0002

0002

~ Aria ~

Something broke inside me—four years of restraint, of pretending I'd forgotten him, of trying to be someone other than Vittorio Santoro's daughter. The whiskey had melted my filters, and I was so tired of fighting.

"I've wanted you since I was eighteen years old," I said. "I used to lie awake at night in Provence thinking about you. Imagining what it would feel like if you touched me. Kissed me." I moved toward him. "I'm not eighteen anymore, Luca."

"Aria…"

"Tell me you don't want me. Tell me you never thought about it. All those times you found excuses to be near me that summer. The way you watched me. Tell me I imagined it."

His control was fracturing; I could see it in the tension of his shoulders, the rapid pulse at his throat. "You didn't imagine it."

"Then stop fighting it."

"I work for your father. You're…"

"I'm what? Off-limits? Forbidden?" I closed the distance between us, tilted my face up to his. "I'm tired of being something people protect and manage and control. I want to feel something real."

His hand came up to cup my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone with devastating gentleness. "This is a mistake."

"Then make it with me."

For one suspended moment, nothing happened. Then Luca's control shattered.

He kissed me like a man who had been starving for years—brutal, consuming, teeth clashing before our tongues found each other in a wet, filthy slide. One hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back so he could devour my throat; the other clamped possessively around my ass, hauling me up his body until my legs locked around his waist.

I moaned into his mouth, grinding down hard against the thick ridge already straining behind his trousers. I could feel how brutally hard he was and the realization made me clench emptily.

Four years of suppressed fantasies detonated inside me.

He carried me into the bedroom without breaking the kiss, kicked the door shut, and dropped me onto the mattress hard enough that I bounced once.

Before I could catch my breath he was on me, ripping my sweater over my head, tearing the thin lace bra down so my breasts spilled free. His mouth closed over one nipple—hot, wet suction followed by the sharp edge of teeth.

I arched with a broken cry, fingers digging into his scalp.

"Fuck… Luca…"

He bit harder, just shy of pain, then soothed the sting with slow, filthy licks while his hand shoved under my skirt.

No preamble. Two thick fingers pushed my soaked panties aside and plunged straight into me.

I keened, hips jerking up to meet the rough thrust. He curled them immediately, stroking that swollen spot inside me with ruthless precision while his thumb found my clit and circled with brutal pressure.

"You're fucking soaked," he growled against my breast. "All this time pretending you hate me and your pussy is weeping for my cock."

"Yes…" I was already shaking. "Wanted it… wanted you… so badly…"

He added a third finger, stretching me open, pumping hard and fast while his mouth moved to my other nipple.

The wet, obscene sound of his fingers fucking into me filled the room. My thighs trembled, inner muscles fluttering desperately around the invasion.

He pulled his hand free abruptly. I whimpered at the loss… until I saw him tear his belt open, yank his zipper down, and shove his trousers and briefs just low enough to free himself.

His cock slapped heavy against his stomach… thick, veined, the head flushed dark and already slick with pre-cum.

My mouth watered. Before I could reach for him, Luca flipped me onto my stomach, dragged my hips up, and shoved my skirt to my waist.

"Hands on the headboard," he ordered, voice gravel.

I obeyed instantly, fingers wrapping around the wood.

He didn't ease in.

One brutal thrust and he buried himself to the hilt, balls slapping my clit. I screamed, the stretch burning so good I nearly came on the spot.

He didn't give me time to adjust… pulled out almost completely and slammed back in, setting a punishing rhythm that rocked the entire bed.

"Too much?" he rasped, though he didn't slow down.

"No… harder… fuck me like you hate me…"

His hand cracked across my ass… sharp, stinging heat. Then again. And again. Each slap drove me higher, made me gush around his pistoning cock.

"You think I could ever hate this pussy?" He wrapped my hair around his fist, yanked my head back so he could growl directly in my ear. "I've jerked off thinking about wrecking you for years. Every time you wore those little sundresses in Provence. Every time you looked at me like you wanted to be ruined."

He changed the angle, driving so deep I felt him in my throat. The headboard slammed rhythmically against the wall.

"Luca… I'm… fuck… I'm gonna…"

"Come on my cock," he snarled. "Milk me. Show me how badly you've wanted this."

I shattered… violent, full-body convulsions, clenching down so hard he groaned like he'd been punched. My orgasm ripped through me in endless waves while he fucked me through it, prolonging the pleasure until I was sobbing, oversensitive, thighs shaking uncontrollably.

He didn't stop.

Flipped me onto my back, hooked my legs over his shoulders, and drove back inside at a deeper angle that made me see stars. His thumb found my clit again… rubbing fast, merciless circles while he pounded into me.

"Again," he demanded. "Give me another one. I want to feel you come apart while I fill you up."

I was helpless… too sensitive, too full, too everything.

The second orgasm hit like a freight train, tearing a raw scream from my throat. My nails raked bloody lines down his back; he hissed in pleasure-pain and slammed home one final time.

He came with a guttural curse in Italian, hips jerking erratically as he pumped thick, hot spurts deep inside me. So much that I felt it leak out around his cock even while he was still buried to the root.

We collapsed together, chests heaving, bodies slick with sweat and sex. His cock was still half-hard inside me, twitching occasionally. Neither of us moved to separate.

"Luca…"

"I know." His voice was wrecked. "I know."

But he stayed buried inside me, softening slowly, one hand possessively cupping my breast while the other tangled in my hair.

Outside, the Boston skyline glittered in the darkness. And in a few hours, the jet would be ready to carry us both back to France, back to my father's world, back to consequences neither of us were ready to face.

But for now, in this stolen moment, I let myself have this. Let myself have him.

Even if it could only be once.