Page 14 of Devil’s Embrace (31 Days of Trick or Treat: Biker & Mobster #10)
With a sound like a snarl, Luca closed the final distance between us, his mouth crashing down on mine with bruising intensity.
There was nothing gentle in the kiss—it was a claiming, a battle for dominance.
His tongue invaded my mouth without preamble, tasting of whiskey and barely leashed violence.
I should have been repulsed. Should have bitten him, fought him.
Instead, I kissed him back with equal ferocity, my hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer rather than pushing him away.
My body had decided regardless of what my mind wanted, and the heat that coursed through me was as unwelcome as it was undeniable.
More books crashed to the floor as he pressed me harder against the shelves, his hands leaving my face to grip my waist, my hips. I bit his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood, and he groaned against my mouth, the sound vibrating through my chest.
"Is this what you wanted?" he demanded, breaking the kiss to trail his mouth down my neck, teeth scraping against my pulse point. "To see if you could make the monster feel?"
"No." I gasped as he bit down where my neck met my shoulder. "I wanted to see if I still could."
He pulled back just enough to look at me, surprise flickering across his features before something darker, more primal took its place. With a swift movement that stole my breath, he lifted me, hands gripping the backs of my thighs as he carried me the few steps to his desk.
Papers scattered as he set me down, his hands already working at my clothes.
I should have stopped him. Should have remembered why I'd come here—to gain leverage, to find a way out for Mina and me.
Instead, my own hands were just as frantic, tearing at buttons, seeking skin beneath expensive fabric.
His shirt gave way under my desperate fingers, buttons popping and rolling across the desk. The sight of his chest, muscled and covered in intricate tattoos, stole what little rational thought I had left. My nails raked down his skin, leaving red trails that made him hiss in pleasure-pain.
"You'll regret this," he warned, even as he pushed my shirt up and over my head, tossing it carelessly aside.
"Probably," I agreed, my Southern drawl thickening with desire. "But not right now."
With a single sweep of his arm, he cleared the rest of the desk, sending papers, pens, and his whiskey glass crashing to the floor. The sound of shattering crystal punctuated my gasp as he pushed me back, laying me flat across the polished surface.
His mouth reclaimed mine as his hands made quick work of my jeans, pulling them down and off with an efficiency that should have frightened me. I arched against him, helping rather than hindering, my own hands working at his belt, driven by a need I didn't want to acknowledge.
When he finally entered me, the sensation was overwhelming—painful and perfect all at once. I bit down on his shoulder to muffle my cry, tasting salt and skin as he set a punishing rhythm. There was nothing gentle or loving in our coupling—it was raw, primal, a claiming on both sides.
I matched him thrust for thrust, refusing to be passive even in this. My nails dug into his back, my legs wrapped around his waist, taking him deeper. The desk creaked beneath us, the sound barely registering through the haze of sensation.
"Look at me," he demanded, one hand gripping my chin, forcing my eyes to his. "I want to see your face when you come apart."
The intensity in his gaze should have frightened me.
Instead, it pushed me closer to the edge, the coil of tension in my belly winding tighter with each thrust. I could feel him stretching me, filling me again and again.
I’d never felt anything like it. With every slam of his hips, he brushed against my clit.
It was just enough to create a spark that had me biting my lip so I wouldn’t beg him for more.
When release finally came, it crashed over me like a tidal wave, his name torn from my throat in a sound that was part scream, part sob. I couldn’t have held it back if I’d tried.
He followed moments later, his rhythm faltering as he buried his face against my neck, his groan vibrating against my skin.
I felt the heat of his cum, and felt a flash of panic as I realized we hadn’t used protection.
What if he did this sort of thing all the time?
What if I’d just caught something from him?
For a brief, suspended moment, we remained locked together, breathing hard.
As the haze of pleasure receded, I became acutely conscious of the cold desk beneath my bare skin, the sting of bite marks on my shoulder, the weight of him still inside me.
And beneath it all, the sickening realization that I'd crossed a line I could never uncross.
I'd come to manipulate him, to use his desire against him. Instead, I'd discovered my own weakness, my own forbidden hunger for the man who held us captive. The worst part wasn't that I'd given myself to a monster—it was that even now, with clarity returning, I wasn't sure I regretted it.
Even now, I couldn’t bring myself to ask if he was clean. I should have, but something told me he wouldn’t take my question well. I’d somewhat tamed the savage beast, and I wanted to bask in the moment a little longer.
Without a word, he pulled out, tucked himself back into his boxers, and zipped up his pants. I glanced down and my cheeks flushed when I saw the evidence of what we’d done leaking out onto his desk. Luca smirked as he lifted me off the desk, kissed me hard and deep, then smacked my ass.
“Get your clothes back on.”
He didn’t bother dressing more than he already had and instead watched my every move. It made me even more aware of him.
The walk back to my room was silent, Luca's hand resting possessively at the small of my back as he guided me through the darkened hallways. He didn’t speak, nor did he acknowledge what had happened between us beyond the occasional tightening of his fingers against my skin when we passed one of his men.
He’d merely stared at me a moment when we reached my room, then nodded for me to enter.
Once I did, he closed the door behind me, remaining in the hallway.
Now, alone in my room, I could no longer avoid the reality of what I'd done—and what I'd felt while doing it. My body ached in ways both familiar and foreign, marked by a man I should hate but couldn't seem to resist. I wasn’t sure what that said about me. Maybe I’d been alone for too long.
