4: Temptation in the Dark

Isabella’s POV

The moment Luca left, I collapsed against the wall, my breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. My legs trembled beneath me, the weight of everything sinking into my bones.

Every inch of my skin still burned from his touch, from the ghost of his lips against my throat. My wrists tingled where he’d held them behind my back, the phantom sensation of his dominance lingering like an unspoken promise.

I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms. I hate him.

I hate the way he controls me. The way he looks at me like I’m already conquered.

Anger churned inside me, molten and fierce, but beneath it—hidden in the depths of my betraying body—was something far more dangerous.

Desire.

A slow, unwelcome heat curled low in my belly, tight and treacherous. I pressed my thighs together, as if that could smother the wicked ache that pulsed between them.

I wouldn’t break.

I couldn’t.

----------------------

The Outfit & the Power Play

Time passed in an agonizing blur. I had no idea how long I sat there, arms wrapped around myself, staring at the door he had walked out of. The silence of the penthouse stretched thick around me, wrapping me in isolation.

Then, a soft knock shattered it.

I didn’t answer, but the door opened anyway. A woman stepped inside—tall, blonde, elegant in a way that screamed wealth. Her expression was unreadable, but her posture spoke of quiet authority. She carried a black garment bag and placed it on the bed with careful precision.

"Mr. Devereaux has requested you wear this tonight," she said, her voice clipped, impersonal. "Dinner is in one hour. Do not be late."

I scoffed, crossing my arms. "And if I refuse?"

Her gaze flickered to my throat. Not to my face. Not to my defiant stance. But to the place where Luca had nearly bitten me earlier.

"I wouldn’t test him," she said simply, then turned and walked out, leaving me alone with the dress.

I stared at the garment bag as if it were a loaded gun.

A deep breath did nothing to settle the sharp, restless energy thrumming through my veins. With a sharp tug, I unzipped the bag—only to let out a sharp curse.

Inside was the most indecent thing I had ever seen.

A silk dress in deep crimson, the fabric barely there. Thin straps, a dangerously low neckline, a skirt that would ride up if I so much as breathed wrong.

A dress made for a woman on display.

A dress meant to remind me exactly what I was to him.

My teeth clenched. He wanted to see me dressed like his plaything. Wanted to prove that, despite my defiance, I was already under his control.

I wanted to rip the damn thing apart.

But my other option?

Face him naked?

I exhaled sharply and yanked the dress off the hanger.

Bastard.

------------------

The Dinner Game

The dining room was dimly lit, the glow of golden chandeliers casting soft pools of light against the black marble floors. A long table stretched before me, set with fine china and crystal glasses that gleamed under the warm glow.

But it wasn’t the lavish setting that made my pulse stutter.

It was him.

Luca was already seated, waiting.

He leaned back in his chair, one arm resting on the table, the other wrapped around a crystal tumbler of whiskey. His fingers trailed lazily over the stem of a wine glass filled with something far darker than wine.

His gaze dragged over me, slow and deliberate.

Heat prickled across my skin.

I felt exposed.

His smirk deepened. "You look beautiful, dolcezza."

I lifted my chin, ignoring the way my pulse pounded. "Go to hell."

Luca chuckled, the sound low and rich. "Always so defiant," he mused. "I wonder how long you’ll keep pretending you don’t want me."

A servant appeared beside me, pouring a glass of wine. The deep red liquid gleamed under the light, thick and rich.

I eyed it suspiciously.

Luca grinned. "Relax, Isabella. It’s not blood—yet."

----------------------

The Taste of Power

Dinner was torture.

Not because of the food—but because of him.

Luca watched me as he ate, his gaze hooded, unreadable. Every bite he took, every sip of whiskey he drank, was slow, deliberate—seductive in its own way.

He was playing with me.

And I hated that it was working.

I cut into my steak with more force than necessary, stabbing the meat like it was his heart. "What do you want from me?"

Luca tilted his glass, watching the amber liquid swirl before taking a slow sip.

"Everything," he murmured.

My breath hitched.

"You’ll starve before I ever give you that," I snapped.

His silver eyes darkened, a flicker of something far more dangerous lurking behind them.

Then, before I could react, he reached for me.

I jerked back—but it was too late.

His fingers snared my wrist, yanking me forward. I gasped as I stumbled, the world tilting as he pulled me onto his lap.

Strong hands gripped my thighs, parting them just enough for me to feel the solid, unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressing against me.

A wicked smirk played at his lips. "Ah, dolcezza… you fit perfectly."

I struggled, pulse hammering. "Let me go!"

Luca chuckled, his grip tightening just enough to hold me in place. "Why?" His breath ghosted against my jaw, his voice low, velvet and dangerous. "Are you afraid?"

I was.

Afraid of him.

Afraid of myself.

Afraid of the way my body betrayed me, the heat pooling between my thighs, the ache I refused to acknowledge.

I clenched my fists. "You’re disgusting."

Luca smirked. "And yet, here you are—wet and trembling in my lap."

My cheeks burned.

I hated him.

And I hated even more that he was right.

He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear.

"You want to keep fighting me, Isabella?" His voice was nothing but sin and silk. "Or do you want to feel something real?"

His thumb stroked my inner thigh, his touch light, teasing. A promise and a threat all at once.

I should have slapped him. Should have spat in his face.

Instead, my fingers dug into his shoulders, my breath coming in uneven, desperate gasps.

Luca chuckled darkly.

"That’s what I thought."

Then, without warning, he bit me.

His teeth sank into my throat, his bite possessive, claiming, cruel.

Pleasure and pain crashed over me at once.

I gasped, my body arching, a wave of molten heat rolling through me.

Luca’s growl vibrated against my skin, his arms tightening around me as he drank, as he owned me in the most primal way possible.

I whimpered, my head falling back, my body betraying me completely.

He drank until my pulse fluttered, until my breath came in ragged, shattered moans.

Only then did he pull away, licking the wound closed.

I trembled in his lap, spent, dazed, weak.

Luca tilted my chin up, forcing me to look into his ravenous, silver eyes.

"You’ll learn to crave this," he whispered, his lips still stained with my blood. "Crave me."

I tried to summon some clever retort. Some sharp insult.

But all I could do was shudder in his arms.

Luca lifted me effortlessly, carrying me from the dining room.

My breath caught. "Where are you taking me?"

He smirked.

"To my bed, dolcezza."