Chapter 238: Protected From It
- RORY -
Didn’t Raya say Luciano had a great family? What parent—what father—could hurt his son like this?
A protective anger grows so large in my chest, I have to take a deep breath and shift away from him—making room between us for what I don’t understand. Because as repulsive as I found the thought of hurting Luciano a moment ago, I’m now imagining a sharp blade pointed right at the father who left this scar.
How am I supposed to meet this man?
Luciano pulls me back, closer than I was before. It’s a very intimate position. There is no room for misunderstandings. No room for hiding. Only truth delivered straight from his lips to mine.
"It was a long time ago," he says softly, like he’s speaking to a child. And that’s how a child should be treated—like a treasure. Not like how Luciano was apparently treated.
"But your father hurt you."
He doesn’t even flinch. There are obviously no hidden tumultuous feelings about it. If Luciano is avoiding details, it’s only for my sake.
"It was one of his men," he says patiently. "But my father gave the order as punishment."
"Why?"
"I deserved it," he shrugs.
"No you didn’t!"
"How do you know?" His face breaks into a grin, and he chuckles.
"Because there’s nothing you could do to deserve that. Nothing."
One of Luci’s hands rises, caressing my back over the swimsuit. This should be really awkward: me in his lap, Luci in trunks, me in a swimsuit. But it’s not. Instead, when his hand runs across bare skin, I feel instant comfort—the way his calm eases into me and douses the sharp edge of my anger.
"Growing up as the boss’s son was different, dolcezza," he says. "There were much different expectations."
"So, you’re saying that if we have kids..." The question springs automatically without any thought as to what it implies. But as soon as it’s spoken, I realize my mistake.
Luci doesn’t allow me time to worry about it. He closes the distance between us, kissing me. It’s gentle and sweet and the sudden flurry of confused, self-conscious thoughts leave before they have time to take hold.
There’s only Luciano’s lips. His insistent, seductive tongue. The press of his hand against my back and the ridges of muscles under my thighs. His strength beneath my hands. There’s only the two of us right here and right now.
When he pulls away, the gentle intensity of his eyes is overflowing, offering me things. Promising me things.
"No," he whispers against my lips, "I would never ever touch our children that way, Rory."
I choose not to point out that we are not promised to each other in any way that would necessitate the talk of future kids—it’s not like we’re the ones getting married this week. But I’m too content being the object of his affection to bring it up.
"Why would it be any different? Aren’t you supposed to be the boss one day?"
"I’m not my father, and I wouldn’t want our children to have this life. They would be protected from it."
That’s when I do see a break in Luciano’s calm exterior, and muscle ticks in his jaw. He may not show any resentment about his childhood, but there’s something there. Maybe he wishes he had been given a choice of his own.
"Do you wish you were protected from it?"
I shift against him, and he pulls my legs free from where they’re folded, wrapping them around his back instead. It changes the angle of my body, and now all I want is to just no longer be talking about this. I want the friction between us that makes me gasp and whimper. I want to hear Luciano growl. I want to feel him tremble.
"Sometimes," he says in a breathy whisper, staring at my lips, and I’m struck by how honest it is.
I wasn’t expecting that answer, and he probably wouldn’t share it if this were any other moment... if I weren’t in his lap. If there wasn’t a flame now struck, intense and growing between us.
If there’s going to be anything close to violence between us, it’s going to be here... in the passion that feels so strong and so heavy, I could easily lose myself to it—get burned up and disappear like ashes on the wind. It would be worth it—worth the risk. Worth losing everything.
"Lorelei," he whispers, lifting me to rub against him, and I gasp, dropping my head back, following the motion swiftly and setting a rhythm against his hard length.
It’s precious—this part of him. And I have it. Right now, it’s mine.
Luciano kisses my neck—so close to biting when his teeth tease and drag and tug. His hand dips between us, sliding under the swimsuit and pulling the fabric to the side so that his thumb’s gentle pressure can find me—this bundle of nerves that feels like a trigger unleashing internal bolts of lightning.
"Luci," I whimper, clawing for his waistband, pulling it down, springing him free, and poising above him. "Luci, I want you."
His eyes are heavy-lidded when he hungrily takes my mouth, growling against my tongue. I sink down on top of him, breaking from the kiss—gasping when he fills me.
"Are you okay, love?" He asks, and all I can do is nod, brow furrowed—so overcome by this.
The feelings—physical and emotional—become entangled until I’m riding a wave of pleasure and love and ecstasy and a little bit of pain. It’s all so intense and overwhelming, I’m not entirely sure I’m still in my body. I’m breaking apart—becoming scrambled so completely, I don’t know where I end and he begins.
"Luci," I whimper, locking my arms around his neck, holding on for dear life. He’s my lifeline—my ground.
"I’m here," he says breathlessly, "I’m not leaving."
And I feel it—the truth. Luciano passes it straight into me. When he says he’s not leaving, he isn’t just talking about now. He’s talking about always. That knowledge sinks into my heart, and I let go. I let him take me.
