Insidious Ocean
Copyright© 2026 by nyra
Chapter 8: but
Romance Sex Story: Chapter 8: but - Who is the true villain in this story? Luca Moreno has always believed in justice, which is why he became a cop. Now undercover in the Brooks family’s criminal empire, he plans to destroy it from within. But when he meets Raven, the Don’s niece, everything changes. As his morals blur and innocence erodes, Luca must face who he’s becoming—and who the real villain truly is.
Caution: This Romance Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Consensual BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Crime Humor Oral Sex
RAVEN
I’m in Luca’s car again, feeling and hearing the vibration and power from the old engine. He’s just picked me up from my night of hanging with Max.
We didn’t do anything special, just enjoyed a movie and chatted a bit about everything that went down with Ariah at the bar.
Ariah and I are still fighting after her freak out. She wouldn’t talk to me the first few days—ridiculous, when I didn’t do shit wrong—because she insisted that I should’ve followed her out to make sure she was okay. I said it was bullshit. She acted like an asshole, and there’s no way in hell I was giving any attention to that sort of behaviour.
Max tried to get me to fix things between Ariah and I, but she would have to apologize before anything like that will happen.
She needs to start going to church to find a sense of peace or something. Find a hobby that doesn’t involve drinking herself into a stupor every weekend.
As I sit with only a couple feet between Luca and myself, I’m surprised that it doesn’t feel awkward. Especially considering he pinned me against the wall and kissed me within an inch of my life not too long ago.
There’s actually tension between us, but not in the bad way. The sexual energy that has consistently swirled between us continues to do so. Perhaps even more so now that we’ve shared a toe-curling make-out session that only proved whatever connection we have.
In fact, when I glance over at him, I get lost in admiring him.
Dove was right—his eyelashes are envy worthy. They make his doe-like eyes even more beautiful than they already are.
My eyes drag down to the shirt that fits snugly against his torso, highlighting the toning in his pectoral muscles and his arms. The white fabric conflicts recklessly against the dark, seductive tattoos that cover nearly every inch of exposed skin. From his neck, to the ones that I spot beneath his hair, to his arms, which are encased with ink right down to his knuckles, like a map of stories of his life and aspects of who he is.
It has me curious of what lies beneath the material. What sorts of secrets his skin is hiding.
He reaches between us to grab the gear shifter, and I observe as he effortlessly hits the clutch and shifts, picking up speed on the freeway. His one tattooed hand sits at the top of the steering wheel, fully focused on the road underneath the tires.
It’s hot as hell and the stronger vibrations from the engine that pulse through the car because we’re going faster, has me pressing my thighs together tightly.
He must see me shifting in his peripheral because he twists his neck, that eyebrow with the slit cut into it raised again. “You alright?”
His shifts his focus from me and back to the road as we follow a curve in the asphalt. My eyes take the opportunity to observe his hand—his fingers flexing and then tightening around the steering wheel as he slightly turns it to follow the bend off the freeway. His rings gleam under a street light as we pass it and I bite my lip, looking away.
“I’m good.”
He chuckles, in this effortlessly sexy way. “Yeah?”
I open my mouth to respond, but then I distinctly hear a phone vibrate—as if Luca’s getting a text message—and he quickly pulls the car over in a gas station parking lot so he’s able to view it. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, stuffing the phone away before he pulls back onto the road, heading in the opposite direction of my house.
“Where—What’s going on?”
“Adiv texted. Another car. It won’t take long.”
I don’t have any reservations about stealing a second vehicle with him. The first time was amusing. Although, I was also slightly buzzed when it happened.
I never spoke a word of it to anyone but Dove because I can trust her. I was never going to rat him out to my uncle and I wouldn’t unless he crossed me in some way that was extreme enough that it would warrant that. I honestly don’t see him doing that, though.
I don’t think he realizes it, but I’m curious about this aspect of my uncle’s business. I’ve seen glimmers of the boss aspect of it, but it’s rather boring. It consists of Cain doling out orders and everyone following them blindly and without any hesitation.
I’ve always been intrigued by the actual grunt work. What it takes for the people that work for my uncle to fulfill his wishes. The fact that Luca took me on, not one, but now two car thefts is exhilarating for me.
I think that’s what happens when you shelter someone from life. My uncle has always had full control over the things in my life and the best way I can maintain my own sense of authority is to rebel against him.
Fuck Uncle Cain. Fuck his morals. Fuck his opinions—especially surrounding women. Fuck his need for control over everyone who surrounds him.
It’s not in my blood to bow at any man’s feet.
Explicitly not my uncle.
I haven’t told Dove of the kiss Luca and I shared, despite it being the most intense kiss I’ve ever experienced with another. It’s not that I don’t trust Dove, but I honestly don’t know what it means. I have no idea what we shared means right now.
