her fingers brush Luciano’s arm, deliberately. Heat flares in my chest, an anger that refuses to be ignored.
I grab her arm with force, squeezing it hard enough for her to know not to mess with me. “Bring a bottle of his favorite whiskey,” I cut in before he can answer. I swear I catch a flicker of something—jealousy?—in her eyes. I let her arm go with a shove as she nods and walks away without another word.
“Principessa,” Luciano breathes into my ear.
“What?” I snap, eyes fixed on Sara disappearing into the crowd.
“She’s just doing her job,” he says, calm but firm.
I spin around, glaring at him. “I didn’t realize doing her job meant touching.”
“If looks could kill,” Gabriele mutters from the side, not looking up from his tablet.
I turn my gaze to him. “What’s your deal, anyway?”
Still absorbed in his screen, Gabriele’s voice is flat but carries weight. “Everyone has a past. Some are harder to talk about, Charlie.”
32
Luciano
The hours drag, watching the girls dance, carefree, reckless, getting drunker by the minute. I’m barely tolerating the scene. It’s 2:00 a.m., closing time creeping closer, and the club is a ghost town except for a few stragglers. Mel’s slumped in the booth beside Gabriele, passed out. Charlie and Isabella? Still on the dance floor.
