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A chuckle leaves my throat, dark and victorious.

"You're wet, little wife. So fucking wet." I drag my fingers through her folds, coating them in her arousal, then bring them to her mouth. I paint her lips with her own desire, making her taste what I do to her. "Say it. Say you want me to fuck you like the good little slut you will become."

She glares, but her body arches into mine, seeking more contact, more friction.

She's a mess of need and pride, and I want to bathe in her chaos.

"I’m cruel, Bianca. Dark. Dangerous in ways you can’t yet imagine." My fingers grip her chin, forcing her gaze to mine. "But I’m not the kind of monster who takes without hearing you say the word. I won’t fuck you until youbegme for it."

Her breath hitches, and she squirms in my hold, trying to find relief against my thigh.

I chuckle again. "That's not how this works, little rabbit. You know what I want."

I reach between her legs again, circling her clit with my thumb, making her whimper until she's almost coming all over herself again. Her hips jerk, chasing my touch more, but I pull back, denying her the release she craves.

"Say it, Bianca," I demand, voice harsh with need. "Say you want me to take you. Then, and only then, will you get to come."

Her eyes flash, but she grits out, "Yes. Take me.Please."

And that's all I need.

Chapter Eight

Bianca

"Yes.Takeme,"Ibreathe, looking at the devil himself. "Please."

Luca’s voice rumbles low, a dark promise in a language I barely register. One moment he’s standing, the next, I’m crashing backward onto the bed, legs parting instinctively, trembling from pleasure that hasn’t even landed yet.

The silken sheets catch me like liquid midnight, cool against my flushed skin. My body burns everywhere he’s touched—worse, everywhere hehasn’t.

The mattress cradles my curves as I sink into a luxury I’ve never known.

But he’s the real luxury. The real danger.

I’m trembling beneath him, my body betraying every ounce of pride I’ve clung to since he dragged me from that hotel room and forced me up at that altar.

Luca kneels between my thighs. His hands grip my knees, spreading me wider as he looms above me—watching. That’s the part that ruins me most.

I should scream. I should run. I should fight. But I just lie there, legs spread, aching for something I can’t even name.

I could consider myself a lucky girl.

Woman would kill for a man like this to tear them apart. To wreck their body, their soul… their hearts.

Luca's body is a landscape of brutal elegance, every muscle carved with a ruthless precision that steals my breath. The tattoos etched into his skin aren't just ink; they're stories, dark whispers of a life I can barely comprehend.

My gaze traces the lines of a phrase written in bold, black script along his collarbone.Nel sangue il potere. I don’t know what it means, but it sounds like a threat wrapped in prophecy.

I shudder.

Scars mar his chest, each one a symbol of the danger I face in his violent world. There's a clean, thin line along his ribs, a whisper of a hit gone wrong maybe.

My fingers itch to trace it, to feel the history ingrained in his flesh.

Instead, my hands slide up my own body, fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of my breasts as Luca's mouth locks in at the side of my neck. He bites down and a soft gasp escapes my lips as I roll my nipples between my fingers, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core.

Luca lifts his head, watches me twirl with my own nipples. His eyes darken, pupils blown wide, and when he leans in, I think he might growl. Might punish me.