“It’s the truth.” My voice thickens with something unfamiliar, but it does not scare me anymore. A crumb clings to her skirt. I lift it away and leave it on the table. “I’ll sit here until dawn if that’s what you want.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The silence fills, dense and alive, matching the beat under my skin. I can feel the room narrow to the space between us.
I rise, slow enough for her to step back if she wants, and she stands too. Her hand finds mine. Heat moves through me, quick and impossible to escape from, like a current closing a circuit. I draw her closer. She does not pull away. Her pulse runs under her skin, fast and sure. Her leg brushes the chair, the chair leg whispers against the tile. The tea cools in the cups, forgotten.
“Matteo,” she breathes, and the sound lands inside my chest like a claim. I touch her jaw with two fingers. She lifts her face. The first kiss is careful, a test. The second is not. She tastes like mint and stubbornness and a life I did not plan for and cannot refuse.
“Upstairs, my room,” she whispers, fingers finding my shirt. “Before the night thinks again.”
Her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, bunching it at my chest, the pull steady and insistent. The bakery's quiet wraps around us, broken only by the faint hum of the fridge in the corner and the soft creak of the floorboards under our shifting weight. Upstairs. Her room. The words hang in the air like smoke, curling toward the stairs that lead from the shadowed hallway. I don't answer with words. My hand slides to the small of her back, pressing just enough to guide her, feeling the warmth of her body seep through her blouse. She steps first,leading the way, her hip brushing mine as we move. The scent of her follows—vanilla from the day's baking clinging to her skin, mixed with the sharp edge of her breath, quickening now.
The stairs narrow as we climb, wood worn smooth from years of footsteps, each one echoing softly in the tight space. Her hand stays in mine, palm damp, fingers interlacing tight. At the landing, she pauses, key turning in the lock with a metallic click, the door swinging open to a room lit by a single lamp on the nightstand. The space is small, lived-in, a bed with rumpled quilts in deep blues, books stacked uneven on the dresser, a window cracked to let in the night's chill. She releases my hand, crosses to the lamp, and dims it lower, the light pooling golden on the floorboards. Shadows stretch long across the walls, turning the room intimate, like a secret shared.
I close the door behind us, the latch catching with finality. She turns, glasses still perched low on her nose, and reaches up to slide them off, setting them on the dresser with a quiet clink. Her eyes meet mine, hazel darkened in the low light, pupils wide. No hesitation now. She steps into me, hands rising to my shoulders, and I catch her waist, pulling her flush against my chest. The kiss starts slow, lips brushing hers—soft, testing—the taste of mint from her tea lingering, cool and sharp. Her mouth opens under mine, tongue flicking out tentative, and I deepen it, sucking her lower lip between my teeth, nipping just hard enough to draw a gasp that vibrates against my mouth.
My hands roam, sliding up her sides, thumbs tracing the curve of her ribs through the thin blouse. Fabric bunches under my fingers, and I tug it free from her skirt, palms slipping beneath to meet bare skin—warm, smooth, the faint tremor of her breathing making it rise and fall. She arches into the touch, a low hum escaping her throat as my fingers splay across her back,nails dragging lightly down her spine. The skirt's waistband sits low on her hips. I hook my thumbs there, pulling her closer, feeling the heat radiating from between her thighs press against my growing hardness. She's soft here, yielding, but her hands are urgent, fumbling with the buttons of my shirt, popping them open one by one, exposing my chest inch by inch.
I break the kiss to lift her blouse over her head, the cotton whispering off her arms, leaving her in a simple bra, lace-edged and white, cups straining against her full breasts. Her nipples peak through the fabric, dark shadows begging for attention. I cup one breast, heavy and warm in my palm, thumb circling the hardened tip through the lace in slow circles that make her hips jerk forward.
"Matteo," she breathes, voice husky, fingers digging into my bare shoulders, nails leaving half-moon indents on my skin. I lean down, mouth hovering over the swell of her breast, breath hot against the lace, and she whimpers, pressing closer. No touch yet. I blow a stream of cool air, watching goosebumps ripple across her chest.
Her hands move lower, shoving my shirt off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. Skin meets skin now, her breasts crushed against my chest, the friction making her moan softly. I unhook her bra with one hand, the clasp giving way easily, straps sliding down her arms. She shrugs it off, and I take in the sight, breasts freed, full and round, nipples erect and flushed, begging. I palm them both, squeezing gently, rolling the peaks between thumb and forefinger, tugging until she arches, head falling back, hair spilling like dark waves down her back. The room fills with her soft whines as I pinch harder, then soothe with my mouth, lips closing around one nipple, sucking deep.
She tastes salty-sweet, skin warmed from the day, and I graze my teeth over the sensitive bud, pulling a cry from her that shoots straight to my cock, throbbing now against the confines of my pants. My free hand slides down her stomach, fingers dipping into the waistband of her skirt, but I pause, teasing the soft skin just above her mound, feeling the fine hairs there, the heat building. She bucks against my hand, seeking more, but I withdraw, spinning her instead, pressing her back to my chest. My arms wrap around her, one hand cupping a breast, kneading, the other trailing lower, over the skirt's fabric, cupping her through it.
"Bed," I murmur against her ear, voice rough, nipping the lobe. She nods, legs unsteady, and I guide her forward, skirt swishing against her thighs. She sinks onto the edge of the mattress, quilts bunching under her, and looks up at me, eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted. I kneel between her legs, hands on her knees, spreading them wide, her skirt riding up to expose pale thighs, the shadow of her panties beneath. Black lace this time, sheer enough to hint at the dark curls underneath. I lean in, nose brushing the inside of her knee, inhaling her scent. My lips follow, kissing up the path, open-mouthed, tongue darting out to taste the salt on her skin with long, flat strokes that make her thighs quiver.
