Sienna didn't respond to Luca's letter with words.
She responded with time.
Three days later, she sent a single message.
If I come to you, it's not for apologies.
It's not for safe.
It's to burn again.
Are you ready for that?
His reply came ten minutes later:
Doors unlocked.
No safe.
Only fire.
She arrived at night.
No heels.
No makeup.
Just black silk pants that clung to her hips and a sheer blouse with nothing underneath.
No bra.
No armor.
When Luca opened the door, she saw it instantly.
Need.
His hair was slightly disheveled, his sleeves rolled. No suit. No tie. Just sweatpants that did nothing to hide the thick outline pressing against the fabric, and that look in his eyes like he'd been starving for her every second she'd been gone.
He didn't speak.
Didn't even reach for her.
He waited.
Sienna stepped inside.
Shut the door behind her.
Then turned and said, "Strip."
His jaw flexed. A beat passed.
Then he obeyed.
He peeled the shirt off first—slowly, like offering a sacrifice. His chest rose and fell with quiet tension. Then he pushed down the pants. No underwear.
Hard.
Veined.
Leaking at the tip.
She walked up to him and ran her fingers down his stomach, her voice a whisper against his skin.
"You wrote me like a man desperate to be touched."
He didn't move.
She gripped his cock at the base, slow and firm.
"But if you want to touch me again…" she whispered, "you're going to earn it."
His groan was deep and guttural.
She dropped to her knees and took him into her mouth with no warning—wet, warm, all at once. His hands flew to her head, but she slapped them away.
"No touching."
He growled.
She sucked harder. Let her spit run down her chin. Hollowed her cheeks. Made eye contact.
He was panting now, his abs flexing, thighs trembling.
"Fuck—Sienna—"
She pulled off with a slick pop.
"Good boys wait."
She stood. Turned her back.
And walked toward the bedroom.
He followed like a man possessed.
She didn't stop at the bed.
She bent over the desk.
Arched her back.
Spread her legs.
And said, "Show me what it looks like when a man begs with his body."
Luca didn't speak.
He dropped behind her, hands gripping her hips like he'd never let go again.
His tongue found her folds—immediately. No teasing. No waiting. Just full pressure, long licks, deep moans vibrating against her as he ate her like he'd been dreaming of it.
He was messier this time.
Rawer.
Groaning into her pussy. Sucking on her clit until she cried out, legs shaking, her hand slapping the desk for balance.
When she tried to pull away, he gripped her harder.
"I didn't tell you to come yet," he growled.
She whimpered.
"Then say it," he whispered. "Say you missed my mouth. Say you missed being mine."
"I missed it," she gasped. "I missed everything."
"Come for me, Sienna."
And she did.
She exploded on his face—screaming, shaking, dripping. Her juices smeared across his lips, his chin, his pride.
But he didn't stop.
He flipped her over onto the desk.
And then he was inside her—deep, relentless, fucking her with a rhythm that said you're mine and I will never let you forget it.
He kissed her mouth while he thrust, swallowed her moans, held her wrists down on the desk like she was something precious he didn't trust himself to break.
"You're not just a submissive," he groaned into her mouth. "You're the fucking truth."
She came again with that.
Tightening around him, her body milking his cock until he growled her name and spilled inside her, thick and deep, until they were shaking, gasping, holding.
When they finally collapsed to the floor—naked, tangled, breathless—he pulled her against his chest and whispered:
"I don't just want you back in my bed. I want you back in my life."
She didn't answer with words.
She kissed his chest.
And stayed.