Page 79 of Spotlight Hearts

I cry out, hands scrabbling against the door.

Luca’s hand comes up to cover my mouth, cutting off any more sounds that I might make.

“Quiet,” he growls. “You wanted this. You wanted me. Now take it.”

He starts to move—hard, deep, punishing thrusts that rock me against the door with every snap of his hips. Each stroke drags over that spot inside me, sending sparks of pleasure shooting up my spine.

“You feel that?” he rasps against my ear, voice strained with anger and lust. “That’s me. Not some fake performance we agreed to. Not some contract. Me. Inside you. Because you’re mine, even when you try to run.”

I moan against his palm, pushing back to meet every thrust. The angle is perfect. The pace is brutal. My cock is trapped against the door, leaking steadily.

Luca’s free hand slides down to wrap around me, stroking in time with his thrusts. Squeezing my head with every upstroke.

“You’re going to come like this,” he growls. “With me inside you. With my name on your tongue. And you’re going to remember who you belong to.”

The pleasure builds fast—too fast. My legs shake. My moans are muffled against his hand.

He fucks me harder, deeper, hips snapping with angry precision.

“Come for me,” he demands, voice breaking. “Now.”

I do.

I come with a choked cry, spilling over his fist and the door, my body clamping down around him.

Luca groans and thrusts through my orgasm, chasing his own. A few more hard strokes and he comes deep inside me, hips stuttering, his face buried in my neck as he spills with a rough, guttural sound.

We stay like that for a long moment—him still inside me, both of us breathing hard, bodies trembling. Slowly, he pulls out. I feel the loss immediately. His cum drips out of my hole.

He steps back. I turn around on shaky legs. His eyes are still dark, but the anger has softened into something more complicated: hurt, want, exhaustion.

He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair off my forehead with surprising gentleness.

“We’re not done talking,” he says quietly. “But not like this.”

I nod, still catching my breath.

He pulls his pants up, then helps me with mine—careful now, almost tender. Then he drops down to his small bed and pulls me down with him. I end up half sprawled across him, my cheek pressed against his chest. His heart is still pounding hard under my ear, the rhythm uneven.

For a long moment, neither of us says anything.

The plane hums around us, a steady vibration beneath the mattress.

Luca’s hand comes up slowly, hesitating for half a second before settling at the back of my neck. His fingers slide into my hair, combing through it gently. Over and over. The tension slowly drains out of his body beneath me.

“Hey,” he murmurs after a minute.

His voice is different now. Quieter. I tilt my head up to look at him. The anger in his eyes has faded, leaving something softer behind. He exhales slowly and drags his thumb across my cheek.

“I’m sorry.” The words come out rough. “For being… like that.”

His fingers tighten slightly in my hair, like he’s grounding himself.

“I was pissed,” he admits. “And hurt. And you were standing right there.”

I shift a little closer without thinking. He notices. His other arm slides around my back automatically, pulling me fully against him.

Touch. It’s always touch with him. His hand starts moving again, slow circles on my shoulder, then down my spine.