Page 37 of Entwined Lies (Entwined #1)

Isabelle

Luca was stretched out on the bed, back against the headboard, legs sprawled, completely at ease.

His gaze dragged over me. “You must be fucking kidding me.”

Well, not the reaction I expected.

I met his eyes, arching a brow. “You good?”

“Not even close. But if you come over here, I might tell you something that flips this entire conversation upside down. Whether that’s good or bad for you? That’s the gamble.”

I rolled my eyes but climbed onto the bed anyway.

He pulled me over his body until I was straddling him. His fingers flexed against my thighs as his gaze dragged over me.

“You know, I saw you before that night. A few times, actually.”

Luca said it so casually, like it was just a passing thought. Meanwhile, my brain was actively short-circuiting.

“Every time Enzo and I stopped by that café, you were there—sitting in the corner, laptop open, completely engrossed in whatever you were doing. Ignoring every single guy who tried to get your attention. And there were plenty of them. It was entertaining.” He smiled faintly and looked down for a second before meeting my eyes again.

“I’ve never chased. Didn’t need to. But the way you looked through every man like they weren’t even worth your time—it got under my skin.

I kept asking myself… would I have been just as forgettable? ”

I stared at him, totally speechless.

“I gave you the perfect opening—coffee spill, smooth apology, charming offer to make it up to you, expecting, I don’t know, maybe a little small talk, maybe a flirty remark. But you just sighed and said, ‘That’s alright, no need.’ And you left before I could even blink.”

“Are you kidding? That was the day I had my interview call with the DA’s office.

The one where I realized I was already catastrophically late and in the middle of a full-blown panic scramble.

And then, because the universe loves a good punchline, my coffee landed squarely on my notes.

I was too busy not committing a crime to even look at you. ”

Luca let out a rough laugh. “Yeah, well, Enzo lost his mind. Said he’d never seen a woman shut me down like that.

He mocked me the entire goddamn day.” His smile widened.

“A couple of days later, you showed up at the club. The second I told Enzo I’d go talk to you, he nearly spilled his drink laughing, told me I was about to learn a hard lesson.

And he didn’t even know how right he was. ”

His hands tightened at my waist, dragging me down until my mouth hovered over his.

“You teased me. Made fun of things I said. No one dared to do that. And fuck, I liked it.”

“Yeah, you failed to mention that whole ‘dark prince of a criminal empire’ thing.”

“I didn’t want you to see me for what I am, so I made sure everyone else treated me like I wasn’t. But it should’ve ended in the VIP—when you sat there, still catching your breath, and said you needed to leave. But we kept drinking. Kept talking. And I didn’t want it to end there.”

He held my gaze for a beat before continuing.

“I remember it too well. You in my kitchen, stealing sips of my whiskey, snorting my coke, looking like you fucking belonged there. Like you were mine. ”

Jesus. I stared at him, my pulse hammering in my throat.

“You were in my shirt. Half off your shoulders, buttons undone… nothing under it but that white lace thong.” His voice cracked a little as he kept going. “You straddled me and that barely-there thing stretched so thin I could see how wet you were.”

His fingers flexed against my thighs.

“You were talking—half-drunk, half-high—saying whatever popped into that pretty head of yours. Your lips kept brushing mine between sentences, between sips, between hits. Then I slipped my fingers inside you, and you melted into my mouth like you forgot how to breathe without me.”

I let a slow smirk spread, covering the way my heart skipped a beat. “You could’ve just said you wanted to fuck me.”

“Oh, I did. But that wasn’t the part that fucked with my head.”

I should’ve laughed. Brushed it off with a roll of my eyes, a well-timed quip. That’s what I should have done. Instead, my throat went tight.

“Then what was?”

“What you did after. You took my hand, dipped my fingers in the coke, sucked them clean, and kissed me. And somehow, that simple, filthy little act felt like the most raw, personal, and intimate fucking thing in the world. Like it wasn’t just about getting high, or fucking, or losing control.

Like you handed me this piece of yourself you’d never let go of before.

And in that moment, I knew what it would feel like if you were ever mine. ”

I shoved the memory away before it sank its teeth in.

Because that wasn’t me. That had never been me.

I had a big mouth—I could talk my way out of anything, talk shit to anyone.

