The third night in the villa burned different.
No moon. Just fire.
Luca had dimmed every light but the fireplace. Flames danced across the stone walls like they were alive. Sienna stood in the center of the room, naked, her skin glowing gold and shadow.
Luca circled her slowly, shirtless, barefoot, the look in his eyes darker than lust.
It was need.
Animal.
"On your knees," he said.
She dropped instantly, thighs parting slightly, hands resting on her thighs.
It wasn't obedience.
It was offering.
He stepped in front of her, his cock already hard, curved, thick and perfect. She looked up at him, lips parted, breath shallow. But he didn't give himself to her—not yet.
He touched her face, running his thumb across her bottom lip.
"Tonight," he said, "I'm going to break every rule you've ever clung to. I'm going to remind you you're mine—and not just when you're screaming for me."
Sienna's heart raced.
She wanted it.
She ached for it.
But she also felt something sharp in his voice. Possessiveness. Emotion he hadn't shown before. It thrilled her. Scared her.
Turned her on so badly she felt herself dripping down her thighs.
"Crawl to the edge of the bed."
She obeyed.
He walked behind her, slowly, then grabbed the nape of her neck. His grip was firm. His voice was low.
"Do you know what you look like right now?"
She shook her head.
"Like something a man would sell his soul to keep."
He pressed the head of his cock between her folds—teasing, rubbing, but still not giving her the fullness she craved.
"Say it."
"Say what?"
"Who owns this pussy?"
"You do," she whispered.
He gripped her hips, hard.
"Louder."
"You do," she moaned. "It's yours."
"Now prove it."
He slid into her with one deep thrust.
She cried out, arms buckling, face pressed to the mattress.
He didn't give her time to adjust.
He took.
Hard, rough strokes that rocked the bed frame. His balls slapped her with every thrust. His hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back as he fucked her like a man possessed.
"You feel that?" he growled.
"Yes—fuck—yes—"
"Good."
He pulled out suddenly, spun her onto her back, and slid back in—deeper, fuller, pressing her legs up over her shoulders.
She could barely breathe. Barely think.
It wasn't just pleasure.
It was claiming.
He kissed her as he fucked her—deep, filthy kisses that didn't ask. That demanded.
And then he stopped again.
Lifted her legs.
Spit.
Pressed a slick finger against her tightest opening.
Her eyes widened.
He paused.
"You trust me?"
"Yes," she breathed.
He didn't enter.
Not yet.
He just circled it.
Rubbed slow, teasing circles while he fucked her harder, her eyes fluttering, her hands clawing the sheets.
"You're going to give me everything," he said. "Even what you've never given before."
She came hard.
Explosively.
Screaming his name, her body convulsing under him.
He followed with a roar, burying himself deep inside her, emptying everything he had. Every secret. Every fear. Every wall he'd ever held between himself and anyone else.
When they collapsed together, neither of them spoke.
Not because there was nothing to say.
But because everything had been said in the way he took her.
The way she let him.
The way they both came undone and still held each other tighter.
And as the fire cracked behind them, Luca whispered the rawest thing yet:
"You don't belong to me, Sienna. I belong to you."