Page 81

Chapter eighty

Samara

A s we approach his bike, apprehension starts to settle into my gut.

He sees the look written plainly across my features, and his brows pull together. “I thought you were over hating me,” he says, sounding so defeated it nearly cracks my heart in two.

“I never hated you, Luca. I’ve never been on a motorcycle.”

He starts to relax, his shoulders dropping from their place by his ears as the meaning of my words settles in. “Don’t be scared, princess. I’ll take good care of you,” he tells me, lifting a compartment under the seat and pulling out a spare helmet.

He places it on my head, being careful not to mess up my curls too much as he secures it in place. He then gets his on and settles onto the bike, looking over his shoulder at me, wearing an easy smile.

“Climb on, Samara.” I do, but I have no idea where to put my feet or my hands. Luca grips each of my legs firmly in his massive hands and settles my feet safely out of the way. “Wrap your arms around my waist and hold on tight,” he tells me.

I have a death grip on him by the time he has the kickstand up, and we’re pulling onto the dirt road.

He speeds up, and my grip only tightens as he does. The wind whips around us, and my heart is pounding rapidly against my chest as we take off toward my place.

My chin is resting on his shoulder, and I can feel Luca’s chuckle reverberate through his chest. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you, princess,” he shouts so I can hear him.

This time, though, I’m not afraid of being with Luca De Laurentiis. I’m afraid of being without him, and that alone is ten times scarier than this donor cycle could ever be.

My limbs feel rigid as I nearly strangle him to death, praying my big ass doesn’t somehow fly off this thing, and I’m thankful there doesn’t seem to be anyone else on the road out here.

My anxiety is ricocheting through me at every twist and turn we make, and I know he can feel it.

Luca skids to a stop along the side of the road and pulls us over off the edge.

“What are you doing? Why did we stop?” I ask him, sounding just as frantic as I feel.

“We’re only halfway home, Samara. You’ve got to calm down, or you’re gonna have a heart attack before we ever get there,” he tells me, maneuvering himself so he can see more of me. He stands from the bike, ensuring it’s secure, before taking a step closer to me. “I plan to make sure you’re very relaxed.” He chuckles deeply.

I can already feel the pool of warmth in my panties, and if this wasn’t both terrifying and so goddamn sexy, I’d be embarrassed by it.

My dress has ridden up so high on my thighs from the way I’ve had to straddle this thing that I’m leaving nothing to the imagination as he lifts one of my legs up high to further expose me to him.

His smirk says it all as his eyes stay trained on mine. I feel his thick fingers slide along my seam, but I refuse to break eye contact.

Luca settles my leg onto his shoulder, causing me to fall backward a bit. I settle my hands behind me, leaning back, trying to keep myself up despite the way my legs are starting to shake with need.

His finger slips under the silk material of my thong, and he tugs on it hard, causing it to snap back against my sensitive skin. The sting sends a jolt of electricity through me, and I arch into him, releasing a moan. “I can’t say I’m surprised by how wet I make you, principessa, ” he taunts. “But god, it’s still such a treat to see you like this. Splayed open and absolutely soaked, just for me.” He tugs on my panties one more time, snapping the thin material and pulling the shreds from my body. He smiles wickedly, maintaining eye contact as he sucks my juices off them before stuffing them into his back pocket. “Just as sweet as I remember,” he confirms.

The fact that it’s even possible for me to be “soaked” is a miracle. Before Luca, PCOS had taken even that small luxury from me. I was just about as dry as the Sahara Desert with every other man I’ve been with, but maybe that's because he's practically been edging me for weeks.

It takes a lot for me to get this turned on, but thankfully, Luca does it for me.

He presses two thick fingers into me, distracting me from my thoughts. He’s stretching me so deliciously I almost forget where we are.

His fingers are buried inside me, relentlessly diving into me as I keen against him. “Yes.” I moan. “ Please , Luca, don’t stop," I beg.

“Well, you asked so nicely. How could I?” he says, adding a third finger and pressing his thumb to my clit. My body lights up under his touch, coming alive for him as sparks surge up my spine. My core clenches around him, pulling him farther into me. “Holy shit, Samara,” he says, shaking his head, his face a mask of pure agony. “I can’t wait to drag you home, devour your gorgeous cunt, and have you absolutely strangling my cock until the sun rises,” he pants out. He splays his fingers inside of me, stretching me farther, almost to the point of pain, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t incredible.

This man, he can do no wrong. He laughs darkly as I move my hips to meet his hand. “Should I add another finger, Samara? Would you like that?”

“No,” I grit out, not wanting to keep agreeing with him. Four fingers would probably split me in two. “You’ll split me in half.” I groan, but his hand stops abruptly.

My eyes widen in shock. This jackass!

“It’s four fingers or none, Samara. If we have any chance of fitting my massive cock inside you tonight, you’ll need to be stretched out a bit,” he says, moving his hand downward to tease my other hole.

Goosebumps litter my skin, and I wish he weren’t right. Now that I’ve seen that thing, I know he’s not even joking. He has all the reason in the world to walk around like a big dick slinger because his dick really is huge, and god, is it pretty.

“Fine,” I tell him, defeated by my needy pussy. “But if you try to fist me, I’ll return the favor.” I scowl at him, and his eyes widen before he releases a deep chuckle.

He removes his hand entirely and then pushes his four thick fingers into me, stretching me out even farther. He leans into me, my leg over his shoulder, adjusting with him to split me even wider.

His deft fingers dive in and out of me as he changes rhythms against my clit, applying more and then less pressure. Finally, when I can’t take any more and my body is practically levitating off the seat of this bike, he pinches my clit, dragging it between his fingers, and sends me spiraling over the edge. “That’s right, principessa, just like that, baby,” he encourages.

I’m spasming around his fingers, my core tightening and my breathing ragged. I feel his lips and wet tongue graze over the thin satin of my dress, sucking my pebbled nipple into his mouth, and the sensation has me soaring.

I slump back against the seat, panting and shivering as he removes his hands from my body, sucking me off each of his fingers before pressing a kiss to the side of my neck.

My body is like jelly as he stands from the bike, putting his helmet back on and sliding back onto his seat in front of me again. I do my best to hold onto him, but this time, I’m barely hanging on as he drives us home.