Page 69

Chapter sixty-eight

Luca

Monday, August 31, 2026

S oft moans are the first thing I notice as I start to wake up. My name, spoken in a desperate cry, is the next.

I open my eyes, adjusting to the lack of light, and goddamn do I wish I had good lighting right now.

Samara is still on top of me, similar to how she had been when we fell asleep last night, but now, her hands are gripping the sheets beside my waist as she rolls her hips against my thigh, seeking the friction she’s apparently desperate for.

My dick is already rock hard, pulsing with need for her.

I run my fingertips up her arm, trying to get her attention, but the more I take her in, the more I realize she isn’t awake.

Fucking hell. What are the rules of consent for something like this? Do I wake her up? Do I let her ride it out… literally?

I shake my head, clearing my thoughts and the cobwebs still residing from the last few hours of sleep.

“Samara,” I say, trying to speak clearly despite the arousal sinking into my bones. She continues with her soft cries, completely unaware.

Bringing my hand to the base of her neck, I tug on the roots of her thick hair. “Samara, wake up.”

Her body loosens, the noises stop, and finally, her eyelids burst open, frantically meeting my eyes. “Hey there, princess, don’t let me stop you,” I tell her, trying to break the tension.

Her bottom lip juts out before she drags it through her teeth. Her dark brows pinch together.

We stare at each other for an agonizingly long moment before she says, “ Please .”

The word comes out like a puff of air. Her voice filled with need.

“Please?” I question.

“I’m…” She casts her eyes away from me, refusing to meet my gaze. “God, I’m so fucking horny.”

Excitement flutters through me. “Like I said, don’t let me stop you .”

Her eyes shoot up to mine, and she sharpens her gaze before saying, “No sex. That’s the rule.”

“You have lots of rules, sweetheart,” I joke. “But okay, no sex. Just use my body and get yourself off. I’ll just enjoy the show.” I smirk, removing my hands from her and resting my head on my forearms.

She eyes me tentatively but ultimately decides to take what she wants.

I watch intensely as she shifts her weight, bringing the leg from between mine to the outside of my thigh. She straddles me, hovering over my cock before lowering herself down.

“Oh fuck.” I groan, squeezing my eyes tightly shut to clear my thoughts. But when she rests her hands on my chest and starts to grind her hips onto me, I can’t stop the sounds that rip from my throat.

Samara throws her head back, her full breasts straining against her white T-shirt as she takes her pleasure. “Yes,” she cries. “You feel so good, and you’re not even inside me.”

The retort is on the tip of my tongue, but I bite down, restraining myself.

My fists clench under my head. The desire to reach out and touch her, to drag my thumbs over her nipples or sink my fingers into her luscious hips, is overwhelming. My dick is pulsating, twitching with excitement as heat sears through my every cell.

“That’s it, principessa. Take what you want, sweetheart,” I beg. I want her release just as bad as she does.

Her pussy lips hug my shaft through her thin pajama shorts, her wet heat seeping through the thin fabric.

“Oh god.” She moans loudly, her movements speeding up, becoming more erratic as she meets her release. “Yes!” she cries. Her hips continue moving frantically in an attempt to continue the pleasure rolling through her. My hands jut forward, gripping her hips as I take over for her, allowing her to just relax into me, taking what she wants and feeling the ache in her core subside.

When she goes quiet and her body slumps against mine, I have to Kegel a handful of times to will the blood from my cock back into my body. Of course, it barely works with her still lying on top of me.

Samara rolls off, lying beside me. “Thanks,” is all she says, her voice uncharacteristically small.

“Anytime, princess.” I chuckle. And I do mean that. Anytime she needs me, for an orgasm or anything else for that matter, I’ll be here at her disposal.

***

I came harder than I ever had in my life in the shower after Samara got dressed and started packing.

We’ll have breakfast with her family, and then we’ll say our goodbyes and head to the airport.

“You almost ready to go?”

“Yep,” I tell her, grabbing my phone off the nightstand as it begins to ring. “ Arielle ” flashes across the screen, and my heart jumps to my throat. “Hey, I’ve gotta take this. I’ll be ready in a few,” I say, heading outside.

“Hey, Arielle, everything okay?”

“Of course it is, silly.” She laughs. “I just figured I’d call and let you know your kid is doing great.”

My thoughts derail. “Wait, she’s with you?”

“Yeah, Cici has her private therapy session and an hour-long group session this morning, so she asked me to come over and hang out with Gia until she’s done.”

Every muscle in my body begins to loosen. I blow out a deep breath. “Oh, thanks, sorellina. 1 I hope Gia isn’t giving you a hard time.”

“Not at all! She’s much sweeter than her father.” She laughs. “Now, tell me how your trip is going! Has Samara finally caught up and decided to allow herself to fall in love with you?”

Shaking my head, I laugh and tell her, “Nobody is falling in love with anyone here.”

That’s dead wrong, and the words feel sour on my tongue. There’s silence for a moment before Arielle says, “You already know you have feelings for her, right?”

There’s no point in denying it, especially when my family is all up in each other’s business. “Yes.” I groan, not loving where this conversation is headed.

“Great, now have you figured out what’s holding her back?”

“Yeah, actually.” I tread lightly.

“Go on now, tell me,” Arielle prods.

“Last night, she admitted that she looked into me before we started working together and…” I clear my throat.

“Jesus Christ, just spit it out, stronzetto. ”

“She found that article from when I brought you to the clinic.” It takes a moment to finally get the words out, but when I do, it feels like I’m choking on them. I do my best to never make her relive that day, so it’s hard to utter a single word about it now.

“And she believes the reporter’s lies?” she guesses.

“I think she’s starting to question the legitimacy of it, but when she asked me about it last night, I probably didn’t do myself any favors by telling her I couldn’t explain what really happened.”

“And why on earth would you do that?” she asks, raising her voice.

“Arielle, just like I told Samara last night, that is not my story to tell .”

She says nothing for several beats of silence. “Then I’ll tell her.”

Shaking my head, I say, “No, Arielle, you don’t have to do that. She’s just got to learn to trust me, and if I said it isn’t what she thinks, then she needs to believe that if there’s a chance of anything working between us anyway.”

“Luca, you don’t know what that woman has been through, and neither do I. But if I’ve learned anything in my life, it’s that women like Samara aren’t guarded without reason. Just consider that she may not be capable of blindly trusting, and that might not be her fault either. It isn’t usually something we choose,” she reminds me.

“Hopefully, I can earn her trust another way, but sharing that day with her won’t be how I do it. Please, don’t worry about it, okay, Arielle? I promise that if things between us are meant to work, they will. I’ve gotta go. We need to meet her family for breakfast and head to the airport. Thanks for watching Gia; give her hugs and kisses for me.”

Shockingly, she drops the previous conversation. “Of course I will. I’ll send you a bunch of pictures soon. Have a safe flight home,” she tells me before hanging up.

1. Italian: "Little sister."