Lucca's Lust: The Luminara Series Book 3 (19 page)

“Lexi, I have never felt anything like this. You are too fucking good. I am nearly there. I want you to cum again,” I order breathlessly before clenching my jaw, bending my knees, and tilting my hips upwards so my pelvis rubs against her clit on my next thrust.

Digging her fingers into my back, she cries through her orgasm, squeezing my dick with her twitching muscles.

Jesus. Fuck.

Explosion!

“Fuck me,” I mindlessly pant.

Her teeth catch on my lips while she cries through her enjoyment and spurs me into fast, quick, frenzied fucks until I dissolve reaching utopia. My sperm fills her long after my body shudders as I find a relief to satisfy the ache in my balls.

I have never felt this good. The satisfaction and head-tripping, blissful sensation completes me. I have never experienced sex where I have felt so relaxed, appreciated, and cherished as I do in this moment.

My dick twitches inside her. I breathe harshly, gripping her with every ounce of adoration I have. My head spins, body buzzes, and my heart begs for her never to let go of me. Ever.

I wanted to give her pleasure. I wanted to give her enjoyment. I wanted to make her see stars, but somewhere when fucking her, I lost myself in a galaxy so high above and I am not quite ready to be brought back to Earth.

Her legs grip my waist, and she clings to me with the same profound indignation as I show her, cradling her tightly against me.

Collegato.
Connected
.

Unito.
United
.

Insieme.
Together
.

Lei è il mio.
She is mine
.

IO sono la sua.
I am hers
.

Eternamente.
Forever
.

And now … she will never be able to walk away from me. I need her like I need the air that fills my lungs and the blood that pumps through my heart.

Wetness from her rogue tears press against my cheek. My girl is crying.

“Lexi, did I hurt you?” I softly ask, keeping myself buried in her heat.

“No. It was intense, but I’m fine. My eyes are wet with pleasure, happy tears.” She breathes heavily, her hand gripping my hair.

Do not let go, baby. Do not let go.

“Lexi, my God, that was amazing. Thank you.” I kiss her lips, her cheeks, her nose, her forehead. There is never going to be a way I can thank her enough. I can spoil her, worship her, and treat her with loving intimacy, but it will never be enough to thank her for what she has given to me, how she made me feel.

Once the shower is on, I slide down the wall still buried inside Lexi, my dick now semi-hard but I refuse to leave her body. She falls into my chest, resting her head against me. Looking down at her long hair covering her back, I feel an inner peace. I admire her feminine beauty … the curves and outline of her body. And I think how wonderfully we fit together, how fucking perfect her body fits against mine.

Closing my eyes, I exhale with a devastating sigh of relief that she is in my arms. Her quietness worries me. She assures me she is okay, and I mention I am so glad she did not stop it, that our chemistry is too powerful.

After caressing her, I stand, easing myself out of her, and almost fucking die. Literally.

“What the hell?” I ask, shocked, feeling like I just got kicked in the balls after feeling so blissfully content.

“What?” She panics, looking worried and self-conscious.

“Doc, you are bleeding.” I break almost crying.

My cock is tinged pink, traces of blood drips down her legs, the water turning pink at our feet. I do not care about blood on my cock, but shit, I have hurt her. I was too rough. I promised her I would take care of her and protect her, and I have hurt her. This is unforgivable.

I. Am. A. Bastard!

I am just as much a bastard as the fucker of an ex who neglected and hurt her. Running my hands through my hair, I panic. Fuck! The room spins. My heart just got ripped out in the worst possible way. God, I feel sick.

“Lexi, I have hurt you, I have hurt you. I cannot believe I have let myself hurt you.” I cannot mask the pain in my voice. I have never stooped so low, never been such a monster in all my life … apart from the night I allowed Jasmine to run to her death. I have hurt my girl.

FUCK!!!!!

“No, you never … I wanted this. I’m not sore. I’m just embarrassed,” she says quietly, covering herself modestly. She is mortified and all I can do is rant because I am so fucking angry at myself.

Lowering my tone, trying not to scare her I ask, “Lexi, were you a virgin? Was this your first time?” Her face tells me everything I need to know. “Fuck!”

“Why did you not tell me? I would have been gentler. I would have taken things slower,” I shout, conflicted with regret and completely torn inside.

I have embarrassed her even more. She is totally scorched flame red. Poor baby. Jesus Christ. First times are supposed to be gentle, tender, easy, and forgiving, not hard, rampant, and carnal. I will never forgive myself for this. It is on the verge of abuse. Yes, she gave me her consent, but I did not know she was a fucking virgin and should never have treated her like that to satisfy my own lustful desires.

She deserves better.

She deserves more.

She does not deserve me.

I am such a prick. Of the lowest kind. No wonder she was so gloriously tight. The thought turns my stomach now because I fucked her like she was a pro. In my arrogant male machismo, I wanted to give her the best fuck of her life so she forgot about every other before me, but there have not been any. She has nothing to compare to. I needed to make her feel us. Instead, I have hurt her. I doubt she will ever want to feel us again.

Shit.

It makes sense why she was so hesitant, so distant and reluctant to jump into a relationship.

She was saving herself.

This makes her more of a woman than I originally thought.

I pushed her too quick too soon. Why, why, why did she not just tell me? It would not have made the slightest bit of difference to me. If anything, it would make me want her more, if that is even possible. It warms my heart to know she has not given herself to anyone else. I feel privileged, but I could have been gentler.

I like that she does not have a sexual history. I like that she has enough respect for herself to not sleep with just anyone …
until me
. It is endearing to know she has standards, or rules, and it eases my mind knowing the ex-boyfriend was not sexually abusing her.

