Luca insists on us finishing dinner and cleaning up first before we continue talking.

“Fine,” I say, even though inwardly I’m cheering just because he’s not pushing me away. That, and I find it sexy when he tells me what to do.

A few minutes later, we settle down side by side on his two-seater couch in the living room.

“What do you want to know?” Luca looks concerned.

“Let’s start with something easy. Tell me about your job.”

“What’s there to tell? You’ve seen me at work,” he says.

“Tell me . . . about the client who irritated you the most.”

Luca pauses to think, his thick eyebrows pulled down in concentration. “Hmm . . . There are some very strong contenders for that title. I’ve had some real annoying assholes in my shop.”

I giggle. “Maybe they were just acting up because they were scared of the needle.”

“Not necessarily . . . although there was this one girl who was so scared that the moment the tattoo machine touched her skin, she passed out and pissed herself on my chair.”

“I never see that on Miami Ink.”

“I bet you don’t.” Luca laughs. “I was annoyed, but it also wasn’t her fault.”

“Wait, how did you clean it up?”  

“Don't even ask.”

I give him a sympathetic grimace.

“There are worse people out there, though,” Luca says. “Like the time-wasters who come into the shop not knowing what tattoos they want and asking me what they should get.”

“What, don’t these people care what gets etched into their skin permanently, for the rest of their lives?”

Even at eighteen, I knew exactly what I wanted when I walked into Luca’s tattoo shop five years ago: a tattoo of a cat’s silhouette and Luca. I got both, so I was a happy customer.

“Exactly,” Luca says. “But on the other end of the spectrum, I get people coming in with their friends’ drawings and they want tattoos of those chicken-scratch drawings. I don’t want to do a shit tattoo, but I also hate having to tell some bro-dude that his friend’s drawing sucks.”

“Do you tell them?” I can’t imagine Luca approaching something like that delicately, and it tickles me to imagine how his clients react to his bluntness.

“I used to. But then one day, this guy came in with some really ugly handwriting. I asked him if he wanted me to make it look nice . . . and he said it was his mom’s signature from the last letter she ever wrote him before she died. She had Parkinson’s, and that’s why the lines were all shaky. I still feel bad about that,” Luca says with a pained expression.

I giggle. Sometimes, I still can’t believe this guy has a menacing, dominant side. Despite his profession and the ink all over his body, Luca’s a real sweetheart inside.

“Did you ever get any . . . offers from girls who want tattoos but don’t have money?” I ask.

Luca laughs wryly. “Every damn week.”

“Ever taken them up on their offer?”

“Nah. A five-minute blowjob isn’t worth $100 of my time. Also . . .” Luca averts his gaze as his voice trails off. “I don’t need to turn sex into an exchange of goods and services.”

I can’t help but smile. “You did it with me, though . . . Does that mean you actually liked me?”

Luca draws a deep breath. “That’s not relevant.”

“Why not?”

“Let’s just . . . talk about something else.”

“Why not?” I repeat, unable to stop myself. I’ve been holding myself back all day. “What are you so scared of? Why don’t you even want to talk about it?”

“Sarah, let’s just . . . leave it alone, okay? Let’s not complicate things. I’m sorry I did what I did yesterday.”

“I can’t just leave it alone. It’s all I can think about. Don’t you want to touch me?”

He glances at me but quickly looks away, as if afraid the mere sight of me would consume him. He does want to. So . . . why?

“I’m going to break you in two,” he says, as if unaware that’s exactly the kind of thing that makes my knees go weak.

“Tell me what you’re so scared of,” I insist.

“The real question is, why aren’t you scared?” Luca asks. “You should be scared. Do you know what kind of risks you were taking? I know your test results say you’re healthy. But do you even use protection?”

His words stab me in the gut. Silence grows as I recover from his questions.

To be honest, those same questions used to plague me too, and that's why I stopped using anonymous sex as a way to cope with life . . . until Peter died and turned my world upside down.

“What if someone kills you, Sarah?” Luca asks softly.

“I think most guys don’t want to hurt me,” I say. “They just want sex. If they can get that, they’re happy. They’re not going to kill me.”

“Is that what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night?” he asks brusquely.

