HIS FORBIDDEN BRIDE

CHAPTER 8

I woke up on a couch that was not a bed.

Sunlight was cutting through the blinds of the west wing. Papers stuck to my leg. A suit jacket over me that smelled like Luca.

And Luca under me.

I was sprawled across his chest. In the black dress from last night, now wrinkled. His white shirt was open. His hand was in my hair, even in sleep.

We had fallen asleep like that. Locked in his office after Sophia left.

I tried to move. His arm tightened.

"Don't," he mumbled, eyes still closed. "Five more minutes."

"It's morning," I whispered.

"I know."

He opened his eyes. Dark. Sleepy. Soft in a way I'd never seen.

"You drooled on me," he said.

"I did not!"

"You did. Right here." He pointed to his chest.

I buried my face in his shirt. "You're lying."

"Maybe," he smiled. "But you stayed."

"You locked us in."

"I kept you safe," he corrected. He brushed my hair back. "Did you sleep?"

"Yeah. Did you?"

"No. I watched you sleep."

My stomach flipped. "That's creepy."

"It's possessive," he said. "Different."

He sat up, pulling me with him. My dress slipped off one shoulder. His eyes dropped. Then quickly back up.

"Ms. DeLuca will have breakfast ready," he said, voice a little rough. "And we need to talk about Sophia."

The moment broke. Right.

Sophia.

"She's still in the house?"

"No. I had her moved to the guest house. She doesn't step into the main house unless I allow it."

I nodded. Tried to stand. My legs were asleep. I wobbled.

Luca caught me. Hands on my waist.

"Careful."

"I'm fine."

We were too close. Morning light, wrinkled dress, his bare chest. His hands warm on my skin.

"Lila," he said quietly.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you. For last night."

"For what?"

"For not running when that man lied. For standing on those stairs in that dress and letting me kiss you."

I looked up at him. "I wasn't going to run."

"I know." He leaned down. Kissed my forehead. Soft. Not hungry like last night. Tender. "Go shower. Wear something of mine again. I like it."

"Your mother is here. I can't wear your shirt to breakfast."

"Wear my shirt to breakfast," he said. "Let her see."

---

Breakfast was tense.

His mother, Sophia, Luca, me.

I wore Luca's white button-up, black shorts underneath. Hair wet. Red ring on.

Sophia stared at the shirt like she wanted to burn it.

His mother was polite but cold. "Lila, dear. That dress last night... very bold."

"Luca bought it," I said.

"I can tell," she said.

Luca cut in. "Mother. Sophia. You have 24 hours to find another place to stay. This is my wife's house now."

Sophia scoffed. "Your wife's house? She doesn't even know how to—"

"24 hours," Luca repeated. "Or I sell the guest house."

Silence.

After breakfast, Luca left for meetings. Extra guards everywhere.

I spent the day in his room. Trying to work. Trying not to think about his hands on my back last night.

At 6 PM, Ms. DeLuca knocked. "Mrs. Romano? Mr. Romano wants you in the west wing. He says it's urgent."

I went. Heart beating fast.

His office door was open this time. No lockdown.

Luca was standing by the window. Jacket off. Tie off. Sleeves rolled up. Tattoos showing.

He turned when I entered.

"You called me?"

"Yeah." He locked the door behind me. "Come here."

I did. Slowly.

"You've been in my head all day," he said, low. "In my shirt this morning. On that couch. On my desk last night."

"Luca—"

"I tried to be good," he interrupted. "I tried to give you time. I told myself after Sophia's stunt, you needed space. But then you walked downstairs in my shirt and I lost it."

His hands came to my face. Not rough. Shaking a little.

"Lila, I can't do the contract anymore. I can't do rules. I can't pretend I don't want my wife."

I swallowed. "Then don't pretend."

That was all he needed.

He kissed me. Not soft like morning. Like a man who had been holding back for 10 days.

I kissed him back instantly. Hands in his hair, pulling him down to me.

He lifted me. Same as last night. Onto the desk. But this time no papers. He'd cleared it.

"Lila," he murmured against my lips, between kisses. "Tell me to stop and I stop. Right now. Tell me."

"I don't want you to stop."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He looked at me. Really looked. For consent. For nerves.

I wasn't nervous. I wanted him.

"Say you're mine," he whispered.

"I'm yours."

"Louder."

"I'm yours, Luca!"

He groaned and kissed me again, deeper. His hands under my shirt, on my bare waist, warm and rough.

The room was quiet except for us breathing.

He kissed down my neck, my collarbone, his hands learning every inch like he was memorizing me.

I arched into him. Whispered his name.

He picked me up again, carried me to the small couch in the office, sat with me in his lap, holding me close, kissing me slow and deep and possessive.

"I've got you," he whispered into my hair. "I've got you, wife."

We stayed like that for a long time. Tangled. His shirt half off, my hair messed, both of us breathing hard, foreheads touching.Then.

---

Luca shifted his weight onto one knee,

His hand sliding down the smooth curve of my thigh, his fingers gently parting my knees to open the space between them.

my breath hitched as his fingers brushed higher, tracking the heat radiating from my skin. When his fingertips finally made contact with my damp, sensitive core,

I let out a soft cry,

My head falling back against the pillow.

His thumb began a slow, deliberate circular motion over my center, applying just enough steady pressure to make my hips instinctively lift toward his hand.

He watched my face, using the rhythm of my shallow gasps to gauge my pleasure, shifting his pace and deepening his touch whenever a low moan escaped my lips.

Desperate to return the pleasure and feel him closer, I reached down between their bodies.

My fingers wrapped firmly around the hot, rigid length of him. Luca upper body went completely still, a ragged breath catching in his throat at the direct contact.

I stroked him slowly from base to tip, my thumb smoothing over the bead of moisture at the crown before sliding back down. The rhythmic movement of my hand caused a low, guttural groan to tear from his chest, his hips twitching slightly against my palm as he fought to maintain control.

Unable to wait any longer, Luca braced his weight on his forearms, positioning himself directly against her opening.

I let my hand slide away to grip his hips, my thighs wrapping tightly around his waist to welcome him. He nudged forward, sliding smoothly and deeply inside me in one long, deliberate stroke.

my eyes fluttered closed as my internal muscles squeezed tightly around him, a sensation that made Luca's jaw lock with intense effort.He began to move, drawing back nearly all the way before rocking forward again, establishing a heavy, sliding rhythm that frictioned perfectly against my most sensitive points.

I met every downward thrust by arching my hips to meet him, increasing the depth and intensity of the friction. With every deep, rhythmic push, my hands slithered up his back, my fingernails digging into the tense muscles of his shoulders as the physical pleasure built a tight, undeniable pressure between them.

---

"Stay," he whispered.

"I'm not going anywhere," I said.

And outside the office door, Sophia's shadow stood listening, phone in hand, recording every soft sound through the crack.

She smiled.

Because now she had exactly what she needed to ruin us.