It adds up and occurs to me she mentioned she has not been looked after so intimately before. Is that why she is so insecure, because she would not give herself to the ex? Maybe he broke her heart and left her.

Baby girl.

Sweet baby girl.

I will give you my whole world.

If you forgive me.

To think I have been having sex for something like sixteen years, and she has the virtue and self-esteem to save herself this long. She is twenty-six years old from what I read on her registration form in my grandparents’ study. I had been fucking for ten years by that age. I am not worthy of her … of that I am now sure. Yesterday I was confident, today … I am honoured.

“I wanted this! I was afraid it would put you off because of my inexperience, and I needed you. I desired you. It was a new experience for me, but I enjoyed every moment. I’m not sore. Truly, I’m not,” she protests with her arms still wrapped around herself.

I am too numb trying to process what I just did, but she is feeling insecure enough without me making her feel unworthy.

“It is not the point. I loved it too, Lexi. It was mind-blowing, but it was wrong of me. I am not that kind of person. I should not have used you like this.” Swallowing a lump lodged in my throat, I press my forehead against hers and wrap my arms around her.

I break.

Her beautiful eyes, full of promise. Closing my eyes, I envision the sensational sex we just had, but I also see the tainted image of the blood leaving her body. Keeping my eyes closed, I do not want her to see me cry. I am a grown man and do need her to see me break, but I have never felt such self-depreciation as I do now, and shit, if I can hold it back and rein it in.

I am well aware I am a sentimental pussy, but hell, if this has not made feel awful. All I want is to keep her, cherish her, and share everything with her. We can be amazing together, but I feel like I just screwed up the one and only chance I had of winning her.

My body trembles when I feel Lexi’s soft lips kiss my cheeks, my lips, while her hands explore the contours of my body. Her luscious lips kiss my jaw, neck, shoulders, and chest. God, she is just too much. She is the one who needs looking after, yet here she is calming me in my unease.

We can make this work.

She needs to forgive me so I can be a better man for her.

Reciprocating and opening my eyes, I kiss every inch of the front of her body. I massage her breasts with a soapy sponge, lathering her skin all over. Then I gently wash in-between her legs and down the length of them, happy to see there is no trace left of blood. I shudder to think how sore and swollen she must be.

Turning her around, I massage her scalp and wash her hair thoroughly, which takes me a while because it is long and thick, but it pleases me to be doing this for her. Holding her back against my chest, I engulf her in my arms, my hand protectively splayed across her flat navel.

“Will you forgive me?” I whisper against her head.

“There is nothing to forgive, Lucca. I wanted you. Honestly, I’ve never felt like this before. Please, please don’t feel bad. No one has ever held me like this before. I’ve never felt so desirable.”

God, she crushes my heart. She obviously has never experienced romanticism or has been worshipped before. I do not think she recognises the difference from being fucked against a bathroom wall to tenderly making love.

“No, Lexi, your first time should be more than a lustful, heated, irrational spur of the moment fuck. It should be planned, more special,” I add seriously, because it should be. I need her to understand that.

But shit, if that was the wrong thing to say because she takes it the wrong way. Of course she does. Why the fuck did I need to say it like that?

“Irrational? Is that what it was to you?” Her voice is loud with pain. And, so I have put my fucking foot in it and hurt her again.

Dickhead.

Fuck!

She struggles from my grip, shouting, tears threatening. I hear the crack in her voice. “You regret it. You just said so. I’m so stupid. I thought it was different. I thought you were different. I wanted to trust you. Do you know how hard that was for me to be touched by someone? I’m a fool. Let me go, Lucca!”

I tighten my grip, but she argues with me and says she will scream. She is that angry. I let her go and helplessly watch her grab her clothes, shouting more before slamming the bathroom door. Turning around, I slap my hand against the tiles, shake my head, pick up the shampoo bottle, and launch it across the wet area.

Part one: Lussuria ~ Lucca’s Words

“Lussuria ~ Chapter Thirteen: Blue Orchid”

My Angel

Wrapping a towel around my waist, I enter the bedroom with caution, frightened that she has already left the suite. I am relieved to see her standing at the bed in her lingerie getting dried. But my feet almost lose their footing as I witness the most unsettling image I have ever seen in my life.

A million times more distressing than the blood washing from our bodies. Scars. Long, thin, faded slash marks scar her back. Not just a couple either.

No.

No.

No.

“Jesus, your back … oh my God, you have scars. What the fuck are these? What’s going on?” I demand, full of possessiveness of her and her body since I made her mine just a short while ago. My mind is fucking spinning. Need. Answers. Now.

“Nothing for you to worry about. I wasn’t a special enough fuck for you, and you don’t want to touch me again, so no need to worry about my scars,” she sobs.

Ouch!

“Lexi, stop it. I understand you are angry with me, but stop saying those things. I told you it was mind-blowing, goddamn amazing, and it pained me to let go of you. I wish I could keep you in my arms forever. I never meant to say that. It came out the wrong way,” I say, motioning towards her.

She tries to hide her back by unravelling her hair from the towel.

Not happening, baby. Your body is my concern now, every inch of you.

I move her hair. “Let me see this. I want to see. Is this why you were petrified when I was holding the knife?” It makes perfect sense now. I do not want to think about what happened to her because it is unsettling and disturbing, but I take some comfort knowing she was not sexually abused because she was a virgin.

Studying her scars, I inhale a sore breath, feeling my chest clench as I gently run my fingers over them. I realise that it makes no difference on how appealing she is … mind, body and soul. She is hauntingly beautiful and scars on her back do not change that. It is a part of her, and I adore everything about her.