7: The First Surrender 

Isabella’s POV

The air felt colder, my body screaming from the loss of contact.

The room was silent except for my ragged breathing, the pounding of my pulse against my ribs. My hands trembled as I clutched the sheets, trying to ground myself, trying to regain even the smallest sense of control.

But there was no control. Not anymore.

I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady my erratic heartbeat, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

This wasn’t just lust.

It was something more.

Something dangerous.

And the worst part?

I didn’t think I wanted it to stop.

I hated him.

I hated the way he controlled me without even touching me, the way his voice slid over my skin like silk and steel, a promise and a threat all at once.

But what I hated most?

I hated the hunger.

The unbearable, throbbing ache that had taken root inside me, the primal, traitorous craving I couldn’t shake.

Luca had done something to me.

And he knew it.

He had left me burning, my body betraying me, my mind at war with itself.

And now?

Now he was gone, leaving me alone with a need that was not my own.

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

I curled beneath the silk sheets, my breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

I was losing.

Not to Luca.

To myself.

Every inch of my skin felt alive, oversensitive, like the air itself was stroking against me.

I pressed my thighs together, trying to find relief, but it only made it worse.

A strangled whimper slipped past my lips. I clamped my hand over my mouth.

I was not going to let this happen.

I would not be weak.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to will away the feeling, trying to focus on something, anything—

Then the door swung open.

I gasped, jerking upright.

And there he was.

Luca.

He looked different this time, darker, something dangerous glinting behind his silver eyes.

Like he had come to collect.

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His gaze swept over me, slow and ruthless.

I knew what he saw.

The way my chest rose and fell too quickly.

The way my skin was flushed, heated, desperate.

The way my fingers twisted in the sheets, fighting the need to reach for him.

He smirked. He knew.

“Couldn’t sleep, dolcezza?” His voice was smooth, laced with amusement.

I clenched my jaw. “Get out.”

Luca stepped forward.

I shifted back instinctively, but there was nowhere to go.

He sat at the edge of the bed, too close, too confident, too powerful.

"You can keep fighting it," he murmured, his fingers tracing the edge of the sheets, the movement lazy, deliberate.

The air thickened, my body reacting before my mind could stop it.

"You’re burning for me, aren’t you?"

I glared at him, refusing to answer.

But my silence was an answer in itself.

Luca chuckled. “You smell like hunger, Isabella.”

I shuddered, my breath catching.

His hand moved, barely skimming my wrist, his touch featherlight, teasing.

I flinched, but not from fear.

From the unbearable, pulsing need that had taken hold of me.

Luca’s eyes darkened. “You feel it, don’t you?”

I shook my head, lying through my teeth. “I don’t—”

His fingers trailed lower, brushing against my bare thigh.

I gasped.

He smirked.

Luca leaned in, his breath warm against my ear.

"Say it," he murmured.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

"Say it, dolcezza."

I bit my lip, shaking my head. I wouldn’t give him that.

Luca sighed—a soft, wicked sound.

"Still fighting?" he mused. "Fine. I’ll remind you why you’ll lose."

Then, he moved.

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Before I could react, he flipped me onto my stomach, pressing me into the mattress.

A startled gasp escaped my lips. My wrists were pinned above my head, his grip firm but not painful.

Dominant. Controlled.

He leaned down, his lips ghosting over my exposed shoulder, his breath searing against my skin.

"You keep resisting," he murmured. "But your body knows who it belongs to."

I trembled beneath him.

His free hand moved lower, fingers tracing the edge of my silk slip, making me shiver.

I turned my head, biting back a whimper.

Luca chuckled darkly.

"Say it," he demanded.

I shook my head, struggling against his hold.

I felt his smirk against my skin.

"Such a stubborn little thing."

Then, he kissed the back of my neck.

A soft, possessive caress. Really soft but deliberate.

My breath hitched, a shudder raking through me.

He felt it. Knew it.

"You don’t want me to stop," he murmured.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my body burning from the inside out.

I hate him. I hate him.

Then why was I melting under his touch?

I thrashed against his hold, desperate to break free—not from him, but from myself.

"You can fight me, dolcezza," Luca whispered, his voice dripping with amusement. "But you can’t fight what you are."

I stilled.

His words sent a cold shiver through me, cutting through the heat.

What I was.

What the hell did that mean?

I opened my mouth to demand answers, but then Luca’s teeth scraped against my shoulder, his breath hot and teasing against my skin.

My thoughts shattered.

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

"You’ve been such a difficult little thing," Luca mused, his fingers skimming my thighs, barely touching, just enough to drive me mad.

I whimpered, biting my lip.

He pulled back slightly, and I felt the loss like a physical ache.

Then—a sharp slap against my thigh.

I gasped, my body jerking from the sudden sting.

Luca chuckled, low and dark.

"That was for running."

Before I could react, another slap, just slightly higher.

I bit back a moan.

"And that," he murmured, fingers stroking where his palm had just struck, "was for lying to me."

I wanted to hate him.

I wanted to hate the heat curling low in my stomach, the unbearable ache between my thighs.

But all I could do was tremble beneath him, completely at his mercy.

His grip on my wrists tightened, his body pressing me deeper into the mattress.

Then, his fingers slipped beneath my silk nightgown, trailing over my bare, sensitive skin.

I arched into his touch, my breath hitching.

"You don’t even realize it yet, do you?" Luca’s voice was a sinful whisper against my ear.

"You were made for this. For me."

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I was losing my mind.

I fought against the moan rising in my throat, but Luca felt it—knew I was slipping.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured. "Say the words, and I will."

My lips parted.

I wanted to say it.

I needed to say it.

But the words wouldn’t come.

Luca chuckled, dragging his tongue along my pulse point, teasing the mark he’d left there.

"That’s what I thought."

His fingers slid lower.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my body trembling, desperate, burning.

And just when I thought he’d finally give me relief—

He pulled away.

I let out a strangled cry, twisting against his hold, my body screaming in frustration.

Luca exhaled a slow, satisfied breath, watching me with ruthless amusement.

"That," he murmured, brushing his thumb over my swollen lips, "was for pretending you don’t need me."

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I was shaking, my body raw and unsatisfied, my mind in tatters.

Luca leaned close, his lips just barely brushing mine.

His silver eyes burned with possession, hunger, and something deeper—something dangerous.

"You’re not ready for me yet, dolcezza," he whispered. "But soon… you’ll beg."

'You just watch.'