“Don’t talk,” I tell him. I have ten things to say and none that matter.
His palm slides to my waist, pulls me in. My fingers find the place where his coat ends and warmth begins. The air tastes of sugar and steel and cinnamon. The mixer clicks once as it cools. The clock ticks over the sink. I’m aware of everything and nothing. The counter’s edge presses into my thighs, and I don’t care.
He breaks the kiss first, forehead close to mine, breath steady enough to make me curse him for his control. He lifts me onto the steel, steps between my knees. The tray beside us rattles and stills.
“Tell me to go,” he says, and for a second I hate him for asking.
“Stay,” I breathe, because the truth remembers, and I’m done pretending it doesn’t.
11
MATTEO
The word hangs between us.Stay.Her breath catches on it, soft and ragged, like she's handing me a key to a door I slammed shut five years ago. The bakery's glow wraps around her face, golden from the case lights, turning her eyes into deep pools I could drown in again. Her lips part, still swollen from the kiss, and the scent of her hits me—warm vanilla from the day's baking, mixed with her own heat rising under that simple blouse. I don't move. My hands stay on her thighs, fingers pressing just enough into the denim to feel the muscle tense beneath. She's close. But I want her unraveling first.
I lean in slow, my nose brushing the curve of her neck where her pulse hammers like a trapped bird. No kiss. Not there. I inhale her deeply, letting the warmth of her skin fill my lungs, the faint salt of sweat from the long day clinging to her like a secret.
"You smell like home," I murmur, voice low against her ear, lips ghosting the lobe without touching. She shivers, a small tremor that runs down her arms, and her fingers dig into my shoulders, nails biting through my shirt. Good. Let her feel it building.
My mouth finds the spot just below her ear instead. A light scrape of teeth first, enough to make her gasp. Then my tongue flicks out, flat and warm, tracing the line of her jaw. Slow. Deliberate. I taste the day on her—a hint of flour dusting her skin, sweet and powdery, mixed with the clean soap she must have used before her shift. She tilts her head back, exposing more, and I take it, sucking gently at the hollow under her chin, pulling the skin between my lips until it reddens, a faint mark blooming like a promise.
"Matteo," she whispers, voice cracking, and it sends a jolt straight to my cock, already straining against my pants.
But I pull back. Just enough to watch her face. Her cheeks flush deeper, eyes half-lidded, breath coming in shallow pants that lift her chest against mine. I slide my hands up her thighs, thumbs circling the inner seams of her jeans, pressing inward toward the heat I know is building there.No rush. Tease.
"Not yet," I say, and she whimpers—a soft, frustrated sound that makes my blood roar. Her hips shift on the steel counter, seeking friction, but I pin her still with my palms, holding her open. The tray beside us clinks faintly as her elbow brushes it, the air thick with the bakery's lingering cinnamon and the sharper tang of her arousal starting to seep through the fabric.
I drop to my knees then, the tile hard under me, but I don't care. My face levels with her lap, and I nuzzle against the denim over her mound, breathing her in through the barrier. Hot. Musky. The seam runs right along her slit, and I press my nose there, inhaling deeply, letting her feel the warmth of my breath seeping through. "Fuck, Lila," I groan, the word vibrating against her. Her hands fly to my hair, tugging, but I catch her wrists, guiding them to the counter's edge. "Hold on. Don't move." She nods,biting her lip, eyes locked on mine with that fire I remember—the bold girl who stepped into my world without flinching.
My fingers work her button open, slowly, the zipper's teeth parting with a raspy sound that echoes in the quiet shop. I peel the jeans down her hips, inch by inch, exposing the soft cotton of her panties—simple white, already damp at the center, clinging to her folds like a second skin. The scent hits stronger now, heady and intimate, making my mouth water. I tug the jeans lower, past her knees, letting them bunch at her ankles, her legs spreading wider on instinct. Bare thighs, pale and smooth, marked faintly from the day's work— a small bruise here, a red line from leaning against something there. Beautiful. Real.
I kiss the inside of her knee first. Soft. Open-mouthed. Then higher, trailing my lips along the trembling skin, tongue darting out to taste the salt. She squirms, a low moan escaping, and I feel her pulse racing under my mouth, quick as a rabbit's. "Please," she breathes, but I shake my head, eyes up to meet hers.
"Begging already? We haven't started." My teeth graze the sensitive spot midway up her thigh, nipping just hard enough to make her yelp, then soothing with a long, wet lick that leaves a trail of saliva glistening in the low light.
Higher still. My nose brushes the edge of her panties, and I hook my fingers in the waistband, pulling them aside instead of off. No need to rush the reveal. Her folds peek out, pink and slick, swollen already, the clit peeking from its hood like it's begging for attention. I blow a cool stream of air right there and she jerks, hips bucking.