Higher. My teeth scrape the sensitive flesh midway, nipping lightly, then soothing with a suck that leaves a faint red mark blooming. She grips the quilts, knuckles whitening, breath hitching as I reach the hem of her skirt, pushing it up to bunch at her waist. Panties exposed fully now, the lace damp at the center, clinging to her folds. I nuzzle against it, nose pressing into the wet fabric over her clit, breathing deep. "Fuck, you smell so good," I groan, voice muffled, and she moans, hips lifting toward my face. But I hold her down, hands firm on her thighs, spreading her wider.
My tongue presses flat against the lace, rubbing in slow circles over her clit. She writhes, hands flying to my hair, tugging, but I capture her wrists, pinning them to the bed on either side. "Stay still," I command, low and rough, and release one wrist to hook my fingers in her panties, yanking them aside. Her pussy comes into view—pink, swollen, lips parted and glistening, clit peeking from its hood, throbbing. A bead of wetness trickles down toward her ass, and I catch it with my tongue, licking from bottom to top in one long, slow stroke, ending just shy of her clit.
She sobs out a “please”, but I ignore it, circling her entrance instead, tongue tip dipping in shallow, fucking her with quick thrusts that make her walls flutter but never satisfy. Juices coat my chin, dripping down my neck, and I lap them up greedily, humming low. The vibration makes her legs clamp around my head. I pry them open again, thumbs spreading her lips wide, exposing every inch. Her clit pulses, begging, and I blow on it and make her jerk, a fresh gush spilling out. "So wet for me, Lila. Dripping like you need this tongue inside you." I plunge deeper, tongue curling against her front wall, mimicking a cock, in and out, sucking her folds into my mouth one by one, nibbling gently until they're puffy and slick.
Her breaths come in pants now as her hips begin grinding against my face, chasing the pressure. I feel her building, muscles tensing, that telltale flutter around my tongue. Close. Right on the edge. And I stop, pull back completely, lips hovering, watching her pussy clench on nothing, hole winking emptily. "No," I say, standing, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, her eyes snapping open—wild, frustrated, pupils blown. She reaches for me, but I shake my head, stripping off my pants and kicking them aside. My cock springs free, hard and thick, veins standing out, head leaking precum in a shiny bead.
Her gaze drops to it, tongue darting over her lips, and she shifts forward on the bed, but I push her back gently, climbing over her, knees straddling her hips. "Not yet. I want you begging." My mouth finds her breasts again, sucking one nipple hard while my hand slides between her legs, fingers teasing her slit—two dipping in shallowly, scissoring, curling just enough to brush that spot inside but not press. Her wetness coats me, the sound filthy in the quiet room. She moans louder and arches up, free hand clawing at my back, nails raking over old scars, sending sparks down my spine.
I build her again, fingers thrusting deeper now, thumb circling her clit in tight, relentless loops. Her walls grip me, fluttering, breaths turning to sobs and body coiling tight like a spring. She's there, teetering, clit throbbing under my thumb. I stop, withdraw my hand, slick fingers trailing up to her mouth.
"Taste," I order, and she sucks them in, tongue swirling around each digit, eyes locked on mine, filthy and obedient. The sight nearly breaks me. My cock twitches, smearing precum on her stomach.
I shift lower, rubbing the head along her folds, coating myself in her juices, pressing just the tip into her entrance, then out. Teasing fucks, shallow and maddening, making her hips buck wildly. "Please," she whines, voice breaking, "fuck me, I need your cock inside me." Nails dig into my ass, pulling me closer, and I grin down at her, dark, hungry.
"Beg louder." She does, words tumbling out in a rush, desperate.
I thrust in then, deep and sudden, burying to the hilt, her tight heat enveloping me like velvet fire. She screams, legs wrapping around my waist, heels digging in. I hold still a moment, savoring the stretch, the way her pussy pulses around every inch,milking me already. Wetness drips down my balls, soaking the quilts. Then I move—slow at first, pulling out almost all the way, watching her lips grip my shaft, reluctant, then slamming back in, hips meeting with a wet slap. The rhythm builds, relentless, her breasts bouncing with each drive, moans filling the room—oh, God, yes, harder.
I angle my hips, grinding against her clit with every thrust, feeling her climb fast. She's close again, body tensing, cries peaking. “I'm gonna…”And this time, I let her.
"Come on my cock," I growl, teeth sinking into her shoulder, pounding deeper, the head battering her depths. She shatters, pussy clamping down in spasms, juices squirting around me, soaking my thighs.
The vise of her pulls me under. I thrust deep, coming hard, hot spurts flooding her, pulse after pulse until I'm drained, grinding through the waves. We stay locked, breaths ragged, sweat-slick skin sliding. But the fire simmers, not spent. I pull out slow, watching our mixed cum leak from her, thick white trails down her ass. She whimpers at the emptiness, but I flip her onto her stomach, ass up, knees spreading her wide. "More," I say, slapping her cheek and watching it jiggle, pinken under my palm.
She pushes back, moaning, and I kneel behind, spreading her cheeks, tongue diving into the mess, lapping our cum from her folds, tasting the salty cream of us mixed with her tang. My nose buries in her ass, inhaling deep, one thumb pressing her tight rear hole. She bucks, climbing under the assault, but I edge her again, stopping as she tenses, standing to rub my hardening cock along her crack—teasing pussy, teasing ass. "Which one?" I murmur, and she begs.
“Pussy, please!”
I slam in from behind, deeper angle hitting new spots, her ass rippling with each thrust. One hand fists her hair, pulling her head back, arching her spine. The other reaches around, fingers pinching her clit. She's sobbing now.
