The villa sat nestled between cypress trees and open sky, hidden along a coastal cliff miles from anything that could interrupt them. No staff. No neighbors. No schedule. Just silence, breeze, and the weight of whatever pulsed between them.
Sienna stepped barefoot onto the stone terrace, her silk robe catching the wind. Below her, the infinity pool bled into the sea. Birds circled far above. The air smelled of salt, sun, and pine.
Behind her, Luca moved like a storm in slow motion. He hadn't touched her since they arrived.
Not sexually.
Not yet.
She felt the space he gave her—and the pressure it carried. Like he was holding back a dam of want. Like he was watching to see if she'd come to him.
So she did.
That night, after a dinner of grilled sea bass, roasted figs, and too much wine, Sienna wandered out to the pool again—this time naked.
She slid into the water with a soft sigh, moonlight painting her skin silver.
Luca watched from the terrace, a tumbler of scotch in one hand, jaw tight.
She turned toward him.
"Are you going to stare all night," she said, voice low, "or are you going to remind me what it feels like to be completely ruined?"
He moved.
Fast.
Silent.
And seconds later, he was in the water behind her, pulling her back against his chest, his cock hard against the small of her back, arms locking around her waist like chains made of heat.
"Do you even know what you're asking for?" he growled into her ear.
She turned her head, eyes meeting his. "I'm not asking. I'm offering."
Something inside him snapped.
He gripped her throat—not to choke, just to hold. To claim.
Then his other hand slid down, between her thighs underwater, parting her folds, pressing directly onto her clit.
She gasped.
"You're so wet it's mixing with the pool," he murmured. "You think I haven't been starving for this?"
He rubbed tight circles over her clit, slow and relentless, while his mouth kissed and bit down the curve of her neck. She writhed, back arching, trapped between his hard body and the deep, endless water.
"I want you," she panted.
"You have me," he said, his voice thick. "All fucking night."
He lifted her effortlessly, wrapping her legs around his waist. The tip of his cock rubbed against her entrance—just enough to tease, never enough to satisfy.
She clawed at his back. "Luca—please—"
He didn't slide inside.
Not yet.
Instead, he carried her out of the pool, water pouring from their bodies, and laid her on the warm stone beneath the stars.
Then he knelt between her legs and began to worship.
His mouth claimed her—deep, slow, full-tongued licks that made her back arch and her thighs quiver. He moaned against her, fingers gripping her hips as she rolled against his face.
She came once—sharp and breathless.
He didn't stop.
She came again—louder, her voice echoing off the trees.
Still, he didn't stop.
By the third orgasm, she was sobbing, begging him to fuck her, her nails digging into his shoulders, her body shaking uncontrollably.
He rose above her, slick with her, eyes wild with hunger.
Then he entered her in one brutal, perfect stroke.
She screamed.
Not in pain.
In release.
He fucked her slow, then hard, then slow again—like he couldn't decide whether to make love to her or break her open.
And maybe he did both.
She clung to him as he came inside her, his moan low and guttural, spilling every inch of control he'd once held tight.
Afterward, they lay side by side under the stars, her head on his chest, his fingers stroking her back.
"You're dangerous," she whispered.
"Why?"
"Because every time I let go with you, I don't want to come back."
He kissed her forehead, his voice raw.
"Then don't."