Luca's Lessons

by Deana Birch

  He laughed. Luca Bernardi, who rarely even cracked a smile, laughed. “I cannot imagine you in such an atrocity.” He held her door open and ran his fingertips down her sleeve, causing her to meet his steady gaze. His voice dropped to a rumbling whisper. “And I have a very good imagination.”

  Claire’s mouth went dry and she slid into her seat before Luca could spot the pink creeping up her neck. The short ride to the club passed in silence, the air thick with all the unspoken thoughts.

  With her hand once again tucked into the crook of his arm, Luca paused at the door. “As before, one word and we leave.”

  Claire lifted a shoulder and offered a small smile. “I know, but I’m looking forward to watching. Again. With you.”

  He held her gaze for barely another breath, but it was enough to reflect the fire in the chocolate depths. He turned to swipe his card and gain access. They paused on the main floor long enough to check her jacket with the attendant. He swept his gaze over her body, clad in a short white dress with a neckline that dipped dangerously close to her navel. He gave a nod before leading her to the stairs.

  With each step her desire grew. Knowing what she’d see—or at least having a basic understanding—only seemed to ramp up her excitement, to increase the need she’d never known she had but was helpless to deny.

  Tonight’s tour led them in the opposite direction and Claire found herself standing before a wall of glass shower doors. Some of the stalls stood empty, but the others… Claire couldn’t fight the heat burning her cheeks. Women, men, couples and threesomes filled the various cubes. A few merely bathed with little attention paid to the onlookers. Others pleasured themselves or their partners as spectators stood, commenting, admiring, lusting.

  “You like this, cara?”

  She turned her head and only noticed then that while she’d been drinking in the public showers, Luca had been studying her. “H-how…” She summoned her courage and recalled every article she had read. If she truly wanted this—and him—she had to be open and honest. “How long… How much training would I need before I could do that?”

  His eyes widened, but before he could answer, Max appeared from nowhere with a harried expression. “Mr. Bernardi, I’m sorry to interrupt you, but we have a situation downstairs. It’s rather urgent.”

  Luca held her gaze for several moments. “Let me take Ms. Favre to my room first then I’ll be down.”

  The V between Max’s eyes deepened, but he nodded in acquiescence. He scurried away and Luca turned them toward the mahogany steps leading to the third floor.

  Claire dug her heels into the plush red carpeting. “Luca, please. I can wait for you here. It sounds important and I don’t want to be the cause of any issues for you.”

  He shook his head then muttered something in Italian. Although she was fluent in several languages, she couldn’t hear him well enough to translate, but she was fairly certain there was more than one expletive.

  He straightened his shoulders, dropped her hand and moved in front of her. “If I am gone longer than twenty minutes, you are to go to my room upstairs and wait for me. Do you remember which one it is?” At the movement of her head in the affirmative, he gave a quick approving nod. “Until you go upstairs, you will stay on this side of the floor.” He hooked an index finger beneath her chin and dropped his head, his mouth millimeters from hers. “We shall consider this a test of your obedience, cara.”

  Without another word he released her, turned on his heel and walked away with confident, purposeful strides. A level of need she’d never experienced before pooled between her legs.

  With a shaky inhale, she walked to the bar, needing to soothe her parched throat. She took a stool recently abandoned by a shirtless man wearing black jeans, who was holding a leash attached to a collar attached to a petite blonde who had been sitting at his feet. Not brave enough to request Luca’s wine, she ordered a margarita. She smiled to herself as the drink was set before her. Seeing a person being led around like an animal would have shocked her sensibilities before Luca Bernardi had come into her life.

  She nearly choked on her first sip. What would Liam think of me?

  Ice ran through her veins and she struggled with the unsettling thought. Lost in her own mind, she never registered the person who took the seat beside her until his hand landed on her thigh and she jumped. A small amount of the frozen drink sloshed over the side of the glass.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you.” His full lips split into a self-deprecating smile and his blue eyes crinkled at the corners. He was gorgeous. “Aren’t you here with Luca?”

