A wry thought tugged at him. I might need a whole room for her punishnts, he mused. He’d never kept a woman before. Won had co and gone. But Vee was different. Vee was a storm. She rooted herself in his life whether she ant to or not, and he couldn’t decide if he hated it or loved it more.
He carried the box downstairs to Nonnina, who was quietly humming as she moved about the kitchen. "Have her ready and in my room in thirty minutes," he said.
Nonnina tilted her head, ever the wise observer. "How about your dinner, Diavolino?" There was a teasing note in her voice.
"I will have it. You can prepare the table," he replied, already heading back up the stairs, the tension in his chest buzzing.
In his room, he took a quick shower, letting the warm water wash away the last traces of fury and leave only the raw, electric anticipation of the evening ahead. He dried himself, dressed in comfortable shorts and a soft t-shirt. He finally sank into the chair farthest from the door, he wanted to see her walk in.
A soft knock ca at the door. His heart gave a lurch when she stepped in. She was wrapped in a robe, yet the way she hesitated at the doorway told him everything he needed to know: the nerves, the fear. Her hair fell in gentle waves around her shoulders, a small cascade.
His anger spiked the mont he looked at her body, rembering that another man had been touching her again. Breaking his trust.
His eyes were furious, dark and storm-heavy.
She swallowed. I’ve done it again. Poked the bear. Again.
"Hi," she said.
"For the duration of your punishnt," Luca said, "you will not speak unless I ask you a question. You will not so much as make a sound. Are we clear?"
"Yes," she answered quickly.
"And you will answer with sir. Try that again."
Her jaw tightened.
"Yes... sir," Vee ground out.
"Take off the robe."
He got to his feet as he said it, turning away imdiately and moving toward the dresser.
Do not look, he told himself. If you look, this ends too fast.
Behind him, Veronica stood frozen for a beat, then obeyed. The robe slid from her shoulders, pooling quietly at her feet.
"Take off your underwear."
She spun a fraction toward him, disbelief cutting through her nerves. "What?"
He didn’t turn.
"I may not have a flogger around here," Luca said calmly, far too calmly, "but I still have my hands. Disobey my instructions one more ti, Vee."
She closed her eyes, exhaled through her nose.
Silently, she complied.
Luca’s hands curled against the dresser. He could hear her behind him. Every instinct in him scread to turn around, to pull her close, to reassure her that this was about trust. About boundaries. About the terrible fear that one day she would choose soone else because loving him was too hard.
He forced himself to breathe.
This was punishnt for him too for caring too much, wanting too deeply.
He pulled the box from the shopping bag. The contents spilled across the polished surface of the dresser: a charger, a piece of delicate underwear, and a small, sleek remote. They looked innocent enough, but in Luca’s hands, they were instrunts of control.
He picked up the underwear, the fabric almost weightless between his fingers. Pressing the small button hidden in the seam, he activated it. Then, he turned to face her.
Vee was standing there, eyes sharp and wary, and her chest rising and falling too fast for comfort. Her hair, fell partially over her shoulder.
He approached her. Then he knelt before her, holding the underwear out. "Your feet," he said.
She hesitated for a heartbeat before sliding her feet into the soft material. Luca guided the fabric up her legs, savoring the silky touch against her warm skin, the way it seed to respond to every curve and dip of her body. When he reached her thighs, Vee’s hands shot up, her fingers pressing against his wrist in a silent, pleading protest.
Her eyes were wide, glossy with emotion, silently begging him to stop, to let her have so semblance of control.
He pulled back just enough to et her gaze, letting the tension linger, letting her heart race, letting her feel what it ant to yield. Slowly, reluctantly, she slid the material the rest of the way up herself, the small act of autonomy a sharp contrast to the surrender of the mont.
Of course, he thought bitterly, rising to his feet, it’s not my touch she craves. That knowledge hit him harder than he cared to admit, twisting his stomach into knots. The ache of wanting soone who didn’t need him the way he needed her was a new kind of pain.
He returned to the dresser, picking up the remote this ti, feeling its smooth, cold surface in his palm. With a casual flick of his wrist, he dropped back onto the couch: "On your knees."
Vee’s eyes flashed. She dropped slowly to the floor, her dark eyes locked on his, silently challenging him even as she obeyed.
She was frustrating. She was infuriating. She was utterly captivating. The way her jaw set, the subtle trembling of her fingers, the steady rise and fall of her chest.
"Good," he murmured. "Eyes on ."
She obeyed.
"Tell what he did to you," Luca demanded.
"Nothing," she muttered.
Luca’s thumb clicked the tiny button on the remote. The underwear buzzed to life, a sudden, insistent vibration that sent a jolt straight through her core. Vee gasped, a soft moan escaping her lips before she could swallow it back, and her palms shot to the ground to steady herself. The sensation was maddening, frustrating, infuriating.
"You do not want to lie to ," he warned. Then, he turned the vibration off. "Try again."
"He said..." she began, hesitating as her words tangled in nerves.
"I don’t want to fucking know what he said. I know what he said. I heard what he said," Luca snapped. "I want to know what he fucking touched!" His blue eyes bore into hers, rciless, unrelenting.
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