Page 14 of A Game of Ruck (Carolina Rugby #2)

I’m not nervous.

Not exactly.

I mean, I’m not a virgin.

I’ve had sex before. More than once.

And once you’ve done the deed?

It’s supposed to stop being this big, monumental thing. Right?

Just a normal part of adult life. A little sweaty fun. A few fireworks if you're lucky.

Except, well, it’s never really been that for me.

Because I haven’t exactly had a lot of luck.

Not with men who looked at me the way Luca Warden does.

Not with men who touched me like I was something they wanted , not something they were settling for.

God.

My heart’s thundering, and my skin feels like it’s been dusted with static, pulled tight over a body I’ve spent years learning how to hide.

And I can hear my inner voice—sharp and bitter—rattling in my skull.

What are you doing? You’re going to get hurt. He’s pretending. This is pretend. You paid him to be here, remember?

But when I look at him— Luca, standing there with that hungry look in his eyes and his body coiled like he’s barely holding himself back —I forget.

Forget the years I spent shrinking myself.

Forget every snide comment about what someone like me deserves.

Forget that I came here with a plan to survive this wedding, fake a romance, and leave unscathed.

Because none of that matters now.

Not with the way he’s looking at me.

Not with the way my body is aching for his touch.

Not with the way I feel .

So yeah.

I’m not nervous.

I’m terrified.

Because I want this.

Want him .

And if I’m wrong—if this is just a game to him—I don’t know if I’ll walk away from it unbroken.

But when he reaches for me, when his voice dips low and rasps, “Take off your clothes,” I decide to believe.

At least for tonight.

I want to believe this is real.

That I am exactly what this beautiful man wants.

Luca Warden, with his blue-flame eyes and the kind of body sculpted by gods with a grudge, is looking at me like I’m something to be unwrapped.

Revered.

And I am so here for it.

“I said, take your clothes off, Angel,” he repeats, voice low and hungry.

I swallow hard. My pulse thunders in my ears.

My hands move automatically, fumbling for the zipper at the back of my dress, but I can’t quite reach it.

I huff out a laugh, flustered and flirty all at once.

“Need help?” His voice is rough velvet.

I nod, turning slightly. “Yeah. Can you?—”

I don’t finish the sentence. I don’t have to.

Luca is already behind me, his hands on my hips as he leans in close.

His breath brushes my bare shoulder.

“I’ve been dying to do this since the second I saw you,” he murmurs, fingers at the base of the zipper. “Now, tell me you’re sure.”

I nod again, this time slower.

“I’m sure, Luca. I want this. I want you .”

He doesn’t hesitate.

The zipper slides down, slow as molasses, each tooth releasing with a soft shhht that sounds obscene in the quiet.

He peels the fabric down my arms, inch by inch, like he’s savoring the process, until the dress puddles at my feet.

I stand there in nothing but my soaked panties, bare to him, skin flushed.

Luca moves in front of me.

His gaze travels— no, devours —every curve, every dip, every soft swell.

And then he groans.

Not a polite sound. Not a civilized one.

A raw, masculine growl of possession and need.

His hand goes to his shorts, and I watch— holy hell —as he cups himself through the fabric, squeezing the thick length of his cock with a rough exhale.

“You’re perfect,” he says. “Fuck, Annabeth, you have no idea what you do to me.”

I do now. The proof is right there— hard and straining and clearly meant for me.

I’ve never felt more powerful. More wanted. More me .

I step toward him, emboldened by the heat in his eyes.

“Well,” I whisper, my voice sultry and unsure in a way that just makes him growl again, “maybe you should show me.”

His eyes flare with heat, and for a second, he just watches me. Like he’s savoring the moment, committing it to memory.

“Get on the bed, Angel.”

My breath stutters, but I obey. I take slow steps backward, letting my hips sway a little, teasing him because something about the way he looks at me makes me bold.

When the backs of my knees bump the mattress, I sit. But it’s not casual. I’m hyper-aware of my body.

Of my curves, my softness, the way my breasts rise and fall with each breath.

He stalks closer, kicking off his shoes without taking his eyes off me.

The heat in his gaze pins me in place, makes me feel naked even with the scrap of lingerie still clinging to my skin.

“Touch your tits,” he growls, peeling off his shirt, and I move without thinking, palms cupping the weight of my breasts, fingers teasing the aching peaks.

