Page 66 of Mine Again (Mafia Bride #2)

Chapter Sixty-Five

Isabella

I wake to the hush of a sunlit room, and I know instantly that Luca isn’t beside me.

A small stab of disappointment cuts through the haze of sleep.

I wanted to wake up with him.

The sheets on his side are cold, the faint dip in the mattress already fading. Still, my hand drifts across the linen, chasing a warmth that’s long gone.

I reach for his pillow and pull it close, burying my face in it. His scent clings to the fabric, lingering like smoke after a fire.

A glance at the clock on the nightstand confirms what my body already knows. It’s nearly midday. No wonder Luca is up. He probably has things to do… hacking systems, hunting ghosts, being the Venom.

I stretch and a delicious ache pulses through me. Every inch of me feels used… claimed. Not in a careless way, but thoroughly, possessively.

There’s a tremble in my thighs when I try to straighten them, my skin still oversensitive where his mouth had roamed, where his hands had gripped like he couldn’t bear to let go.

Luca made good on his promise to wake me with his cock. Again and again, he consumed me. Between each brief hour of sleep, he returned hungrier, rougher, then softer, slower, like he couldn’t decide whether to punish me for the years apart or worship me for surviving them.

My lips are tender from the way he kissed me. My chest, my hips, and even my wrists carry the memory of his mouth, his grip, the heat of his body sealing me to the mattress.

Insatiable doesn’t begin to cover it.

He touched me like he was starving and I was the only thing that could keep him alive.

And God help me… I wanted it all.

I swing my legs out of bed, the chill in the air hitting my bare skin.

Pale sunlight filters through the winter clouds, casting a soft glow across the bed and floor. I find a robe hanging behind the bathroom door and slip it on.

Then I go looking for Luca.

I find him in his office, seated behind his desk, fingers moving deftly across a keyboard.

But the second he sees me, his hands still. His gaze locks on, trailing over me slowly, lingering like he’s already thinking about taking the robe off.

I might be walking with a little extra sway now. Having his attention is addictive. Then again, when don’t I have it?

Luca rises from his chair, his gaze never leaving me.

He crosses the room like a predator, silent and focused, all dark heat and intent. By the time he reaches me, my breath is shallow, my skin humming with anticipation.

My belly tightens, the air between us thickening. My legs press together instinctively, a slow ache blooming between them, equal parts memory and fresh need.

I pretend to hold still, but every part of me is aware of him.

His gaze drags over me like a touch. His presence alone makes the blood rush under my skin, and my traitorous, eager body remembers exactly what he did to it last night .

When he reaches me, one hand cups my jaw, the other settles on my waist, his thumb brushing the tie of my robe. His mouth meets mine, soft at first, then deeper. Possessive. Thorough. Like he missed me in the few hours I was asleep.

When he finally pulls back, his voice is like gravel.

“Sorry I wasn’t there when you woke. You needed the rest after I made you come so many times. Though I hated missing the chance to be the first thing you saw this morning.”

I lift a brow, my lips curving.

“Well, you were the first thing I saw every time I opened my eyes during the night. I wonder why that happened so often.”

A wicked sound vibrates in his chest. Before I can react, he scoops me up with ease. I let out a small yelp that turns into a breathless laugh as he carries me to the desk and deposits me on its surface like I weigh nothing.

He steps between my thighs, his hands gliding along my legs beneath the robe. I catch his wrist just in time, grinning.

“Don’t even think about it. I’m too sore to even consider having sex anytime soon.”

His eyes darken, his mouth grazing my cheek.

“I could kiss it better.”

Warmth blooms low in my abdomen.

“You’ve gotten awfully good at kissing things better.”

He smirks. “I practiced a lot in my mind.”

For a moment, we stay there like that. Breathing each other in. Smiling into the silence.

“So you really haven’t been with anybody else?”

His reply comes without hesitation.

“ Farfalla , I’m obsessed with you… if you haven’t noticed. Why would I want to look at another woman, let alone touch her?”

I shrug a little, though my heart stirs at the intensity in his tone.

“Because men have needs.”

“True,” he says. “But men have hands too.”

I grin. “Not as satisfying, though. I should know. ”

He leans in, his breath hot against my skin.

“Compared to being buried inside your sweet pussy or your mouth? No, not satisfying. But it took off the edge, you little tease.”

“Little tease?” I echo, wrinkling my nose.

