Page 79 of Luciano

His eyes snapped to mine, locked in and intense. Dark. Obsessed. It was messed up, but I got giddy sometimes when he looked at me like he couldn’t live without me.

I was laid out across the bed like an offering—robe open, legs spread. My body was ready. Had been ready. But his brain was calculating like I was a calculus problem he needed to solve not a woman who needed to be touched.

“This isn’t a research paper,” I said gently, curling my fingers at him. “Get out of your head.”

He swallowed hard. “I just want to do it right.”

I tilted my head. “Then stop trying to be perfect. Be present.”

Still, he hesitated. So I sat up, reached for him, and pulled him between my legs. My voice dropped to a whisper. I felt like I would scare him away otherwise.

“Start with a kiss. A lick. Taste me. You don’t need instructions—just listen to me, watch my body. Make me feel good. You want to make me feel like I made you?”

It was his idea to return the favor. He offered first thing when we woke up.

My words must haeflipped a switch in him.

Luciano lowered his head slowly, eyes locked on mine. He started at my neck, pressing kisses against my flesh.

He kissed across my chest, sucked my right nipple between his lips, teeth grazing just enough to send a shock through my spine.

“God,” I whimpered.

He continued marking my body with his teeth, leaving a trail with his tongue until he dipped between my thighs.

He kissed the inside of my right thigh first. Then the other. I hissed.

“Don’t tease me, baby. Eat.”

When his mouth met my pussy, he was cautious at first, poking with his tongue like he was testing the taste.

I almost laughed, but he flicked his tongue and I moaned. Loud and honest.

That sound sent him spiraling.

He licked me like a man who had something to prove, drawing slow, intentional circles on my clit. I could feel his mind mapping it all—the wetness, the tension, the way my thighs clenched filing it away.

“You like that?” he asked, voice muffled.

“Mmm, more pressure,” I breathed, hips rolling against his mouth. “Flatten your tongue.” He did “Right there. Faster.”

He adjusted immediately. Focused. Locked the fuck in. His mouth was so warm.

And then his hands came up, firm on my thighs, holding me open. I liked the agression.

“I read that pressure builds faster when—”

“Luciano,” I yelled, tugging his hair. “Shut the fuck up and keep going.”

And he did.

God, he did. He used everything—tongue, lips, pressure, rhythm—and once he found what made my voice catch, he mastered it.

My back bowed off the bed. I let go of his hair so I wouldn't snatch it out.My fingers twisted in the sheets. My whole body sang.

“Oh my God—”

“like that?” he asked, voice muffled, tongue still moving.

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