I glare at him. “Why are you being so mean?”

“Listen, Sarah . . . I didn’t want to have to tell you this. Keep in mind I’m not trying to scare you like some anti-drug ad. I just want to tell you what happened to a girl I knew. Maybe then you’ll see how dangerous what you’re doing is.”

I cross my arms over my chest. I don’t know what Luca’s going to say, but I don’t like it already.

“There was this girl. She didn’t know how to deal with the world. Everything was painful.

“But she forgot all her problems when she was having intense, often risky sex. Her life became a constant, all consuming pursuit of more and more sex. It became as much about the sex itself as it was about the danger.

“She started fucking strangers in trains. Then, she did it with cab drivers, married neighbors, and workers at construction sites.

“She lost her job, but luckily her parents had money. Still, no amount of money in the world could save her from an addiction. She needed to save herself.

“And ultimately, she couldn’t do it. She died in her twenties.”

I swallow the ball of anxiety blocking my throat.

I know, in the back of my mind, that I’m taking a risk whenever I meet up with a stranger, but it’s a compulsion. It’s like my brain doesn’t work when I’m craving it, to the point where all that matters is getting my next fix.

“I know you don’t take it to that extreme,” Luca says. “But it only takes one encounter that goes wrong. You’re a smart girl. You know that.”

“But Luca, that’s why we can help each other. I can tell you’re holding yourself back. I want you to know you don’t have to.”

“I’m going to hurt you,” Luca growls as he turns and stares at me with his sharp, penetrating gaze.

“Then hurt me,” I say, my heart pounding in my chest. “You can do anything you want to me, Luca. I’ve never wanted to see a guy more than once. But with you . . . It was different. I thought I’d always need variety to keep things exciting.”

“I can’t,” he says, leaning forward to make his point. “I’d be enabling your addiction.”

“On the contrary, you’d be helping me keep my addiction under control, while also getting some release for yourself.”

“Look, Sarah. I think it’s best if all we do is just talk for now.”

“You know what’s funny?” I ask. “ This is the clearest my mind’s ever been since I heard about . . . you know. Maybe I need to be hurt on the outside to deal with the pain I’m dealing with inside.”

“That psycho-babble isn’t going to work on me.”

“Why do you think I’m suddenly ready to talk about Peter today, and my dad? I don't usually talk about this stuff.”

Luca pauses for exactly twelve seconds. His clock tick-tocks loudly in the silence. “We can’t do this.”

“Why not? Because you don’t do relationships? I don’t do relationships either.” I turn to face Luca. “I’m not going to bring feelings into this. I promise.”

If I were being completely honest, I’d say I can’t promise him anything. I’m entering uncharted territory here. I have no idea what to expect.

But when Luca finger-fucked me yesterday, he was strong, menacing, dominant, cocky . . . but he was also reassuring at the same time. That’s not something I can easily find.

Also, honestly? I don’t usually come back to the same man . . . I’m not completely sure myself, but maybe the reason I want more of Luca is because I have feelings for him.

“I haven’t brought feelings into sex in a long time. I tried once, and I scared away the poor guy,” I say. “My first boyfriend freaked out when I started requesting little kinky things—you know, tie me up to the bedposts, or pull my hair when I come. It became tiresome.

“I figured it was better to find partners who are into the same messed-up things I am and keep emotions out of it.”

“Would you stop talking about other guys you’ve been with?” Luca growls as he levels his gaze at me.

His green eyes are ablaze with jealousy. With his face only inches away, I can see the flame clearly. I can feel the heat.

And he knows I’ve noticed it.

The room grows silent. Only the ticking of the clock, from all the way inside Luca’s room, is heard.

“We’re doomed, aren’t we?” he asks softly as he leans in and rests his forehead against mine.

“I don’t know,” I say, closing my eyes to really feel his hot breath on my skin. “And I don’t care . . . Sir.”

Luca puts his strong hand on the back of my head and pulls me closer. “You need to be careful when you say things like that. It makes me weak.”

“I’m sorry . . . Sir,” I say softly.

He lets out a frustrated groan and stares straight into my soul. He says, “You’d better be ready, doll. You know what’s coming next.”