Undressed By The Mafia God-Chapter 50: I’m Not Taking Control

"I’m not taking control," he continued, eyes locked on hers, "unless you give me all of it."

"I... I can’t," she whispered.

"Then the underwear goes back on."

Her response was immediate, visceral. "Fuck. No."

His fingers slid to the tie of her robe, loosening it, letting the fabric fall from her shoulders. His touch traced up her thighs, whisper-light.

"Tell me what to do," he said again.

"You don’t make this fair," she said hoarsely.

"I never promised fair," Luca replied.

"Touch me," she said finally.

"I can’t hear you," Luca said.

"Touch me."

"Where?" Luca asked, one brow lifting.

She lifted a hand, then hesitated. Finally, she gestured toward her chest, her fingers trembling.

"Use your words, bambola."

"I want you to touch my breasts," she said.

Luca exhaled slowly. He stepped closer.

He slid the strap of her underwear down her shoulder with agonizing slowness, not rushing, not even fully touching her skin at first. Just the whisper of fabric moving, just the promise of his hands. Her breath stuttered. The pause was torture, cruel in the way only Luca ever managed.

When the fabric finally gave way, he stopped again.

Vee felt the heat rush to her face.

She folded in on herself instinctively, arms crossing. "I—"

"I hate it when you do that," Luca said firmly. "When you make yourself small. You are not weak. So why do you pretend you are?"

"Have you ever met a self-conscious woman? We come in bulk."

He reached for her wrists and gently pulled her arms away. "Look at me."

She did.

"What do you have to be self-conscious about?" he said quietly. "You are beautiful even when you don’t try. Your skin, your body...you destroy me. And the way you smell? Dio. You have no idea what you do to me."

His hands wrapped around her breast. The contact made her breath catch. He squeezed gently.

"Beautiful," he murmured. He took the nipple between his fingers. "Perfect."

"More, Luca..." Vee gasped. She couldn’t stop herself. Her body arched instinctively toward him, seeking more, demanding more, even as her mind screamed for control.

He rolled the now taut nipple between his fingers, watching the tiny flicker of reaction that passed across her face. His other hand moved to her other breast, pinching and kneading, gauging her breath, her pulse. His eyes weren’t on her body, though—no, he was studying her expression, every twitch of her mouth, every flush in her cheeks, every rapid inhale that betrayed her need.

He had never been one for subtlety in life, yet here, in the quiet of his house, he relished the tension, the delicate push and pull of desire and restraint.

"It’s not enough, Luca," she whispered, lips trembling, tears threatening to spill.

"You have to tell me what to do, Bambola," he murmured against her ear, his breath warm, teasing, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "If you don’t give me control, I cannot take it."

She shut her eyes, frustration welling up. He claimed to be giving her power, letting her choose, letting her speak, letting her guide—but everything was still in his hands. The real control, the edge she couldn’t touch, was his. He had something she could not ask for, something she couldn’t summon with words, something that existed beyond permission: the ability to utterly consume her, and she wanted it so badly it scared her.

"Use your mouth," she whispered.

Luca’s lips curved into a slow, victorious smile. He reached up, fingers brushing against her neck, tilting her head back. He took one nipple into his mouth, sucking, teasing, sending shocks through her body she hadn’t known could exist, ignition sparking along nerves she couldn’t name.

Vee dragged her nails up his back, desperate, frustrated, craving more skin-to-skin contact. The fine weave of his shirt felt like sandpaper against her burning need; she wanted the heat of him, the raw friction of body against body.

His tongue grew frantic, mirrored by the tremor in her own body. His mouth, his hands, the way he seemed to understand her body before she did—it drove her wild, and she could feel the pulse of her need radiating from deep inside her. Every nerve was alight, every breath a struggle, every heartbeat a drum in her chest.

Unable to bear the teasing of his control any longer, she gripped his hand and pressed it between her thighs. "Make me cum, Luca."

That was the power he held—the terrifying, magnificent ability to make her feel undone, even as he gave her the illusion of choice.

He quickly found her clit, pressing against her, then his fingers slid into her wetness, exploring, teasing, learning the landscape of her body. Her breath hitched, chest rising and falling rapidly as he drew out her reactions. She buckled, hips tilting in ways that defied gravity.

"Luca...Luca...God! Fuck!" she gasped, nails digging into his back, eyes squeezed shut as the heat built, overwhelming her.

Luca’s mind teetered on the edge of chaos. The power she had surrendered in her own way, and the thought of bending her over the dresser, his cock tearing past untouched hymen made his blood run hot. His mouth still captured her nipple, lips and tongue teasing the sensitive peak, every flick and suck sending waves through both of them.

He was addicted to it, to her, to the way her body shivered, her mouth gasped and moaned.

The vibrating underwear had already undone her, leaving her incredibly wet. His fingers found the spots that made her arch higher, quiver harder.

Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. "Yes! Right there, Luca! Ah! Don’t stop...please..."

He lifted his head just enough to look at her, and the sight stole his breath. The intensity in her eyes, the flushed cheeks, the parted lips. Every emotion played across her face: desire, surrender, frustration, longing.

And then the thought of Cassidy hit him. Had he made her feel like this? A shadow of jealousy flared. Cassidy was irrelevant now. By the time dawn came, there would be only him.