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“I said... more.”

Luca's laugh is low and dangerous. “Good fucking girl.”

He pushes afourthfinger inside, and Iscream—a raw, guttural sound that echoes through the marble chamber so loud the lunch guests might hear.

His free hand comes up and grips my jaw. “Open that mouth.”

I do as I'm told, gasping and panting, enjoying this more than I think I should be.

He lifts his soaked, glistening fingers from between my legs and pushes them into my mouth without giving me time to process.

“Suck.”

I moan around his fingers, tasting myself. My tongue curls over his fingers, my eyes glassy, and he watches me like I’m art come to life.

“Taste how fucking ruined you are?” His voice is feral, fingers pressing deeper into my mouth until I gag.

“Look at you.” He pulls his hand free, thumb wiping the spit from my chin. “You're dripping. Shaking for me. You're all fuckingmine.”

He falls back between my legs, mouth crashing onto my clit with devastating force. A palm spanks my ass as his fingers return—three this time, pumping viciously, perfectly, claiming everything.

“Come for me,” he growls as heat begins to coil. “I want tofeelit. Show me what this pussy does when I break it.”

My orgasm detonates with a sob I can’t silence. I shatter on his tongue, my entire body convulsing. He doesn’t let up. Not for a second. Not until I’m wrung out, twitching, tears sliding down my cheeks.

When he finally rises, his lips are slick, jaw shadowed with stubble and sin.

He kisses me hard, filthy and deep, forcing my own taste down my throat.

“Remember this,” he breathes against my lips. “Because next time, I won’t stop at fingers. I’ll fuck you against this glass so hard the house willfeelit.”

Chapter Eleven

Bianca

Theshowershutsoff,but not before Luca cleans me tenderly. It's a ritual I've grown accustomed to, one I never expected from a man who's so dominant in the heat of the moment.

His hands are so gentle as he washes away the evidence of what we've done, what he's done to me, his touch a difference to the bruising grip that held me moments before.

The care he takes with me after these moments of passion is the most confusing part of it all. The way he wraps me in warm towels. The way he kisses my forehead.

It feels like something beyond possession—something I don't have words for yet.

We dress in silence. I slip into a dry replica of the cream dress—of course Teresa would have a backup prepared—while Luca dons a fresh suit from his many choices.

"You'll sit at my right hand today," he says, adjusting his cufflinks. "Speak when spoken to. Smile when appropriate. And remember—"

"I know," I cut in. "I'm a Ravelli now."

Something flickers in his eyes. "Yes. And that means something in our world."

"Your world," I correct. "Not mine."

He steps closer, one finger tracing the line of my jaw. "They're the same now,cara mia. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be."

The last word is punctuated with a soft press of his thumb against my bottom lip—a reminder of what that mouth was doing minutes ago, a promise of what it might do again. Not a threat. Worse than that. A temptation.

His thumb pulls away, and I feel the ghost of it linger as I follow him through the silent corridors.