~ 4

Chapter 4

Luca opened the door for her, and she swept past him without a word. She remembered the way to her old suite — west wing, third floor, overlooking the gardens. Her heels echoed as she climbed the stairs, intensely aware of him following three steps behind.

Her rooms were exactly as she'd left them: cream and gold, elegant and impersonal. Someone had put fresh flowers on the dresser.

Luca followed her inside, checking the windows with professional efficiency, scanning for threats.

"You can go now," Aria said.

"I'm your bodyguard. Where you go, I go."

"Even in my bedroom?"

"Especially in your bedroom." He finished his inspection. "This suite has three entry points. The door, the balcony, and the service entrance through your closet. I'll be sleeping in the adjoining room."

"Of course you will." She laughed bitterly. "This is insane. You realize that, right? Last night you're fucking me, today you're my shadow."

His expression didn't change. "Last night was a mistake. This is my job."

"Your job." She moved closer, anger overriding self-preservation. "Your job is to protect me. Not to kiss me like you're drowning. Not to make me cum three times. Not to hold me afterward like you…"

"Stop." The word cracked like a whip.

"Why? Does the truth hurt?"

"This conversation is over."

"Like hell it is." She grabbed his arm as he turned away. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to make me feel what I felt last night and then act like I'm nothing but an assignment."

He looked down at her hand on his arm, then back at her face. Something dangerous flickered in his eyes. "Let go, Aria."

"No."

"Let. Go."

"Make me."

It was a mistake. She realized it the moment the words left her mouth, the moment she saw his control finally, catastrophically, snap.

He moved so fast she gasped… one hand fisting in her hair, yanking her head back to expose her throat; the other clamping around her hip, slamming her back against the wall so hard the framed painting rattled. His body crushed hers from chest to thigh, the thick length of his cock already rock-hard against her stomach.

"You want the truth?" His voice was gravel and violence. "Last night was the best sex of my life. I've jerked off to the memory of your tight little cunt for four fucking years. The way you screamed my name. The way you soaked my fingers. The way you clenched around my cock like you were trying to keep me inside you forever."

Her breath came in short, desperate pants. Heat flooded between her legs, instant and obscene.

"Then why…"

"Because touching you again will destroy everything I've built." But his hips rolled forward instinctively, grinding that heavy erection against her mound. "Because every time I look at you now I see you spread out on that hotel bed, dripping for me, begging for more."

"Luca…"

He crushed his mouth to hers… brutal, punishing, all teeth and tongue and fury. She kissed him back just as hard, biting his lip until she tasted copper, nails digging into his shoulders through his suit jacket.

He spun her around without warning, shoving her face-first against the wall. One forearm braced beside her head; the other hand yanked her jeans open and shoved them down her thighs along with her panties in one rough motion.

"Spread your legs," he ordered, voice low and lethal.

She did, kicking her jeans off one ankle, arching her back to offer herself.

His fingers found her immediately… sliding through her slick folds, two thick digits plunging deep without warning. She cried out, hips bucking back onto his hand.

"So fucking wet already," he growled against her ear. "You get this soaked just from fighting with me? From knowing I'm about to wreck you again?"

"Yes… fuck…"

He pumped his fingers hard and fast, curling them against her G-spot while his thumb pressed merciless circles on her clit. The wet, filthy sounds echoed in the quiet room. Her thighs shook; she had to brace both hands flat against the wall to stay upright.

When she was trembling on the edge, he pulled his hand free. She moaned brokenly as she heard his belt snap open, zipper rasp down, and felt the blunt head of his cock notch at her entrance.

He didn't ease in, as always. Does being a consigliere make one a brutal fucker?

One savage thrust and he buried himself balls-deep, stretching her so wide she saw white behind her eyelids. They both groaned… raw sounds.

He didn't pause. He fucked her hard and fast against the wall, one hand wrapped around her throat, not choking, just holding, possessive while the other gripped her hip, yanking her back onto his cock with every brutal stroke.

"Feel that?" he rasped, hips snapping forward. "That's how much I want you. How much I've always wanted you. Every time you walked past me in those little dresses, every time you looked at me like you knew exactly what I wanted to do to you."

She pushed back to meet him, taking him deeper, harder. "Then do it. Fuck me like you mean it. Like you hate how much you need this."

His hand left her throat to slide down her body, finding her clit again. He rubbed fast, ruthless circles while he pounded into her, the angle hitting that perfect spot inside over and over.

"Cum," he snarled. "Cum on my cock right now, Aria. Show me how badly you need to be filled."

She shattered… violent, screaming, cunt spasming around him so hard her knees buckled. He held her up, fucked her through every pulsing wave until she was sobbing, oversensitive, begging incoherently.

He didn't stop.

Pulled out, spun her around again, lifted her so her legs wrapped around his waist, and slammed back inside in one deep stroke. Face-to-face now, he pinned her to the wall and fucked up into her with punishing force, mouths crashing together in messy, desperate kisses.

"Again," he demanded against her lips. "Give me another one. I want to feel you milking every drop when I come inside you."

She was helpless — clinging to his shoulders, nails drawing blood through his shirt, thighs trembling around his hips. The second orgasm hit like lightning, tearing a raw scream from her throat. Her cunt clamped down rhythmically, dragging him over the edge with her.

He came with a guttural curse, hips jerking as he pumped thick, hot spurts deep inside her — marking her, claiming her. So much that she felt it start to leak out around his cock even while he stayed buried to the hilt.

They stayed locked together, panting, foreheads pressed together, his cock still twitching inside her.

Slowly, he lowered her feet to the floor. Pulled out carefully. Immediately tucked himself away, smoothed his suit, rebuilt every wall she'd just torn down.

"This can't keep happening," he said, voice wrecked but firm.

"You're repeating yourself."

"I mean it, Aria. This is..."

"Unprofessional. I know." She grabbed his tie, forced him to meet her eyes. "But it's going to happen anyway. Because you want me. And I sure as hell want you. And we're stuck together for god knows how long."

His jaw worked. "Your father…"

"Isn't here right now." She released him. "Dinner is at eight. You have three hours to decide whether you're going to keep torturing us both with this professional distance bullshit, or whether you're going to admit what this is."

"And what is this?"

"I don't know yet." She moved past him toward the bathroom. "But it's sure as hell not nothing."

She closed the door behind her, leaving him standing in the wreckage of his control.

Through the door, she heard him exhale slowly. Then his footsteps crossing to the adjoining room. The door closing with careful precision.

Aria leaned against the sink, her reflection staring back at her — kiss-swollen lips, mussed hair, eyes too bright, his cum still warm between her thighs.

What was she doing? This was insane. He was right about that much.

But god help her, she didn't care.

She'd spent four years being sensible. Being good. Building a life separate from her father's shadow.

And where had it gotten her? Dragged back to France, named as a mafia successor, assigned a bodyguard who set her on fire with a look.

Maybe it was time to stop fighting. Stop pretending she could be anyone other than Vittorio Santoro's daughter.

Maybe it was time to take what she wanted.