Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 102607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
I should be lavishing him with light touches—he’s the one who had a game tonight. He’s the one whose body is beat and bedraggled.
Still, he worships mine like it’s made of stars.
I pull gently at his hair, coaxing him to look up at me. His eyes flicker to mine, heavy-lidded and warm.
“You should be resting,” I whisper.
I swear, the man’s eyes twinkle when he says, “I am resting.”
Down come my leggings…
He stands, removing his T-shirt, then his joggers and socks.
Climbs up, onto the bed beside me.
I press a hand to his chest and nudge him so he’ll roll to his back— obedient, relaxed, trusting me to take the lead. The moment he settles his head into the pillows, he reaches for me, hands resting gently at my hips.
Good boy…
“You are so good at your job. You carried the whole game,” I murmur, fingers brushing over the bruise on his hip, the faint scrape near his shoulder. “Let me carry this.”
He swallows.
Nods.
So I lean down and kiss him slowly.
My lips trail across the line of his jaw, down his throat, over the places I know ache, not that he would admit it.
My palms skim along his skin, mapping it out; his breathing grows ragged as he watches me like I’m the answer to every question he never knew he had.
I settle beside him again, hand on his chest, cheek pressed against his shoulder, he exhales like I’ve healed something in him.
“I already don’t want to go home later,” I whisper, speaking the things out loud I hate to admit. Too vulnerable.
His arm curls around me tighter. “Then don’t.”
It’s reckless, the way my heart stutters.
His words aren’t dipped in temptation or playful suggestion. They’re an invitation.
I peel off my leggings.
Move so I can straddle him, my knees sink into the mattress on either side of his waist, and the sigh he lets out is soft enough to undo me.
His eyes are on mine, steady.
One week ago, it may have unsettled me.
My hands find his shoulders, anchoring there. His palms slide up my thighs, a slow, reverent glide, not wanting to break the spell we've fallen into. I lean in, kissing the tip of his nose.
His chin.
The corner of his mouth.
The air between us crackles, not with urgency, but understanding.
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
He grins lazily. “Never better.”
I smile, kissing him again. His hands come up to cradle my face, fingers brushing the edge of my jaw. This kiss is slower, drawn out as if we’ve got all the time in the world…
My hands move up to tangle in his hair while his slide down my spine, settling on my ass, holding me close.
His touch is careful. Deliberate.
I shift, pressing my breaths against his chest and he groans softly into my mouth.
It’s not just need—it’s everything. Want. Relief. That strange, internal ache of finally having something you weren’t sure you could have.
I reach for the clasp of my bra.
Slide it off.
His breath catches.
Luca doesn’t touch me right away—he gazes at me as if I were a precious work of art.
“Jesus,” he whispers, voice thick. “You’re unreal. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get enough of you.”
Well.
Damn…
What does a girl say to that?
I huff a quiet laugh, my face warming as I duck my head for a second—half-shy, half-emboldened by his words.
“You sure know how to make a girl feel sexy when she’s completely naked.” I laugh, self-consciously.
His eyes smile at me. “Isn’t that kind of the goal?”
I roll my eyes, biting down on my bottom lip.
“I’ve never…” I pause, not sure how to phrase this without sounding dramatic. Or needy. Or lame.
But he waits, patient and still.
“I’ve never had someone look at me like this before,” I confess.
“Fucking morons.”
I laugh again, quieter this time. “You don’t even know any of them.”
We haven’t spoken about exes, though now that I’m thinking about it, perhaps we should. I have a bit of trauma from several of my break-ups that I should lay out for him so he understands some of my reactions…
“I don’t need to know any of them.” His hands move from my waist, back to my ass, his large palms caressing my backside. “If they didn’t worship you, they aren’t worth knowing.”
“I don’t want to scare you off,” I admit, fingers pausing where his skin is warmest. “Sometimes I overthink things. Sometimes I get quiet when I’m overwhelmed.”
His hand moves to cup my jaw, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. “You’re allowed to be complicated.”
No one has ever given me permission to be myself: flawed. Imperfect.
Messy.
Luca exhales softly when my hand brushes his abs.
His body is beautiful.
Of course it is—it’s his literal job to be in peak physical condition. That doesn’t mean I don’t marvel at it, in awe of him. At the way strength and softness coexist so effortlessly in the same space.