  Something about the concept of belonging to Luca chased away the ghosts haunting her. “Yes. He will be back any moment.” She scooted on her seat to angle away from him slightly, her instincts throwing out warning signals.

  He winked and, despite the fact it was charming, her stomach refused to settle. “Lucky for me I picked this moment.” He stuck a hand out. “Noah. First names only, as you know. And you are?”

  Chapter Nine

  Luca

  If Max had insisted, there had to have been a reason. Luca jogged down the circular staircase and as soon as he caught a glimpse of the bar, he knew his employee had been right to interrupt him.

  A male submissive who Luca barely knew was curled into a corner of the bar with his arms crossed over his face for protection. Above him stood another male submissive—recently replaced by the ball on the floor—who Luca knew too well. And between them, with her hands perched on her wonderfully curved hips, stood Luca’s close friend and fellow Domme, Caroline Cartier.

  “Everybody out except you,” Luca growled to Max.

  As Luca stepped closer, his skin tightened around his normally steady frame.

  Blood.

  They were all bleeding.

  The sub on the floor had a crack over his eyelid and red dripped down his wincing cheek. A drop of blood from Caroline’s nose crawled closer to her already deep red lips. But the worst culprit of the dripping red was the wrist of the familiar sub, Damien. He held a broken tumbler glass in one hand and stared at his former Mistress with glazed eyes.

  Caroline shot Luca a look of warning. She clearly wanted to handle this herself, but from the crimson blots on the rug below, she was failing.

  The bar officially cleared out and Max started to head to Luca’s side. Luca raised his arm slowly, giving him the signal to wait. With his military background and dedication to safety, Max was proving to be an incredible asset.

  Caroline narrowed her eyes and found her voice. “On your fucking knees. Now, sub!”

  Damien’s face dropped, the poor man obviously craving the order more than even he could have realized.

  This is why I don’t want any sub of mine to fall in love with me.

  The broken glass tumbled from his hand and landed with a quiet thud on the rug. Damien crumbled to his knees, gaze falling with him, and wept.

  Tension defused, but blood still dripping, Caroline knelt down to her new sub. He softened at her touch on his forehead. She whispered into his ear and kissed the back of his hand.

  Max trotted over to the bar, grabbed a stack of towels and returned. He dropped them on the low table in front of him and waited with Luca for Caroline’s sign to move in.

  Instead, the Domme looked to Max and said, “Please take him upstairs. Call a doctor if he needs stitches.”

  Luca did admire Caroline’s way. There was no hint about future plans with her and the new sub, even though there most certainly would be. She had chosen her words perfectly in front of a suffering and out-of-control Damien.

  Damien, who was whimpering at her feet and needed medical attention… But the calm of her voice was better than any Band-Aid that could be offered. It wasn’t the first time a sub had come back to his Mistress and caused a scene. Caroline Cartier had a way with men, and while Luca couldn’t relate to being addicted to it, he could appreciate it.

  “Damien, Luca is going to wrap your wrist. I need
you to be still for me.”

  Luca is going to do what?

  With no time for grumbling, Luca reached for a towel and found himself in the very unlikely position of kneeling in front of a Domme. Had the cut not been so deep, they would have laughed at the absurdity.

  Blood wept onto Luca’s suit and into his white sleeve until he was able to apply enough pressure to control the wound.

  Glad he didn’t have to be the one to deal with the next decision, he asked Caroline, “What’s your move here?”

  “I’m going to call my doctor and get him patched up. Wait here while I go get my phone.”

  Luca arched an eyebrow. He was on the wrong side of taking orders.

  “Please,” she added in a low voice.

  As Luca continued to press into the towel, he thought about the impact this might have on his club. While blood didn’t bother the average member, drama did. ‘Not his sub and not his problem’ had quickly flipped into ‘his club and now his problem’.

