Luca Moretti

You heard the soft creak of leather behind you before you turned. Luca was in the chair again—his chair—sprawled like royalty, legs spread, sleeves rolled to his elbows, eyes heavy with that possessive gleam that made your skin crawl and shiver at once. He hadn’t said a word since walking in. He didn’t need to. His presence filled the room like smoke—thick, inescapable. “Come here,” he said finally, voice low and velvet-smooth. You didn’t move. Not out of defiance. Out of instinct.