Forbidden Never Felt This Good

~ 4

0004

~ Aria ~

Luca opened the door for me, and I swept past him without a word. I remembered the way to my old suite—west wing, third floor, overlooking the gardens. My heels echoed as I climbed the stairs, intensely aware of him following three steps behind.

My rooms were exactly as I'd left them: cream and gold, elegant and impersonal. Someone had put fresh flowers on the dresser.

Luca followed me inside, checking the windows with professional efficiency, scanning for threats.

"You can go now," I said.

"I'm your bodyguard. Where you go, I go."

"Even in my bedroom?"

"Especially in your bedroom." He finished his inspection. "This suite has three entry points. The door, the balcony, and the service entrance through your closet. I'll be sleeping in the adjoining room."

"Of course you will." I laughed bitterly. "This is insane. You realize that, right? Last night you're f*****g me, today you're my shadow."

His expression didn't change. "Last night was a mistake. This is my job."

"Your job." I moved closer, anger overriding self-preservation. "Your job is to protect me. Not to kiss me like you're drowning. Not to make me c*m three times. Not to hold me afterward like you…"

"Stop." The word cracked like a whip.

"Why? Does the truth hurt?"

"This conversation is over."

"Like hell it is." I grabbed his arm as he turned away. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to make me feel what I felt last night and then act like I'm nothing but an assignment."

He looked down at my hand on his arm, then back at my face. Something dangerous flickered in his eyes. "Let go, Aria."

"No."

"Let. Go."

"Make me."

It was a mistake. I realized it the moment the words left my mouth, the moment I saw his control finally, catastrophically, snap.

He moved so fast I gasped… one hand fisting in my hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat; the other clamping around my hip, slamming me back against the wall so hard the framed painting rattled. His body crushed mine from chest to thigh, the thick length of his c**k already rock-hard against my stomach.

"You want the truth?" His voice was gravel and violence. "Last night was the best s*x of my life. I've jerked off to the memory of your tight little cunt for four f*****g years. The way you screamed my name. The way you soaked my fingers. The way you clenched around my c**k like you were trying to keep me inside you forever."

My breath came in short, desperate pants. Heat flooded between my legs, instant and obscene.

"Then why…"

"Because touching you again will destroy everything I've built." But his hips rolled forward instinctively, grinding that heavy erection against my mound. "Because every time I look at you now I see you spread out on that hotel bed, dripping for me, begging for more."

"Luca…"

He crushed his mouth to mine… brutal, punishing, all teeth and tongue and fury. I kissed him back just as hard, biting his lip until I tasted copper, nails digging into his shoulders through his suit jacket.

He spun me around without warning, shoving me face-first against the wall. One forearm braced beside my head; the other hand yanked my jeans open and shoved them down my thighs along with my panties in one rough motion.

"Spread your legs," he ordered, voice low and lethal.

I did, kicking my jeans off one ankle, arching my back to offer myself.

His fingers found me immediately… sliding through my slick folds, two thick digits plunging deep without warning. I cried out, hips bucking back onto his hand.

"So f*****g wet already," he growled against my ear. "You get this soaked just from fighting with me? From knowing I'm about to wreck you again?"

"Yes… f**k…"

He pumped his fingers hard and fast, curling them against my G-spot while his thumb pressed merciless circles on my c**t. The wet, filthy sounds echoed in the quiet room. My thighs shook; I had to brace both hands flat against the wall to stay upright.

When I was trembling on the edge, he pulled his hand free. I moaned brokenly as I heard his belt snap open, zipper rasp down, and felt the blunt head of his c**k notch at my entrance.

He didn't ease in, as always. Does being a consigliere make one a brutal fucker?

One savage thrust and he buried himself balls-deep, stretching me so wide I saw white behind my eyelids. We both groaned… raw sounds.

He didn't pause. He f****d me hard and fast against the wall, one hand wrapped around my throat—not choking, just holding, possessive—while the other gripped my hip, yanking me back onto his c**k with every brutal stroke.

"Feel that?" he rasped, hips snapping forward. "That's how much I want you. How much I've always wanted you. Every time you walked past me in those little dresses, every time you looked at me like you knew exactly what I wanted to do to you."

I pushed back to meet him, taking him deeper, harder. "Then do it. f**k me like you mean it. Like you hate how much you need this."

His hand left my throat to slide down my body, finding my c**t again. He rubbed fast, ruthless circles while he pounded into me, the angle hitting that perfect spot inside over and over.

"c*m," he snarled. "c*m on my c**k right now, Aria. Show me how badly you need to be filled."

I shattered… violent, screaming, clenching around him so hard my knees buckled. He held me up, f****d me through every pulsing wave until I was sobbing, oversensitive, begging incoherently.

He didn't stop.

Pulled out, spun me around again, lifted me so my legs wrapped around his waist, and slammed back inside in one deep stroke. Face-to-face now, he pinned me to the wall and f****d up into me with punishing force, mouths crashing together in messy, desperate kisses.

"Again," he demanded against my lips. "Give me another one. I want to feel you milking every drop when I come inside you."

I was helpless—clinging to his shoulders, nails drawing blood through his shirt, thighs trembling around his hips. The second orgasm hit like lightning, tearing a raw scream from my throat. I clamped down rhythmically, dragging him over the edge with me.

He came with a guttural curse, hips jerking as he pumped thick, hot spurts deep inside me—marking me, claiming me. So much that I felt it start to leak out around his c**k even while he stayed buried to the hilt.

We stayed locked together, panting, foreheads pressed together, his c**k still twitching inside me.

Slowly, he lowered my feet to the floor. Pulled out carefully. Immediately tucked himself away, smoothed his suit, rebuilt every wall I'd just torn down.

"This can't keep happening," he said, voice wrecked but firm.

"You're repeating yourself."

"I mean it, Aria. This is..."

"Unprofessional. I know." I grabbed his tie, forced him to meet my eyes. "But it's going to happen anyway. Because you want me. And I sure as hell want you. And we're stuck together for god knows how long."

His jaw worked. "Your father…"

"Isn't here right now." I released him. "Dinner is at eight. You have three hours to decide whether you're going to keep torturing us both with this professional distance bullshit, or whether you're going to admit what this is."

"And what is this?"

"I don't know yet." I moved past him toward the bathroom. "But it's sure as hell not nothing."

I closed the door behind me, leaving him standing in the wreckage of his control.

Through the door, I heard him exhale slowly. Then his footsteps crossing to the adjoining room. The door closing with careful precision.

I leaned against the sink, my reflection staring back at me—kiss-swollen lips, mussed hair, eyes too bright, his c*m still warm between my thighs.

What was I doing? This was insane. He was right about that much.

But god help me, I didn't care.

I'd spent four years being sensible. Being good. Building a life separate from my father's shadow.

And where had it gotten me? Dragged back to France, named as a mafia successor, assigned a bodyguard who set me on fire with a look.

Maybe it was time to stop fighting. Stop pretending I could be anyone other than Vittorio Santoro's daughter.

Maybe it was time to take what I wanted.