Was it simply a moment of two vulnerable individuals finding solace in one another because of trauma shared that originates from the same person? Or is it something more?
I also know what Dove would say. She’d scold me for getting involved with anyone related to her father’s business. She’d warn me of the dangers—of what her dad could and would most likely do. She’d get mad at me, call me reckless, tell me to stop.
As much as I love and adore my cousin, I don’t need to be treated like an out of control teenager. I’m not perfect and I don’t claim to be, but I’m an adult who can make her own decisions—stupid or otherwise.
“We just have to swing by my place,” Luca explains. “I don’t have that wedge tool to unlock it.”
He turns onto a more secluded street, in the suburbs where I’m sure happy families live. Families that are nothing like my own.
Pulling up to his house, I can’t help but think it’s modest. At least, in comparison to the mansion I’ve grown up in. It’s actually rather small in contrast, but I’m not saying that as if it’s a bad thing. In fact, I happen to believe the house I’ve called home is far too large.
It’s a detached house. It appears modern, a newer build in a community where I imagine—despite the slight distance between homes—that the neighbours likely all know one another. I don’t think I could name a single one of mine.
I follow him up to the front door and I can’t help but feel like there’s something illicit about it. I’ve never been to the house of any of the men that work for my uncle and I honestly think if he knew where I was, he wouldn’t take kindly to it.
He unlocks the door and scurries inside, presumably to find the tools he’ll need. I step past the threshold of the front door, surprised at how clean the interior is. Considering he’s single, I’d assumed I’d find wrappers that hadn’t been discarded, dirty dishes littering the countertops—things that signal to me the stereotypical bachelor. However, there’s none of that.
Glancing around, there aren’t many photographs, but it doesn’t strike me as too weird. Some families—mine, included—aren’t the type to plaster pictures all over the walls.
I drag the tips of my fingers over the back of his couch, admiring his style. Modern, but with rustic aspects. A stone wall and grey paint, with a plush rug and leather sofas. There’s even a beautiful piece of art hanging on the wall. It simply depicts crashing waves—dark blue, with caps of white, as they rage.
I wander further into the house, past the kitchen and into the master bedroom where I hear him. He’s sifting through a dark spot in the closet, one of those gigantic flashlights in his hand. He lifts his head momentarily to glance at me, before he goes back to searching.
“No luck yet?” I ask, walking deeper into the room to smooth my hand over his comforter, sneaking a peek into his primary bathroom. It looks big, impressive for a house of this size.
“It’s here somewhere,” he answers without looking back.
I peer around the room, curious and impressed. Although, I pause when I see something laying delicately on the top of his dresser—a pair of handcuffs.
I smirk, sauntering across the room to pick them up, turning to him with an amused smile as I hang them off my index finger. When he hears them clink together, he twists to see me standing there and his mouth drops open as if he wants to explain, but he snaps it shut.
“Didn’t take you as the type,” I comment.
He shakes off whatever he was feeling—I assume embarrassment at me questioning his sex life—and chuckles, “Didn’t we already speak about this? You don’t know me very well, Raven.” I laugh at his teasing, putting them back where they belong, just as he manages to find what he was looking for, “Fuck, there it is.”
He tosses the tool to the ground, fixing the things inside the closet. He puts the flashlight away and then turns to me. I’m still amused, unable to hide the smile on my face as I playfully grab the handle to one of his dresser drawers, “What else are you hiding on me, Luca?”
He laughs, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He grabs my hand to remove it from snooping. He holds it, yanking me out of his bedroom and out of the house—collecting a screwdriver from the kitchen counter he must’ve grabbed earlier on the way.
As he opens my car door for me, that feeling rises again—of being here, where I shouldn’t be—that feels like a dirty, sneaky secret and it has my adrenaline spiking. As I seat myself in his old car, his eyes linger on the sight of my bare legs for a little too long.
The sexual tension is suffocating.
The drive to the car theft location is short, filled with the sound of the radio as it plays a RnB song lowly. Eventually, we pull up to a house that has a bit of a secluded driveway, along with an expensive looking car sitting parked near the end.
I don’t know enough about vehicles to be aware of the specifics, but it’s matte black in colour and I recognize the four overlapping silver rings—an Audi.
Luca grabs the tools we’ll need and we make sure no one’s watching before sneaking across the street. He’s parked his own old, rustic car at a bit of a distance from the house and I’m sure him and Adiv will come back later to pick it up. It’s what they usually do.
As Luca is fiddling with the lock, adjusting the tool to hook it, I keep an eye out for anyone. I get distracted for a minute, admiring the way the muscles of his broad shoulders flex and shift beneath the tight fabric of his shirt. The sight of the tattoos that peek out behind the material, staining the tanned skin at the back of his neck, as well as the expanse of his arms.
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