Page 116 of Alpha-Ex Wedding Ruse
What happened on Sunday…I hadn’t forgotten. How could I?
God knows I would’ve gone all the way with him if that phone call hadn’t come in. I was gone. So gone. Burning with a need that had festered for five years and only escalated in recent weeks. A need I had tried desperately to suppress.
I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “That was a mistake, Luca.”
He let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “Right. A mistake.” He stepped closer, voice low and sharp. “Funny how you moaned into my mouth like it wasn’t. Like you wanted more. Like you were starving.”
I stilled.
What the hell?
Was he drunk?
No, his eyes were clear, his voice steady. He wasn’t slurring. He wasn’t stumbling.
He was dead sober.
Which made it worse.
So why the hell was he saying all of this? Heat spiked through me like wildfire, pooling low in my belly, between my legs. I shifted slightly on my feet, pressing my thighs together in a feeble attempt to steadymyself. Luca noticed, and for a second, I braced for his usual smirk. But it didn’t come.
He looked…aroused. And furious.
That was his cue to leave.
“Please, go home, Luca.” I brushed past him, heading for the kitchen, hoping he’d take the hint that I was done with this conversation.
I went straight to the fridge and poured myself a glass of ice-cold water, despite it being cold out tonight. But the chill did nothing. If anything, it made the heat inside me worse.
“I’m sick of this facade,” he said from behind me, his voice steeped in frustration. “I’m tired of you walking around like you’ve got it all under control, when all I’ve done the past four days is think about that kiss. About your mouth. About tasting you again. About burying myself deep inside you and hearing you scream my name while you come all over my—”
“Luca!” I gasped, hand trembling around the glass. “Just because I have it together doesn’t mean you should get mad at me for not being able to control your—”
“My what?” he cut in, eyes flashing.
God help me, my gaze dropped instinctively to the bulge in his pants—huge, unmistakable, and completely inappropriate.
I swallowed hard. My nipples peaked instantly, and I silently thanked the coat I hadn’t taken off.
“You need to go,” I said, voice breathless.
“Sure. I will. Once you admit it.” His tone dropped. “Admit that you’re lying, that you’ve thought about this weekend. About me. About me fucking you.”
Jesus. He really came armed tonight.
He wasn’t being subtle anymore—he was being raw. Unfiltered. And fuck if that didn’t make everything inside me light up like a match to gasoline.
“Luca, please—”
In a single stride, he was in front of me, towering over me in the narrow kitchen. The counter pressed against my lower back.
“Tell me, Leila.”
“Luca—”
“Say it.”
“I haven’t—” I tried to steady myself, to lift my chin in defiance. But my body betrayed me. My voice faltered. My gaze dropped, first to his mouth, then to the space between us that suddenly felt nonexistent.
