There’s temptation between us. And sin. But there’s something deeper too. It might be trust.
“You told me not to stop fighting you.”
His lips turn up. The air seems to shimmer with challenge. “You gonna punch me? Gonna make me bleed after you patched me up so nice?”
“What if I don’t want to fight anymore?”
Everything seems to still as I hold my breath. Even the earth pauses on its axis, waiting for his reaction. Fearing it. Anticipating it. His voice burns like lava. “You need something from me, little bird?”
“Show me what it would be like. If I hadn’t been scared of you in my apartment. If the elevator yesterday had just gone on and on, never stopping.”
“I’m hard as a goddamn lead pipe, but I’m not going to fuck you.”
I suck in a breath. “Why not?”
“Because I’m not going to be another man you’re afraid of. I figure you’ve got enough of those. And I can’t stand to see you look at me like you regret it after.”
My lips press together, because I don’t know if I’ll regret it. If I’ll be afraid of him, after it’s done. I despised Leader Allen every single time. What could be different?
Luca’s green gaze runs over my body, more blatantly, more leisurely than before. He lingers on the curves, and I feel his regard like a physical caress. His voice is thick. “I won’t fuck you, but I will make you come.”
The words shift something inside me, a boulder that blocked every physical sensation. It protected me, once. Now it feels like another cage. “What do you mean?”
“Pull down your jeans.”
My hands feel clumsy as I fumble with the button and the zipper. I manage to push my jeans halfway down my hips, leaving only my panties to cover myself. I feel more naked than I ever did in Leader Allen’s prayer sessions. Luca sees more than my body. He sees my desire.
“What next?” I whisper.
“Let me take care of you.”
The words are like water, filling some parched-earth part of me.
His skin is tanned and scarred against the smooth paleness of my tummy. His hand looks large fanned over my panties. “How do you feel?”
Scared. Shameful. “Warm.”
He laughs softly. “I’m burning for you.”
I can feel it, the flames of temptation licking over my skin. He hooks a hand at my hip, turning me around. With the jeans across my thighs, I start to fall. He catches me, guiding me into his lap. I gasp at the sensation of him, hot and hard, cradling me.
He pushes his fingers beneath the waistband of my panties, and I freeze.
His breath caresses my neck. “Relax.”
“I can’t.” My voice is strangled.
His hand dips lower, down between my legs. To the source of temptation, the center of sin. This is where Leader Allen punished me. I’m shaking, about to throw up. It’s too much, too fast…
“What’s your name, little bird?”
My breath comes in pants. “What?”
“Your name.”
My eyes flutter closed. “Beth.”
“And who am I?”
He’s grounding me, pulling me back into the present. Away from my past. “Luca.”
“I’m the one with my hand down your panties. I’m the one touching your hard little clit.”
My hips move against his hand on the word clit. “Yes.”
“Do you like it when I pinch you here?” He demonstrates be pushing his thumb and forefinger around a bundle of raw nerves. His forearm flexes against my belly seconds before pure electricity arcs through my body.
“Oh no,” I whisper, fighting the waves, the wetness.
“Or do you like it soft?” His touch gentles to a mere whisper, the hint of sensation that somehow feels more powerful, more intense than actual pain.
An uneven moan escapes me. “Please. Please.”
“I know what you like,” he murmurs against my neck, nipping the tender skin. “You like it steady, don’t you? Nice and even, like the tide against the shore. Let’s find out.”
He presses the heel of his hand to me, pushing in a long-remembered rhythm, flicking his rough fingers at the slick skin at my core. I jerk against him, shocked anew at the pure energy that courses between us, the new language he’s teaching me.
Trust me, his touch says.
Yes yes yes, my body answers.
Beneath my lap I can feel him hardening, pulsing in time with his hand. It means I’ve tempted him. Shame is carved too deeply in my soul. “I’m sorry,” I gasp. “I’m sorry.”
“My name, little bird.”
“Luca.”
“Again.”
“Oh, oh. Luca!”
His fingers work me with merciless intent, drawing shudders from my body, whimpers from my throat. He pushes me closer to the edge, so tight I’m going to burst. In a flash of clarity I know why Eve took a bite. I can feel the waxy skin of the fruit against my tongue, almost taste the aching sweetness of its flesh. It doesn’t feel like want or desire. It’s starvation as Luca shoves a ripe apple between my teeth.
“Don’t stop,” he says, his voice thick. “My name. Don’t fucking stop.”
“Luca,” I whisper, almost sobbing. “Luca. Luca.”