"Matteo… oh, God." Her voice breaks, needy, and I chuckle low, the sound rumbling from my chest.
"Patience,Amore. I'll get you there." But not yet. I lean in and lick the crease where thigh meets groin, long and slow, tasting the edge of her wetness without touching where she wants it most.
She whines, fingers white-knuckled on the counter, and I reward her with a firmer press, my tongue flat against the fabric over her clit, rubbing in circles through the cotton. The material soaks instantly, darkening, the flavor seeping through, tangy, sweet, like ripe fruit bursting. I work it, relentless but indirect, feeling her thighs quiver around my head. Her scent envelops me now, thick and intoxicating, mixing with the bakery's sugar to create something filthy and perfect. I suck the fabric into my mouth, tugging lightly with my teeth, then release it with a wet pop, watching it snap back against her.
"Look at you," I murmur, pulling the panties fully aside now, exposing her completely. Her pussy glistens, lips parted, entrance clenching on nothing, a bead of arousal trickling down toward her ass. Beautiful. I spread her wider with my thumbs, holding her open, and blow again, cooler this time, making her hips twitch. "So wet for me. Dripping like you can't help it." She moans louder, head falling back, hair spilling over the steel like dark silk. I dive in then, but not to her clit. No. I start at the bottom, tongue pressing flat against her perineum, licking up in one long, slow stroke that ends just shy of her entrance. Teasing. Tasting every inch of her, the flavor exploding on my tongue—salty-sweet, addictive.
She bucks toward me, desperate, but I hold her down, one hand on her hip, the other keeping her spread. "Not yet," I growl, voice muffled against her heat. I circle her entrance with the tip of my tongue, dipping in shallow, just the barest penetration, fucking her with quick, shallow thrusts that make her wallsflutter but never fill her. Her juices coat my chin, dripping down my neck, and I lap them up greedily, humming against her skin to send vibrations deep. "Taste so fucking good, Lila. Like you were made for my mouth." She sobs out a plea, thighs clamping around my ears, but I pry them open again, relentless.
Upward now. I trace her outer lips, sucking one into my mouth, then the other, nibbling gently until they're swollen. Her clit throbs, begging, but I avoid it, licking the hood instead, flicking lightly, feeling it swell under my attention. "Please… Matteo… I need…" Her words dissolve into a whine, body arching, and I feel her teetering on the edge already—muscles tensing, breaths hitching in that telltale rhythm. Close. So close. But I stop, pull back completely, lips hovering an inch away, watching her pussy clench emptily, a fresh gush of wetness spilling out.
"No," I say firmly, standing up in one fluid motion, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Her eyes snap open, wild and frustrated, chest heaving, nipples hard peaks under her blouse. "You don't come until I'm inside you. Until I fuck you through it." She glares, but it's laced with lust, and I grin, dark and hungry. My hands go to her blouse, buttons popping open one by one, exposing her bra, simple lace that does nothing to hide the flush creeping down her chest. I shove it up, freeing her breasts, full, heavy, nipples dark and begging. I pinch one, rolling it between thumb and forefinger, tugging until she cries out, then soothe with my mouth, sucking hard, teeth grazing the peak.
She writhes, hands fumbling at my belt now, but I bat them away. "My turn to lead." I suckle deeper, tongue swirling, drawing sounds that fill the room, her breasts yielding under my assault. Bite. Lick. Suck. Alternating until she's panting, forgotten edge reigniting. But I switch sides before she rebuilds too far, leaving her nipple wet and aching. My free hand slidesbetween her legs again, fingers teasing her folds, dipping in just the tip—two fingers now, scissoring shallowly, curling against her front wall but never hitting that spot fully. Her wetness coats me, the sound obscene in the quiet bakery.
She's climbing again, hips grinding against my hand, moans turning desperate and body coiling tight. I feel it, the flutter around my fingers, the way her thighs tremble. Right there. On the cliff. And I stop again, withdraw completely, leaving her gaping, slick fingers trailing up to smear her wetness across her lips.
"Taste yourself," I command, and she does, tongue darting out, eyes locked on mine as she licks. It nearly undoes me. My cock throbs painfully, precum soaking my boxers.
I strip then, efficiently, shirt over my head, pants shoved down, kicking them aside. Naked, hard, my erection juts out, thick and veined, head flushed dark. She stares, licks her lips again, and reaches for me, but I step between her legs, gripping her hips. "Not with your hands. With this." I rub the head along her slit, coating myself in her juices and teasing her entrance, pressing just the tip in, then out. Over and over. Shallow fucks that make her sob, "Please, fuck me, Matteo, now." Her nails rake my arms, leaving red lines over my tattoos, the old script on my forearm burning under her touch.
