Page 85 of Luciano

It felt like the heads were watching.

I should’ve cared. Should’ve pulled away. But instead, it made the moment better—because there was something obscene about it.

It blurred every line—between violence and pleasure. Between grief and love. Between pain and power.

And it made sense. To find pleasure in a room surrounded by the men who almost took everything from me. Ava was giving me everything that shouldn’t be possible back.

I spun her around, her breath catching as I bent her over the steel table. Her palms flattened against the cold surface, legs spread instinctively.

I was... too aware. Not just of her, but of everything. The sound of my breath in my throat, the way my hands fumbled with the hem of her shirt, the slick glide of her skin against the metal table beneath her.

We were facing the heads.

All eight of them. Lined up behind the glass, frozen in death.

I fumbled, pulling down my pajama pants. I yanked her hips back and drove my dick into her. Hard.

For a moment the world narrowed, and all I could do was feel the slick heat of her around me.

I was inside her.

Fuck. She was so tight, I had to grit my teeth.

It felt like stepping into fire. Like her pussy was punishing me for making her wait. She cried out and whispered for me to move.

I started working my hips. Going deep, then harder. Deeper. I was desperate.

She took it all, her cries making my blood boil. The sounds of our bodies—wet and wild—echoed off the cold concrete walls.

And they were watching.

She pushed back—meeting every thrust.

We didn’t fuck with tenderness.

There was nothing sweet about this.

It was lust and rage wrapped in skin.

Sweat slicked her spine, my fingers dug into the softness of her ass. Each time I slammed into her, the metal table groaned.

Crash.

The force of our movement knocked one of the trophy cases loose from its shelf.

The glass hit the ground and shattered, a head inside—an old one, graying at the temple—rolled out and thudding once before coming to a stop by Ava’s foot.

Neither one of us seemed to care.

I pushed Ava’s head down against the cold steel.

The sound of her—the way she moaned, whimpered, begged—made my blood boil.

She came first, clenching around me so tight. Her voice cracked as she called my name, the sound bouncing off the concrete walls.

I followed seconds later, hips jerking uncontrollably as I emptied my cum inside her. One hand on the nape of her neck, the other flat on her back, holding her in place while I gave her everything.

We didn’t move for a while.

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