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Layla

Luca reaches across and squeezes my hand, our eyes connect momentarily before he turns his attention back to the road.

He grips the steering wheel until his knuckles whiten, he revs quickly and brakes sharply, changing up and down through the gears with more force than necessary.

War is coming.

One spark and it’s going to go, and I fear I may be the catalyst.

If I hadn’t met him that night, if I hadn’t helped, Levi wouldn’t have seen the opportunity to blackmail me, I wouldn’t have become Luca’s weakness, he wouldn’t have had to protect me.

But here we are.

A whole fucked up relationship—built on happenstance and a lie.

The man’s a menace, weaving in and out of cars, swearing when someone gets in the way. Horns blare at us, and my nerves are frayed.

But somehow, I manage to shut my brain down and slip into nothingness.

“Sunshine,” his knuckles graze my cheek, his voice like a soft caress on my subconscious, I blink against the bright lights of the garage, “let’s get you those bubbles.” He climbs out the car and I do nothing to move, until he opens my door, letting the coldness seep in causing a shiver.

He pulls me out the passenger seat, navigating me past his expensive cars to the lift.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I admit, studying the clean white tiles, unwilling to meet the obsidian pools of his eyes whilst I push down the ice-cold bitterness of my despair. “My cheek throbs.”

“We need to ice it.” His fingers dance over my cheek bone and he tilts my head to the light. “It’s going to bruise.”

My penance.

The elevator doors open on a ping, and I’m faced with the biggest bunch of lilies I’ve ever seen.

He remembered and my chest warms.

It’s the small gestures, I don’t think he knows what they do to me.

“Dad always bought Mum lilies every Friday.” I take off my boots as he pulls my jacket off and opens a door off the main hall, a cloakroom, and hangs it up.

“What about the boxes?” They are in the boot of his car.

“Can wait until tomorrow, come,” he instructs, walking through the hallway up the floating wooden stairs to the master suite. “Sit.” He pushes me onto the bed, and I flop back, his smell engulfs me along with the pillows and covers moulding to my body.

He heads into the ensuite and I let my body relax into the soft bed. I could really go for something alcoholic. I stand and pad across the huge master suite and lean against the door frame.

His black top is rolled to the elbows, his forearms thick and covered in bubbles as he swills the water around. He couldn’t be further away from the ruthless man I know he is. He feels my presence and turns.

He’s beautiful.

“Wine?” I ask.

“Layla,” he grimaces, striding toward me, “your face.”

He pulls me into the bathroom and positions me facing the mirror. The bruise forming over my right cheek bone stands out like a neon sign.

“It looks worse than it is.” I touch it gently and wince. “I look a mess.” My eyes meet his in the mirror.

“It’s my fault.” We stare at each other, the silence broken by the sound of running water.

All day I’ve wondered why last night ended in such a shit show, all day I’ve fought the jealousy, but just like Katy said, he’s the one who can give me answers and explain.

“What happened last night?” I ask.

He breaks eye contact with me, his jaw clenching, his nostrils flaring. “I fucked up. I disrespected you, and I shouldn’t have done it. I’m a cunt. I can assure you, there is nothing between Isla and I.”

“But you were looking at her. Why?”

“Because I wanted her to see that whatever notion she has in her head that we will ever be together, is baseless. That I am completely devoted to you.”

“But—”

“But nothing. Layla, when will you realise that this isn’t a game for me? This deal, this arrangement, was nothing but a way for me to get my way, to have you. Surely you must know that by now.”

He stares at me with such intensity in the reflection before turning me around. I cock my head defiantly, holding onto the last of my resolve. “You stalked me. You stood outside my flat, you watched me,” I say stupidly.

He pushes into me, walking me back so that I hit the large vanity unit, caging me in. One hand holding my hip, his body holding me in place, as his other hand cups my cheek, his palm warm and strong. “You are beautiful, and you are mine. And I will do anything, and I fucking mean anything, for you.” I can’t bear to meet the intensity of his gaze. He forces my chin up, making my eyes meet his.

“Don’t fight this, whatever this is. Don’t fight me. There are many reasons why this shouldn’t happen, and you can look for every single one of them, but I won’t let you go, Layla. And you don’t want me to. You're just too damn stubborn to admit it.”

My throat tightens, and I gulp down nervously. I should be terrified at what he is saying, terrified that he can see me so clearly.

But I’m not.

Because he’s right.

Something has become crystal clear to me.

I want to be his weakness. I want him to look after me, choke me, fuck me, and treat me like his whore, and his princess because it makes me feel alive.

He has become my addiction.

And I am just too stubborn to say the words.

Yesterday went wrong, today was a mess. Grandad isn’t safe, but he’s safer with me being with Luca, he’s safer with me being part of this world.

This is my choice. A choice that I make easily.

Luca smiles at me, and it’s like looking into the face of the devil.

“You finally understand, don’t you, sunshine?” he asks, leaning in and taking a breath of my neck. His mouth runs up and ends on my pulse, sucking and licking as my heart beats wildly. He pulls back and meets my eyes. “Beautiful.” Leaning forward he pulls my bottom lip into his mouth and sucks. “And all fucking mine.”

He spins me round so that I’m facing the mirror my back against his front for support.

His hand reaches round to my front and undoes my white shirt and pulls it off, exposing my bra, my nipples hardening under the cotton material as the coldness and his touch ignites me. He kisses my neck and watches my reaction in the mirror, my head lolling back on his shoulder as he peppers me with kisses, causing the butterflies I love to hate explode in my stomach, my thighs tightening as wetness creeps between my legs.

This is the effect he has on me. The atmosphere between us sizzles, but this isn’t about him dominating me, this is about him caring for me. This is him regaining my trust. Surrounding me in a blanket of compassion in my moment of need.

His hands run the length of my arms, and he pulls my shirt off and it falls to the floor. He drops one palm to my stomach as the other undoes my jeans and pushes them off.

Closing my eyes on a sigh he reaches into my underwear.

“Eyes,” he commands, and I open them. His dark lust-filled gaze tells me I’m his world, the length of him growing against my arse. “Look at yourself, Layla. See how beautiful you are. Watch yourself as you come for me, I want you to see what I see. You’re tense,” he says as he pushes two fingers inside me, causing my hips to thrash. His hand holds me firmly in place, “Relax, baby.” I rest my head against his strong chest, his fingers moving deliciously in and out.

It’s erotic, and downright sexy.

He removes his fingers and pulls my underwear down then delves back in. I’m building and building, my breathy moans filling the expanse of the bathroom.

My hips buck against his hand as I shamelessly rub against his palm, desperate for more pressure as he cups the bundle of nerves, his fingers continuing their torturous movements, in and out.

In and out.

“Come, baby, and look how stunning you are.”

My orgasm crashes down on me like a wave, my body exploding with pleasure, my eyes clenching shut as I moan his name and sag forward, my legs unable to hold my weight.

But he’s there to catch me.