The leather chair creaked low.
Luca's hand clamped hard around Bianca's waist,
shoving her sideways into the armrest.
Her breath caught,
eyes flickering with instinct.
"Bianca."
His voice was low—
Not a warning.
The sound of a man who'd already decided.
She smiled faintly, weaponizing it.
"Then… don't stop."
No reply.
He drove in, deep.
At first contact, her thighs locked around his flank.
A sharp inhale—
then a muffled moan that slipped past her throat.
The first thrusts were heavy, deliberate—
As if carving his place into her.
Heat rose from the leather beneath them,
the steady creak grinding against the floor.
One hand clamped her waist.
The other gripped the back of her neck,
forcing her head up.
Their eyes met—
breath mingling.
His gaze was dark,
cutting—like a man erasing every exit.
"More…"
One word from her, and his rhythm changed.
Slow and weighted turned jagged, relentless.
Thigh met thigh in sharp collisions,
slicing through the air of the study.
Papers slid from the desk, one by one.
A pen rolled, stilled on the leather rug.
Candlelight swayed, casting long shadows.
Her back bent over the armrest,
neck tilting, breath spilling.
His breath thundered beside her ear.
Each deep drive tightened her belly,
each wave hitting her whole body.
Her nails raked his shoulder.
He didn't flinch—pulled her closer, harder.
No rhythm now—just raw drive.
Her toes scraped for the floor, finding nothing.
"Ha… stop…"
The word came, but her hips held him tighter.
His jawline hardened, sweat sliding down his temple.
When the edge closed in,
he lifted her from the armrest,
settling her onto his lap.
Her vision tipped upward,
and each deep thrust punched the air from her lungs.
Waist to waist, no space left between.
Her body shivered, near breaking.
"Ah… Luca…"
The sound unlocked the last restraint.
He held, deep—stilled.
Jaw against her shoulder,
breath shattering,
heat spilling into her.
The leather gave a long, aching creak.
Their ragged breathing filled the room.
He stayed wrapped around her,
forehead pressed to her shoulder.
Her fingers stroked the back of his neck,
slow, catching breath.
Winter wind rattled the glass,
but the air inside burned.
And they both knew—
The line was gone.
For good.