  Max returned with a drained look on his face. He scratched his neck and let out a forceful exhale through his mouth. He shook his head slowly from the doorway all the way to the corner where Luca and Damien were on the floor. “I’ll take it from here, boss. Knowing you, you’ll want to attend to the bar upstairs.”

  Max leaned down and replaced the bloodstained towel with a new one while Luca pushed on his knees to stand.

  Christ.

  His hands were covered in blood—not his and not his sub’s.

  On any other day, that would have been enough for Luca Bernardi. He’d already thought about how many times he would need to wash his hands with antibacterial soap while he’d held Damien’s arm. But the real concern, the true problem in that moment, was the tone in which Max had spoken. He needed to get back upstairs. It could only mean one thing. What in the ever-living-hell of this disastrous night was Claire doing?

  And the fact that Max still hadn’t made eye contact did nothing for his heart rate. Luca wiped his hands on his ruined suit and marched out of the bar.

  “Luca,” Caroline called from down the hall.

  He steadied his breath.

  Caroline tossed her long red hair over her shoulder and clipped toward him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he’d taken it like that. I checked in with him several times last week because I sensed something was off, but he lied. And I will talk to him.”

  “He can’t come back.”

  “I know,” Caroline said. “A car’s on its way. I’ll be back later. Obviously, I’ll replace the rug.” She grimaced.

  “Obviously.” Luca turned on his heel and climbed the stairs. When he reached the second floor, he glanced toward the empty spot where he’d left Claire twenty minutes prior.

  Heat slithered up his spine as his gaze shot left to the bar. There she sat, cradling a margarita, next to the grinning novice.

  Weasel. Noah Paulick was a wanna-be-real Dom and a fucking weasel. And Luca had left Claire alone for easily twenty minutes and in a state the lovely lady could barely cope with.

  Luca reached to pull on his cuffs and stopped himself. Instead, he walked slowly behind the bar and over to the sink, conveniently located directly opposite Noah. With the back of his hand, Luca pushed on the water and slid the faucet to warm. He pumped the soap, again mindful of the residual blood on his skin, and he lathered up. The foam, hidden by the bar, turned pink and he repeated the process again—and again.

  With the towel in hand, he looked up once at Claire and read her briefly. Whatever her conversation with Noah may or may not have been before his arrival, it had ceased. At least there was that. After a long blink, his gaze wandered over to the young blond who thought he knew something about the lifestyle.

  Luca folded the used towel and set the perfect cloth square next to the sink. “Were you aware, Noah, that you were speaking to my guest?” he asked in a low, too-calm voice.

  “I was, although she said you’d be right back. That was a while ago. I was beginning to think you’d abandoned her. Maybe she was, too.” Noah licked his lips, the little bastard obviously ready for a challenge.

  “What she thinks does not concern you.” Luca leveled his gaze and shot it back to Claire. “Follow me.”

  He walked out from behind the bar and down the hall. Her heels clicked at a steady pace behind him. Good. She had listened to him.

  Out of his jacket, he found his key card, which opened a nondescript door. He motioned for her to enter, and when she saw the buttons, she said with wide eyes, “Oh my God. Are you taking me home?”

  “Yes. Mine.” Luca jabbed the button to the penthouse and they rode in silence.

  The doors opened to his massive loft. Soft lighting illuminated their walk to the kitchen, where he motioned to a stool around the dark granite island.

  “Sit,” he said as he turned around the counter and opened up the trash drawer below the stainless-steel sink.

  He slipped off his jacket, gathered it in half at the neck line, then brought the sleeves in along its length. One, two, three times he folded it and shoved it into the plastic-lined receptacle.

  Behind him, he reached into the dark wood cabinet for a water glass. After releasing his cuff links, he dropped them inside. Sterilized. They would need to be sterilized.

  As if the clink of the platinum had broken the silence, Claire chose that moment to speak, and when she did, her tone was cautious. “Are you mad at me?”

