The car ride back was silent—but not cold.
Sienna sat with her hand resting on Luca's thigh, his fingers gently stroking hers in quiet rhythm. They didn't need to speak. The air still smelled like sex and sea salt, like trust and fire.
But as the skyline reappeared on the horizon, something shifted.
She felt it in him.
A tightness. A closing.
By the time they reached the penthouse, he was back in his suit. Back in control. The velvet voice had lost its heat. The man who had worshipped her body was now scanning his phone, muttering about meetings, slipping back into the persona he wore like armor.
Sienna watched him quietly.
And felt herself ache—not between her legs, but inside.
When he stepped into the bedroom, she followed.
"I need to go into the office tonight," he said, already slipping cufflinks into place.
"You just got back."
His voice was neutral. "The world didn't stop while we were gone."
Her arms folded. "I did."
He paused. Met her eyes.
And something flickered in his expression—guilt? No. Fear.
"Sienna… the villa was a fantasy. This is life."
She moved closer, touched his jaw.
"No, Luca. This—" her finger traced down his chest "—this was real. That place just stripped away everything that kept you from seeing it."
He swallowed hard, jaw flexing.
"I don't do normal relationships."
"I never asked for normal."
"I don't know how to be safe."
"I didn't ask you to be safe either."
He looked away.
And in that silence, she felt him slipping.
So she stepped back.
And walked out.
No anger.
Just ache.
That night, Sienna lay in her own bed, her skin cold without his touch, her mind replaying every whispered command, every time he'd knelt at her feet or pinned her to a wall and made her feel like she was the center of the universe.
She reached between her legs.
Slid her fingers through her wetness.
It wasn't the same.
She tried—eyes closed, back arched, imagining his mouth, his voice, his weight pressing her down—but when she came, it felt hollow. Empty.
Because it wasn't just his cock she missed.
It was him.
The way he saw her.
The way he owned her without stealing her power.
The way he'd kissed her forehead after breaking her wide open and whispered, You belong to no one but yourself—and I still want every inch of you.
Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes as she came a second time, softer, sadder, still aching for more.
Across the city, Luca sat alone in his dark office, whiskey untouched.
He stared at the photo on his desk—his younger self, a woman beside him. Her smile fragile. Her grip on his arm too tight.
She was gone now.
And he still didn't know how to let someone in without breaking them… or himself.
But Sienna wasn't like the others.
She didn't flinch.
She didn't beg.
She chose him.
And he let her walk away.
He looked down at his hands—hands that had bound her, worshipped her, made her come until she cried.
And now?
They were empty.