“Fuck. Yes. Tell me how they feel.”

“Heavy,” I breathe the word, my voice trembling with need. “My nipples ache. They’re so sensitive .”

I moan as I brush my thumbs across them, arching a little as pleasure shoots through me.

Luca groans low in his throat like it physically hurts him to watch.

I scoot back, settling against the padded headboard, my legs spread slightly, welcoming, inviting—shameless.

Because right now? I feel worshipped.

And I want to be.

His shirt hits the floor with a soft thud, and I swear my mouth goes dry.

Every inch of him is carved muscle and golden skin, ink winding across his chest and arms like a map of sin.

There’s a scar near his left shoulder, another on his ribs, but they only make him look more dangerous.

More real.

And more mine .

He watches me like a man who’s starving.

His eyes flick between my breasts, still cupped in my hands, and the heat between my thighs.

Like he can see or maybe even smell how wet I am already.

“Fuck, Angel. You’re gonna kill me,” he murmurs, unbuttoning his pants and sliding his hands inside to cup the bulge I can already see.

My breath catches again because—holy hell.

Everything about this man is big. And mine.

At least tonight.

I want to memorize every second of it.

Want to obey every one of his naughty instructions.

“Slide your hand into your panties. Tell me, are you wet for me?”

I moan and follow his instructions.

Squeezing my tits one more time before I slide my hand down my body and into my black lace panties.

“I-I’m so wet, Luca.”

“Poor baby. Take those off too and spread your legs. Let me see you. Yeah, like that,” Luca growls.

My hands tremble as I hook my fingers in the waistband of my panties, sliding them down my legs and kicking them off the bed with a soft gasp. I’m panting now, my thighs falling open as I obey, heat pulsing between them, wild and insistent.

“Fuck, Angel. You are glistening,” he rasps, voice thick with hunger. “Now just keep on stroking those slippery folds while I get ready.”

His words set fire to every nerve ending.

My fingers slide over my swollen clit, and I moan at the slickness there. At how ready I am. How badly I want him.

Luca stands at the foot of the bed, pushing his pants and boxer briefs down in one swift move, his body golden and godlike in the dim light.

When his cock springs free, my breath catches.

“See something you like?” he asks, a wicked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I nod. Silently. Reverently.

He’s thick and long and utterly perfect—so hard it looks like it must hurt.

I can’t stop staring, can’t stop aching.

“Keep touching that pretty pussy, Angel. Let me see how much you need me.”

I do. I keep going. Faster now. Circling my clit like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth. I moan again, hips lifting off the bed.

Luca tears open a foil packet with his teeth—his other hand slowly stroking that gorgeous cock—and the sound is obscene.

Rough. Raw. Real.

The low groan he lets out when he watches me rub myself pushes me closer to the edge.

“Fuck,” he grits out. “I wanna taste you. Spread you out on my tongue and make you scream. But I can’t wait. Need to fuck you first.”

The need in his voice— his desperation —makes my heart pound harder.

Because I feel it too. This isn’t slow-burning tension anymore.

This is a damn inferno.

Luca rolls the condom on and crawls up the bed like a predator, his eyes locked on mine.

He positions himself between my spread thighs, brushing his cock against my slick entrance.

“Now,” he says, low and rough. “We start for real right now.”

Then he thrusts.

My breath leaves me in a gasp.

“Luca!” I cry out, clutching his shoulders as he sinks in— deep, deeper —filling me like nothing and no one ever has.

It’s tight. So tight I can barely breathe.

He stretches me open, perfectly, deliciously.

I don’t want him to stop.

I want him to keep going, to wreck me from the inside out.

He grits out a curse.

“Fuck. Feels so good. Want more. Need to get closer.”

His chest presses against mine as he lowers his body fully over me, his hips grinding into mine, his cock hitting every perfect spot inside me.

My legs fall open wider, instinctively wrapping around him.

“Give me that mouth, Angel.”

And then he’s kissing me—deep and consuming.

His tongue licks mine, syncing with the rhythm of his thrusts.

I kiss him back, tasting his hunger, his heat, his need.

It’s like we’re breathing each other in.

I moan into his mouth as he drives into me again, and again, and again.

I feel full. So full.

Full of him. Of pleasure. Of longing and raw, messy need.

This isn’t pretend anymore.

This is real.

And it’s everything.