  Luca unclipped his thick watch and slid it into the glass with the cuff links. He unbuttoned his shirt, folded it exactly as he had the jacket and it met the same destiny.

  His exhale stuck in his tight throat.

  She did not cause the blood.

  Calmer, with less evidence of the fiasco on his body, he was ready to look at her.

  She bit her lip, and when his eyes dropped to the infraction, she released it immediately.

  “I…” Claire brought a thumb to the opposite palm, appeared to rethink herself and sat on both hands.

  Through squinted eyes, he asked, “Did you think speaking to another man in my club would make me happy, Claire?”

  In truth, it could have been anywhere. It was unlike him to be annoyed, and jealousy wasn’t an emotion he was familiar with. But the blood… It had made him panic—panic like the day he’d seen his mother’s unstoppable nose bleed, panic like the day he’d realized he had no mother.

  “I didn’t want to be rude. And I honestly didn’t think you would be gone that long.” She swallowed but held her gaze until her focus fell to his bare chest.

  He allowed her to gawk. Hell, he enjoyed it. And when her bottom lip curled in and she trapped it with her teeth, he didn’t care.

  Slowly, Luca reached for his belt. She continued her voyeuristic ways as he pulled it tight against his hips then released it. It slid through the loops and he wrapped it around his knuckles. No contact. The belt had been under the jacket, so there was no chance of blood.

  With the leather strip still around his hand, he placed it on the counter and leaned a little closer.

  “Eyes up, Claire.”

  After a flutter of her lashes, he had her attention.

  Luca worked his jaw. “Are you implying that I was the reason you were speaking to Noah?”

  Her lovely face fell and her posture sank. “I’m sorry.” She shook her head slowly. “I didn’t know.”

  “No. No, you didn’t know. And no, you don’t. And while I may be disappointed that your instincts were off, I’m not mad. Not at all.” Luca studied her and, satisfied he read relief, spun around to the large refrigerator. He found two bottles of water and set one in front of her.

  Leaning in, too close—he knew it was too close—he said, “I need a shower. Take off your heels and go get comfortable on the couch. We’ll talk.”

  He pushed away, the cool counter poking into his back. Claire nodded her understanding and slid off the barstool. Her tiny hips swayed all the way to the other end of the loft, where she stopped and st
ared out of the window at the shimmering city lights.

  Luca walked around the counter, kicked off his shoes and dropped his pants. After he’d folded them, he piled them on top of the other clothes he could never wear again. With a gentle push, the bin was back under the sink and the cabinet closed, all evidence to be locked away and forgotten. In his socks and black boxer briefs, he carried his belt back to his bedroom.

  Under the hot stream of the shower, it hit him. He’d let a potential sub into his private apartment. The shocking events from the bar and the need to deal with blood had thrown him off his game. That was not good, not good at all. If—and that was a big if—she really did want to be trained, there was no more room for error. He could not let her down.

  He dried himself off and changed into a pair of track pants that hung off his waist but tapered at the heels. It occurred to him that negotiations would be far more interesting if he was bare chested. The little minx had obviously liked what she’d seen, but his Dom voice cried foul.

  Barefoot and thick hair still wet, he padded back to Claire. She hadn’t sat as he’d asked—well, told—but her high-heels were next to the cream sofa. The urge to set them straight instead of one up and one on its side, as they were, would have to wait.

  It wasn’t just that she’d lost height without the shoes. With her focus still out of the window, the beautiful blonde was somewhere else. He stepped closer.

  Claire closed her eyes and her posture relaxed.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I think so.” She stared forward again.

  Luca hesitated but stepped back. He tidied her heels and sat down on the L-shaped sofa. “Come on. Sit.”

  “You say that a lot.” She turned around and smirked.

  “Would you rather I say something else?” He’d thought she’d liked the direction. Perhaps he’d been wrong.

  Claire sat at the far end of the couch and tucked a foot under her rear. “You’re the one with the imagination—or so you claim.”

  Is that some kind of challenge? Accepted. And he would get back to it. In spades.