But that night? That wasn’t talking. That was me without the filter, without the armor.

And it had only happened then. Never before. Never after with any other men.

His hands slid over my thighs, palms spreading over my ass .

“And now? White lace isn’t just a fabric—it’s a fucking ghost. It’s you, straddling me, tasting like whiskey, coke, and something I was never supposed to have—something maybe no one else ever would.”

My chest went tight. The air in the room stretched too thin, too charged, pressing against my ribs, closing in around me.

The worst part wasn’t that he remembered.

It was that I had never really moved past it.

And not just because every time I looked at Jake, I saw him .

No. That night had never stayed where it belonged.

It showed up in silence, in the split second before sleep.

It had become part of me—stitched into the seams. And no amount of logic could tear it free.

That? That was a whole new level of pathetic.

Because who does that? Who lets one reckless night take up permanent residence in their head? Who clings to something fleeting, something never meant to last? Who spends more time thinking about a man they barely knew than the ones they actually let into their bed?

I didn’t even fall for him. Not really. I fell for the idea of him—some half-formed fantasy my mind refused to let go of, no matter how ridiculous it was. A fixation in its purest, most humiliating form. The kind that stays quiet until it’s loud—until it fills the cracks you didn’t know were there.

I tilted my head to the side with a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Damn, Luca. Who knew you were such a romantic?”

It was a distraction. A desperate attempt to steer this ship away from the iceberg before I said something I could never take back.

His smirk was slow, lazy, pure sin. He gripped my ass, rolling my hips against the thick press of him.

“Romantic?” His voice was rough, teasing, as if the word itself were a joke. “No, Siren. I’m just a man who knows what he fucking wants. And right now? I want you soaked and riding me like your life depends on it. ”

Of course, he wasn’t a romantic. Of course, none of this was more than sex.

The confession I let slip in the kitchen? It meant nothing to him. At best, it was funny. At worst, it was fucking pitiful. Which was exactly why I could never let the rest of it slip free.

He rolled his hips again, his mouth brushed mine.

Then everything spun. One second, I was straddling him; the next, my cheek was against the sheets, his hands locked on my hips as he dragged me up and positioned me.

“What am I going to do with you?”

I pushed back against him. “Maybe stop talking and actually do something?”

“Oh, I’ll do something.” He laughed, rough and low, dragging both hands over my ass.

Then—crack.

His palm landed hard, the slap stung, but the ache underneath lit me up.

I barely managed a breath before his fingers slipped between my thighs.

Then came another slap—harder. Meaner.

I arched into it.

He dragged his fingers over me, pressing down just enough to make me squirm. “Fuck, I love how you ruin your panties for me.”

He shifted, dropping to his knees behind me.

I gripped the sheets, arching slightly. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

The second the words were out of my mouth, his palm cracked against my ass again—hard. I jolted forward, breath knocked out of me, but his grip was already there, dragging me back.

“Stay fucking still. Let me taste what’s mine.”

His mouth sealed over the fabric, his tongue dragging over thin lace .

The first pass sent a jolt through me. The second had my arms giving out, my chest dropping to the mattress as a strangled moan tore from my throat.

His teeth scraped over the thin material before he sucked at it, his low groan vibrating against me. “So needy. You’d let me have you any way I want, wouldn’t you?”

“You’re just as desperate,” I teased, my voice coming out breathy. “Don’t act like I’m the only one falling apart.”

Luca chuckled against me before he stood up and leaned over me. His fingers slipped under my panties, moved them aside, and pressed in—deep enough to make my legs shake. His other hand slid up my back, wrapping loosely around my throat.

“Desperate? You’re the one soaking for me. Dripping all over my hand. Clenching like you need me to fuck you.”

I gasped, hips grinding into his hand without thinking.

“How deep do you want me to take you? How far would you let me go?” His voice was smooth, coaxing, but there was nothing soft about the way he owned me in this moment.

A helpless moan broke free, and I clenched around his fingers.

“As far as you want. Stop holding back and fucking take me.”

Luca went still, then moved like he’d snapped.

He turned me, lifted me, and stormed across the room. One sweep of his arm sent everything crashing off the dresser. He yanked his belt open, shoved his slacks down, and before I could catch my breath, he drove into me in one rough thrust.