Page 12 of Silent Night With Luca

I pull away just enough to catch my breath, my heart pounding in my chest. He’s staring at me, his breathing just as heavy, his grip tight on my waist.

“We shouldn’t,” he says, his voice low and rough.

“I know,” I whisper back, but I don’t move. Neither does he.

The tension between us feels like it’s about to snap, and for a second, I think he’s going to pull me back in. But then he takes a step back, running a hand through his hair, breaking the moment.

I stand there, still catching my breath, the warmth of the kiss lingering on my lips. The cards are scattered across the table, forgotten. Everything feels charged, like the air between us could ignite at any second.

“Game’s over,” he says, his voice steadier now, but there’s something behind it—something that wasn’t there before.

I didn’t win at poker, but as Luca stands there, his intentionclear, I realize I’m about to win something much more thrilling.

There’s a hunger in his voice that sends a shiver down my spine. The cool air of the room brushes against my skin, pebbling my nipples, but it’s nothing compared to the heat radiating off him.

“I’m on the pill,” I say, the words coming out in a rush. It’s an invitation, a plea, and a dare, all wrapped into one.

He doesn’t hesitate. He pulls out his cock, and I stare. It’s impressive, thick and hard, straining against his hand. My pulse quickens, and there’s a throbbing between my legs that matches the rhythm of my heart.

He pulls off his shirt with one motion, displaying another impressive feature of this beautiful man before me. Tattoos almost completely cover his arms, chest and back. It’s impressive and mesmerizing.

His chest is a testament to his discipline, each muscle defined, his skin taut. His tattoos ripple as he moves, a tapestry of shadows and ink that tells a story of loyalty, danger, and a life lived on the edge. His shoulders are broad, powerful, and as he steps forward, I feel small, vulnerable, and ready to be devoured by him.

He lifts me effortlessly, placing me on the edge of the table where we were just playing poker. The cards flutter to the ground, forgotten. He’s between my legs, his cock nudging against my entrance, and then with one swift movement, he’s inside me.

The sensation is overwhelming. He fills me completely, stretching me in the most delicious way. The sounds of our bodies coming together are obscene, wet and slick, punctuatedby sharp intakes of breath and soft moans. Each thrust hits a spot deep inside me, a place that sends sparks of pleasure shooting through my veins.

I come quickly, a wave of ecstasy crashing over me, but it’s not enough. I want more. I need more. “Do it again, make me come again. I’m so hot for you,” I say through quick, urgent breaths.

As if reading my mind, Luca pulls out, his cock glistening with my arousal. He flips me around, positioning me so that I’m leaning against the table, my ass in the air. He enters me again, this time from behind, and the new angle sends me reeling.

He’s relentless, each thrust harder than the last, his hands gripping my hips, holding me in place. I can feel his breath on the back of my neck, his heart pounding against my back. The slap of skin on skin fills the room, a rhythmic chorus of lust and passion.

I’m lost in the sensation, the feel of him inside me, around me, everywhere. I’m teetering on the edge again, teetering on that exquisite precipice, and then I’m falling, my orgasm hitting me like a freight train, my body shaking with the force of it.

Luca isn’t far behind. With a final, powerful thrust, he comes, his cock pulsing inside me, filling me with his warmth. He collapses on top of me, his body slick with sweat, his breath ragged in my ear.

We stay like that for a moment, neither one of us wanting to break the spell. Our bodies are spent, satisfaction thrumming through our veins. The intensity of what just happened hangs in the air, heavy and intoxicating.

As Luca pulls away, reality starts to seep back in. But for now, in the aftermath of our passion, there’s no room for regret or consequences. There’s only the beat of our hearts, the feel of our skin, and the lingering echo of ecstasy.

I wakeup to an odd sound, faint but persistent, pulling me out of the heavy fog of sleep. At first, I don’t recognize it—a soft, rhythmic tapping, almost too light to matter. My head is pounding, the remnants of too much vodka from the night before, and it takes a moment for me to blink the fuzziness away.

The fire has gone out, and the gray ash is not even smoking, so it has been done for a while. The charred wood hangs on the metal grate like an abandoned building, cold and dark now.

Beside the fireplace are a pair of bare feet extending out of the thick, wool blanket covering a lump. Luca is in the club chair, his legs sprawled out on an ottoman, covered with a thick wool blanket. He looks uncomfortable, crammed into that chair, but it was his choice. He could have gone to his bed if he wanted to. A small tug of guilt pulls at me.

I shouldn’t feel bad.

The room is still dim, but there’s a faint glow outside—the sun is just beginning to rise, casting a pale light through the windows. It’s early, and the snow outside reflects the light, making everything seem brighter than it really is. The balsam fir tree in the corner is lit again, its twinkling lights catching my eye. That’s how I know the power’s back on.

I sit up slowly, the blanket slipping off my shoulders. My head throbs in protest, and I run a hand through my tangled hair, groaning under my breath. I should get up, maybe grab some water or coffee before Luca wakes up and starts grumbling about how much of a headache I am.

Then I hear it again. The sound. That soft tapping, almost like… knocking.

I frown, looking toward the door. It’s not loud enough to be someone banging on the door. More like a polite knock. Maybe it’s housekeeping? I remember ordering towels last night before the power went out.

I glance over at Luca again, still dead to the world in that ridiculous position, then decide to get up and answer the door. No point in waking him up for something as simple as towels.

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