To the Ends of the Earth (Stripped 5)

“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.”

“Yeah.” The word sounds like syrup, slow and sweet.

My whole body tenses against him, straining at the hardness, wishing for it. The fabric is in the way—my panties, his sweatpants. They might as well be steel bars. I can’t reach him, my inner muscles clenching around nothing.

He pushes my hair aside, kissing the side of my neck, nibbling. Then his teeth grasp hold of my skin. He bites me, and the shock of it, the delicious pain of it, makes me scream his name.

His fingers flick me, deep down, and I convulse in his embrace, pleasure washing over me in rapid, frothing waves, stealing the oxygen from my lungs, drowning out every ounce of shame. For blissful moments I’m aware of nothing except the gentle rocking motion. It’s him. He’s soothing me, stroking my belly, moving me carefully even while his erection throbs against my back.

I drowse like that, slumped on top of him, boneless. My head lolls on his shoulder. “Luca,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.

“That’s fucking right.” The tension in his voice runs over my skin, as rough as his calloused fingers.

My hips settle against him, squirming. “We can—”

“No.”

“But you need—”

“This close to a fight, I need to focus.”

Sitting up, I turn to face him. His face is drawn in harsh lines of stress. His eyes are a glittering emerald green. “Then why did you do that?”

“Because you wanted me to. Because you asked. Do you think there’s anything I wouldn’t do for you? Making you come is a goddamn privilege. And if you still want me once the fight is over, it will be my privilege to fuck you, too.”

Chapter Eighteen

For the rest of the week I sit in the bleachers with Allie while Luca trains. And every night I patch him up. He might be a lion, but he’s my lion. When I put aside the first-aid kit, Luca’s rough voice tells me to pull down my pants. He reaches under my panties and touches me until I’m sobbing his name, gushing against his fingers, turning the fabric wet.

It’s a strange and sensual purgatory that I could live in forever.

Judgment day comes too soon.