But despite everything, Luca could see Leona trembling, see the panic still lurking behind her eyes.
He knew he had pushed her far enough. Any more and she would break—not in the way he wanted, but in a way that would have her running from him.
So, he took a step toward her.
Leona flinched, her eyes going wide, her body tensing for another assault.
But...he didn’t attack.
Instead—he reached out and gently adjusted her dress to her surprise.
The fabric had slipped during their play, exposing the swell of her breasts. His fingers brushed her skin as he pulled it back into place, smoothing the wrinkles, covering her up.
Then he moved to her hair, gathering the loose strands that had escaped her careful styling, tucking them back where they belonged.
His touch was light, almost reverent, as he worked to restore her to sothing resembling her earlier elegance.
She stood frozen, watching him with wide eyes, her breath caught in her throat.
When he was satisfied with her hair, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed gently at her face, wiping away the sweat that had beaded on her forehead and temples.
She hadn’t even realized she was sweating. His touch was so soft, so careful, so different from the hungry, possessive way he had handled her monts ago.
She didn’t know what to do with this gentleness.
"What...What was that?" Her voice ca out smaller than she intended. "Why are you acting so gentle after ravaging like a beast?"
He tucked the handkerchief away, his expression matter-of-fact as he said,
"You’re the matriarch of this village, Leona. Forr or not, people look up to you, so I can’t let you walk around looking like you’ve just wrestled a wild animal."
He tilted his head, studying her face. "Though you did ss up so of the makeup with all the sweating and I had to wipe so of it off."
Her heart sank. She had spent so long on it this morning, wanting to look perfect, wanting—
"But you’re gorgeous without it. So it shouldn’t be a problem at all."
He gave her gentle smile—and Leona felt like an arrow had pierced straight through her heart.
One mont he was a beast, completely out of control, biting and sucking at her body while she could do nothing but hold on.
The next he was this—gentle, caring, looking at her like she was the most precious thing in the world.
The contrast was dizzying and she looked away, her face burning, her heart racing.
If she did, she would do sothing embarrassing, like grab him and pull him back down to the grass.
Then he noticed her neck.
"Oh." He touched her throat, and she realized belatedly that there were marks there.
Blue and purple marks where his mouth had been. Hickeys. Evidence of exactly what they had been doing, visible for anyone to see.
His expression shifted to sothing sheepish.
"I apologize for those. I got a little...carried away."
And before she could say it was alright, he reached into the bag her mother had given him—that bag that seed to hold everything he could possibly need—and pulled out a long, beautiful scarf.
It was simple in design but elegant, a deep green that matched the forest, soft as silk.
Before she could ask what he was doing, he wrapped it around her neck, covering the marks.
He adjusted it carefully, making sure it sat just right, his fingers brushing against her skin with each adjustnt.
"There." He stepped back, satisfied. "Now no one will see them."
He paused, then added with a smirk.
"Though I’d rather they did. Let them see what I did. Like I’m telling them who you belong to"
She gasped, her face going scarlet again.
"But I know you wouldn’t allow that." His voice softened. "So this should be enough."
Luca thought that Leona would retort and say sothing to defend her dignity.
But to his surprise that didn’t happen as Leona was completely focused on sothing else.
After all, he had given her sothing. A gift.
And not just a scarf—he had wrapped it around her himself, his hands so close, his attention so focused, the intimacy of the gesture hitting her harder than any of his kisses had.
She touched the scarf, feeling the soft fabric against her fingers, and sothing shifted inside her.
This wasn’t excitent or lust or the desperate heat she had been drowning in monts ago.
This was different. This was sothing she had never felt before.
She looked at Luca, and the love in her eyes was so bright that if she had seen it in a mirror, she wouldn’t have recognized herself.
But Luca, watching her shimring, adoring gaze, misinterpreted it entirely.
He thought she didn’t like the scarf.
"If you don’t like the color." He said quickly, reaching back into his bag. "I have a brown one sowhere. Different design, might suit you better—"
"No!" Her hand shot out, stopping him mid-reach. "No, it’s fine! There’s...There’s no need to replace anything!"
Her fingers found the scarf again, tracing the fabric with a tenderness that made his breath catch.
A smile spread across her face and she whispered, more to herself than to him,
"This is more than enough, Luca...I’ll cherish it forever."
Hearing this, Luca’s chest tightened. He realised in that mont had made progress with her—real progress.