I moved to the bathroom, flicking on the light and wincing at the harsh glare.
The woman who stared back at me from the mirror looked like a stranger—hair tangled and wild, lips swollen, eyes too bright.
I turned slowly, lifting my shirt to examine the marks blooming across my skin.
Bruises in the shape of fingerprints circled my wrists and marked my waist, deep purple against my pale skin.
Similar marks decorated my hips where he had gripped me, held me in place against his desk.
Evidence of passion that should have been just a calculated move on my part.
But it hadn't been calculated—not entirely. And that terrified me more than any physical mark ever could.
I traced a particularly vivid bruise on my collarbone, remembering the exact moment his teeth had closed over that spot, the pain-pleasure that had shot through me in response.
My lips were tender to the touch, still bearing the imprint of his punishing kisses.
I pressed my fingers against them, closing my eyes at the memory of his mouth on mine.
"What have you done, Emory?" I whispered to my reflection, searching my own eyes for an answer I didn't have.
I'd gone to his study with a plan—to use his desire against him, to gain leverage, to find a way out for Mina and me.
Instead, I'd lost control of the situation entirely, surrendering to desires I hadn't even known existed within me.
Desires for a man who'd killed without remorse, who held us prisoner, who represented everything I should fear and hate.
I turned away from the mirror, unable to face my own hypocrisy any longer. The bedroom felt suddenly too small, too confining. I paced from wall to wall, fingers running through my tangled hair, trying to make sense of the chaos in my head.
One minute I was plotting our escape, the next I was remembering the feel of Luca's hands on my body, the weight of him above me, the sound he'd made when he—
"Stop it," I hissed to myself, pressing my palms against my eyes as if I could physically block the memories.
I paused in my pacing, wondering if I’d just lost any chance I had of saving myself and my daughter. No matter what had happened between Luca and me, Mina remained my priority. My reason for living, for fighting, for enduring whatever I had to in order to keep her safe.
With renewed purpose, I moved to the window, pushing aside the heavy drapes to examine the latch.
The glass was thick, probably bulletproof, but the frame looked older.
With the right tools, I might be able to work it loose.
Beyond the window stretched the manicured grounds of the Moretti estate, bathed in moonlight and shadow.
Guards patrolled the perimeter, their movements systematic and alert even at this late hour.
The wall beyond seemed impossibly high, but I'd scaled worse as a rebellious teenager in Alabama.
If I could get to Mina, if we could slip out unnoticed during a shift change, if I could find a vehicle or even make it to the main road on foot...
There were too many ifs and not enough certainties. What if Luca wasn’t the one who found us? If his uncle discovered us, Luca had made it clear he wouldn’t hesitate to kill us. Could I really risk it?
My planning stuttered to a halt as my hand absently traced the bruise on my hip, the slight pressure sending a pulse of heat through my body.
I snatched my hand away as if burned, disgusted with myself.
What was wrong with me? How could my body betray me like this, responding to the memory of a man who represented such danger?
Yet even as I turned from the window, abandoning my half-formed escape plans, I couldn't deny the truth.
There had been moments on that desk, with Luca moving inside me, when I'd forgotten he was my captor.
When I'd seen past the killer to the wounded boy beneath, the seven-year-old who'd lost everything, the teenager who’d been slowly dying inside, the young man who'd been shaped by cruelty into the man he now was.
It doesn't matter. It was a mistake. A strategy that went too far.
But the lie tasted bitter on my tongue. If it had just been a strategy, I wouldn't be fighting the urge to touch the marks he'd left, wouldn't be replaying every moment in vivid detail, wouldn't be wondering if he was doing the same in his own bed.
I'd told myself I was manipulating him, using my body to gain an advantage. The ugly truth was that I'd wanted him. Still wanted him, even now, with the evidence of his possessive passion mapped across my skin.
What kind of mother was I, to feel this way about the man who held us prisoner? What kind of woman found desire in the arms of a killer?
One who recognized a kindred spirit, perhaps.
Another survivor, shaped by circumstances beyond control.
We'd both been abandoned—me by my parents and Mina's father, him by his parents' murder.
We'd both learned to fight, to endure, to do whatever was necessary to survive. He’d just been born into a darker world than I had been.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, exhaustion suddenly weighing on me like a physical presence. My gaze fixed on the door, the lock that separated me from the hallway beyond. From him.
Part of me hoped it would remain closed until morning, giving me time to rebuild my defenses, to remember why I needed to keep Luca at arm's length. Another part—a part I didn't want to acknowledge—wondered if it would open again tonight, if he would return to finish what we'd started.
I didn't know which possibility frightened me more—that he would stay away, or that he wouldn't. That I'd successfully manipulated him into wanting me, or that I'd failed completely and simply revealed my own vulnerability instead.
As the minutes ticked by and the door remained closed, I drew my legs up onto the bed, wrapping my arms around my knees. The marks on my wrists caught the dim light, a reminder of where I'd been, what I'd done. Who I'd become in that moment of surrender.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I would be stronger, would remember my purpose—to protect Mina, to find a way out, to return to our normal life. But tonight, alone in the darkness with the ghost of Luca's touch still lingering on my skin, I couldn't pretend that life would ever feel normal again.