Pain was foreign to her, alien as a forgotten language. She had been born into a familia that demanded strength, obedience, and control. Weakness had no place. But pleasure—pleasure was a language she spoke fluently. Her hips collided with his in a rhythm that was desperate, insistent, beautiful.
Her body ignited as wave after wave of ecstasy tore through her. Muscles tensed, hips bucking involuntarily, breath hitching, cries spilling into the room. Her fingers moved from him to herself, clutching and twisting at her breasts, teasing her nipples until they burned under her touch, until the sting of desire was almost unbearable.
Luca grunted into the hollow of her neck, teeth grazing skin, vibrating in tandem with her frantic rhythm.
He wanted release. God, he wanted it, needed it, but every time he approached the precipice, it slipped away. His body was taut, muscles coiled, and yet the edge of satisfaction eluded him.