The woman who had wanted to shoot him on sight was now touching a gift he had given her like it was sothing precious.
The warmth spreading through him made him want to do sothing stupid, like kiss her again.
He settled for teasing.
"You say forever, but your lifespan is quite long, Leona. The scarf itself will probably start falling apart in a few decades, so forever might be stretching it."
Leona’s head snapped up. The adoration in her eyes evaporated into pure indignation, and she punched his arm—hard enough to sting, not hard enough to bruise.
"Fine, fine. The scarf will stay like that till the end of ti."
He rubbed his arm, still chuckling before saying,
"But now that I’ve gotten a part of my compensation...Maybe we should actually start on those tasks?"
Her face flushed at the implication that there was more compensation waiting, but she didn’t argue. She opened her mouth to agree—
Then she stopped.
Sothing was wrong.
"Give one second." She was already backing away. "Just one second. I’ll be right back."
Luca frowned. "Leona—"
But she was already gone, darting behind the nearest tree, pressing her back against the bark, her heart hamring.
She waited, listening, making sure he wasn’t following. When she was certain he wasn’t peeking, she bunched up her dress, lifting the fabric until her legs were exposed—her thick thighs, her slender calves, all of it bare to the morning air.
She hesitated for only a mont before reaching down, hooking her fingers into her underwear, pulling it aside—and sliding her hand beneath!
This was all because of what she had felt during Luca’s assault—a strange wetness, an unfamiliar sensation that had grown stronger with each kiss, each mont of his mouth on her skin.
She had dismissed it at first, too overwheld by everything else to pay attention.
But then there had been that jolt. That strange electric pulse between her legs that had made her cry out.
Sothing had definitely co out of her then and she wanted to know if she was hallucinating or not.
She explored gently, curiously, and felt her face heat when she encountered a sticky fluid coating her most intimate place.
She pulled her hand out and stared in disbelief.
Her fingers were coated in sothing she had never seen before. Clear, glistening, catching the light like morning dew.
She touched it experintally, and it spread easily across her skin, smooth and slippery. She brought it to her nose—a faint, sweet fragrance, sothing floral and feminine that she didn’t recognize.
It wasn’t urine. It wasn’t blood. It had co from her—from that place between her legs—but she had no idea what it was.
Then the mory surfaced.
She had seen. A couple of days ago, hiding behind a tree, watching through the leaves as her sister lted under Luca’s mouth.
She had seen Nyx’s thighs quiver, seen her body arch, seen liquid gush from her in waves while Luca drank it down like wine.
Her face went scarlet.
"Leona?" Luca’s voice ca from the other side of the tree. "Are you alright? Do you need anything?"
She heard his footsteps approaching and panic seized her. She yanked her dress down, wiped her hand frantically on her skirt.
She stepped out from behind the tree, her face carefully composed, her voice deliberately sharp.
"Really, Luca? You couldn’t wait a few seconds? How impatient?"
She then grabbed his hand before he could respond, pulling him away from the tree, toward the path that led to the village.
"The first task is over there, so let’s quicky go over. We’re wasting ti."
She dragged him along, her grip firm, her strides quick.
She just needed to get moving, to focus on sothing that wasn’t the slickness still drying on the dampness between her thighs, the mory of her fingers exploring a part of herself she had never truly known.
But while she was pulling him by his arm, her palm pressed against his skin—she realized with a jolt that her hand was still wet!
The remnant liquid she had wiped on her dress was saring against his arm, transferring from her to him, leaving a glistening trail on his skin.
Her face burned. She should let go. She should pull away, find a stream, wash her hands, pretend this never happened.
Instead, she smiled. A slow, mischievous smile spread across her face.
He had done this to her. He had kissed her, touched her, driven her to this state. He had left her wet and aching and confused about her own body.
And now she was marking him with the evidence of what he had done, whether he knew it or not.
She pressed her palm more firmly against his arm, wiping the rest of her wetness onto his skin with quiet satisfaction.
Luca looked down at her, noticing her strange expression. "Is sothing wrong?"
"No. Nothing at all." Her voice was light, innocent. "Now, co along. We have a lot of work to do."
Her underwear was soaked. Her thighs were slick.
Every step reminded her of what he had done to her, what her body had done without her permission.
But still, she leaned into him, her shoulder pressing against his arm, her hand still clasped in his.
They walked like lovers on a morning stroll, her body warm against his, her secret hidden in the press of her palms.
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