I cried out, but Luca didn’t hesitate. He pressed his chest against my back while he held me captive with one arm around my chest, and then he started pounding into me hard and fast. I bit down on my lip. It hurt but it felt also good. Every time he pushed into me, he hit a spot deep inside me that sent sparks of pleasure through me. Luca reached down, his hot breath against my neck, and rubbed his fingers over my clit. I cried and gasped and whimpered. I could feel the tension building. The sound of Luca’s pants and growls turned me on even more. His fingers twisted my nipple almost painfully and he bit down on the crook of my neck, and stars erupted before my vision as I exploded. I screamed Luca’s name over and over again as I trembled in the wake of my orgasm, but he didn’t slow. He drove into me hard and fast, his fingers on my clit relentless as his breathing grew labored, and then I came again, shattering into a thousand tiny pieces of pleasure. My legs crumbled, but Luca pinned me against the backrest with his body. With a growl, he gripped my hips and fucked me even harder. I’d be bruised and sore tomorrow, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. When he shuddered against me and bit the other side of my throat, I hung limply over the sofa. I was too sated and exhausted to do anything as he came inside me.
I thought it was over, but Luca lifted me off the backrest and lowered me to the ground. He shoved my legs as wide apart as they would go. I was oversensitive and couldn’t possibly come again, but Luca’s eyes pinned me with their intensity. He grasped my wrists and pushed my arms up above my head, then he rubbed two fingers along my folds, back and forth, before circling my opening and sliding them in inch by inch. My eyes rolled back in my head as he fingered me in a torturously slow way. My walls clamped around his fingers and I heard sounds coming from the back of my throat I didn’t recognize. He didn’t touch my clit, just fucked me with his fingers with an intense look on his face.
“Is this a fucking lie?” he asked roughly as he curled his fingers in me and made me gasp in pleasure. “Tell me, Aria. Tell me you enjoy this as much as I do.” The despair in his voice startled me.
He curled his fingers again and I whimpered. “Yes, Luca. I enjoy this.”
He flicked my clit with his thumb and I arched off the ground, but he pulled his thumb away despite my mew of protest and kept fingering me. “So you lied? Why?”
He was driving me insane with need. I wanted him to touch my clit, wanted him to finger me faster, wanted him to fuck me. “Yes, I lied!” I squirmed in his hold, wanting to free my hands to reach for his cock. He was already growing hard and I wanted to convince him to stop my torture, but he was too strong and too relentless.
“Why?” he growled. He paused his fingers and I wanted to scream in frustration.
“I lied because I hate that I love you, because I hate that you can hurt me without ever laying a finger on me, because I hate myself for loving you even though you won’t ever love me back.” Luca released my wrists, eyes dark and questioning.
I didn’t want to talk. I reached for his erection and gave it a hard squeeze. “Now fuck me.”
He grabbed my legs and pulled me toward him, my feet pressed up against his shoulders, and then he slid into me in one hard stroke and I came around him, my muscles clenching around his cock so tightly that he grunted. He fucked me even harder, and I scratched my fingers over the wooden floor as my eyes shut tightly. I was coming apart from pleasure and emotions. My back rubbed against the hard floor, I was sore and my legs were stiff, but I came again when Luca hit his release, and then I passed out.
* * *
My entire body hurt. I groaned when I shifted and realized I was lying in our bed. Luca must have carried me upstairs last night. My eyes fluttered open and found Luca watching me with a strange look on his face.
“What did I do?” he asked in a harsh whisper.
I frowned, then looked down at myself. The blankets were pulled back, revealing the entire length of my body and the proof of last night’s actions. There were finger-shaped bruises on my hips and wrists. My throat and shoulders were tender where Luca had marked me, and my inner thighs were red from the friction. I looked like a mess. I sat up and winced from the sharp soreness between my legs. Yet I couldn’t find it in me to regret anything. I didn’t always want it this rough, but once in a while it was a nice change of pace.
“Aria, please tell me. Did I…?”
I searched his eyes, trying to figure out what he was talking about. Self-hatred flashed on his face, and then I realized what he thought. “You don’t remember?”
“I remember bits and pieces. I remember holding you down.” His voice caught. He wasn’t touching me. In fact he perched on the edge of the bed, as far from me as possible. He looked exhausted and broken.
“You didn’t hurt me.”
His eyes flickered to the bruises. “Don’t lie to me.”
I knelt and moved toward him even when he stiffened. “You were a bit rougher than usual, but I wanted it. I enjoyed it.”
Luca didn’t say anything, but I could tell he didn’t believe me.
“No, really, Luca.” I kissed his cheek and lowered my voice. “I came at least four times. I don’t exactly remember everything. I passed out from sensory overload.” Relief washed away some of the darkness in Luca’s eyes, but I was surprised that he didn’t tease me for my comment.
“I don’t understand what got into you. You even attacked Romero.”
“My father is dead.”
I jerked. “What? How?”
“Last night. He was having dinner at a small restaurant in Brooklyn when a sniper put a bullet into his head.”
“What about your stepmother?”
“She wasn’t there. He was with his mistress. She was shot too, probably because the Bratva thought she was his wife. Someone must have told them where to find him. Very few people knew he went there. He was in disguise. Nobody could have recognized him. There has to be a traitor among us.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The sky over New York was hung with heavy clouds, but it didn’t rain. It fit the occasion. For the funeral of Salvatore Vitiello, the elite of New York and the Famiglia, as well as the most important members of the Chicago Outfit, had gathered at the cemetery. The perimeter around it had been closed off, and most of the soldiers of the New York mafia were keeping guard to make sure the Bratva didn’t disturb the funeral. A gathering of the most important members from both New York and Chicago at this time was a risk, but paying respect to the Capo dei Capi was more important.
Luca stood tall and stoic beside his father’s grave. He was now the new Capo and he couldn’t show a flicker of weakness, not even after the death of his father. Luca and his father hadn’t been close in the traditional sense, but losing your parent, no matter how cruel and cold he’d been, always ripped a hole into you.
I could tell that many of the older men in the Famiglia watched Luca with a calculating look in their eyes. Luca didn’t give any indication that he noticed, but that was definitely an act. This was the most dangerous time, so soon after he’d come into power. I hadn’t known Salvatore Vitiello very well, and I wasn’t sorry about that. For me the funeral meant only one thing: I got the chance to see my family again.