Page 75 of Luciano

I didn’t know I could feel this. My mind blurred. And then—

“Ava,” I choked out. “What are you doing to me…?”

She didn’t answer. Just gave me this wicked grin before she did this thing with her tongue.

My vision went white. My whole body spasmed. I tried to say something, tried to tell her I couldn’t take it, but all that came out was a broken sound that didn’t even feel like it came from me.

I was gone.

Split leaked from the side of her mouth.

God, it was too much. My hands clawed at the couch, and the moment I thought I could hold back, to make it last. I all snapped.

“I’m gonna—fuck, Ava—Ava—”

I came hard.

She slurped and gulped as hot, sticky ropes spurted out of my dick, eliciting a throaty grunt from me. The feeling left me shaking. She swallowed all of it.

And she didn’t pull away. She kept going until I couldn’t take any more, until I whimpered, until I was twitching and clinging to the edge of sanity.

Then she eased her mouth off my shaft, slowly. All my nerve endings were firing when she French kissed the head then swiped her tongue over it—like she was tasting the last drop of something she didn’t want to waste. My eyes rolled at the sensation.

With bright eyes she looked up at me. “You good, baby? Still want me to readMoon Knight?” she asked.

I couldn’t speak. Could barely see straight. All I could do was shake my head. Suddenly, her understanding Marc Spector didn’t matter so much anymore.

She tucked me back into my pants, stood, and touched my face like I was something fragile. I leaned into it. I couldn’t help it.

I did something I never thought I’d be able to do.

I pulled her into me without asking, with thinking about it. I held her.

I nuzzled into her neck and whispered, “I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

“Oh, wait, it only gets better,” she tittered.

Chapter 33

Luciano

The facility was buried in a warehouse district outside Tampa. Quiet. Hidden. Private. Only accessible to people who had enough money and power to gain entry.

It wasn’t on any map. You needed a biometric scan to even step through the front gate. Inside, it looked like a cross between a military compound and a high-end dojo. White walls, reinforced mats, shooting ranges that stretched the length of a football field.

Killers had been trained here.

And today, Ava was mine to shape here.

She stood in front of the shooting stall in black leggings and a fitted top that did absolutely nothing to help my focus. Eyes locked on the target ahead. Legs steady. Breath even.

“Feet shoulder-width apart,” I instructed, stepping behind her. “Elbows soft. Shoulders down. Line the sights with center mass.”

“I am,” she murmured, voice calm but teasing. “I got this, Professor.”

“Finger off the trigger until you’re ready,” I added.

“Ready,” she said—and fired.

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