“Yes,” he murmurs, his voice dipping lower. “Or have you forgotten the shows you put on for me while we were apart?”

Heat floods my cheeks, a slow burn rising to my ears. “So you did see?”

His eyes darken, a flicker of hunger pulsing through them. “Every single time.”

He takes my hand and brings it to the front of his jeans, guiding it along the thickening ridge of his cock.

“When you slipped out of your robe… a robe just like this one,” he says, tugging at the sash with his free hand, “and touched yourself like you had all the time in the world…”

His words trail off, but the look in his eyes finishes the thought.

“I nearly lost my mind,” he whispers. “Watching you strip down to your lacy lingerie, knowing I couldn’t touch you. You moved so slowly, like you were daring me to crawl through the screen and take you.”

My breath catches. His words alone are enough to make me clench around nothing.

“I was daring you,” I say, not recognizing my voice.

“I could tell by the way you lay back and spread those gorgeous thighs,” he continues, one hand rising to cup the side of my neck, his thumb grazing my jaw while his other hand still guides mine up and down over his clothed shaft.

“Your fingers sliding lower, stroking yourself like you were imagining it was me. And your face when you came… like you knew I was there.”

I shift slightly, the robe suddenly too warm, the pressure between my legs too insistent.

“You should have seen me,” he growls softly. “I was gripping the desk so hard my knuckles went white. Sometimes I succumbed to your temptation and jerked off like a bloody teenager. Other times, I didn’t. I waited. Watched. Burned.”

His mouth lowers to my ear.

“Torturing myself watching you torture me.”

My hand moves on its own now, stroking him through the denim, his thick length twitching beneath my touch. My voice is husky now.

“I wasn’t trying to torture you.”

“No?” he asks, tone full of wicked disbelief.

“I was trying to provoke you. To come for me. To claim me back. Or at least give me a sign you were still there… still wanting me.”

His hand tightens around my fingers, holding them still against his cock.

“ Farfalla, I never stopped,” he says, eyes on mine, brimming with need and something deeper. “I always want you. Only you.”

My thighs shift on instinct, the sensitivity from last night flaring to life again. I bite my bottom lip as a quiet moan escapes me, my body already begging for more, shameless in its response.

His mouth finds mine before I can speak, capturing my lips in a kiss that’s anything but gentle. It’s heat and hunger and every restless thought he’s ever had about me pressed into one. His tongue parts my lips, demanding, devouring, leaving no room for doubt or air.

My fingers fist the fabric of his shirt. I melt into him, the desk cool beneath me, the robe sliding open just enough to expose my thigh. His hands are everywhere. One tangles in my hair, the other sliding up my ribs beneath the robe, rough palm skimming the curve of my breast.

I gasp into his mouth when his thumb brushes over my nipple. It tightens instantly, the ache spreading like wildfire through my chest, straight down to where I’m already throbbing for him.

He groans low in his throat, like the sound is torn from somewhere deep.

“I missed this,” he mutters against my mouth. “The way you respond to me… like you were made for it.”

His hand cups my breast more firmly now, fingers teasing the sensitive peak. Each lazy, circling touch pulls another flicker of heat to the surface. My body arches into him, chasing every bit of contact, desperate for more even as my soreness distracts me with every movement.

It’s too much. Too soon. And yet, not enough.

I tear my mouth away, breathing hard.

“Luca…” I press a hand to his chest, not to push him away exactly, but to slow the storm we’re both tumbling into.

He stills immediately, eyes searching mine.

“I want to,” I whisper, “but I really am sore. You were very… thorough.”

His lips twitch into something dangerously close to a smirk, but he steps back, reluctantly giving me room. I hop off the desk with a wince and a grin, fanning the robe against my overheated skin.

The air hits my thighs and neck, a welcome relief, but it does little to calm the throbbing he’s left behind.

I turn away from him, needing a second to think.

“So this is the heart of your empire,” I say, looking around, deliberately avoiding his burning gaze. “What are you working on?”

“Trying to find the Jackal’s whereabouts and what he’s up to. He will retaliate. Ruining his plans and disposing of his cousin… he’ll be pissed.”

I glance back at him.

“How did you figure out that Carter Hale is the Jackal?” I ask, the question having lingered in my mind since the moment he first told me about him. “He’s supposed to be one of the best. It couldn’t have been easy.”

Something sharp flickers in his eyes.

“Funny enough… you helped.”