The words my sweet husband whispers before I fall asleep replace the hollow echo inside my skull. They ease the pain—just not enough.
Steam rises around me in waves, enveloping me in a gentle mist that blocks out the rest of the world. In here, I can get lost in the absence of noise.
Arms come around me from behind, and I don’t need to turn to know who it is. Only one man can make my body shudder with a single touch.
Matteo.
I lean my back into his chest and rest the back of my head on his shoulder. His silence and movements are a language I know by heart. His lips press against the side of my neck in a gentle kiss. I melt into him, and he responds by pulling me in even tighter.
“How was your day,amore?”
“Good.” It’s not a total lie. It’s good now that he’s here. “How was yours?”
“Better now.” One of his hands slips down the side of my body until it comes to rest just above my throbbing core. “I missed you today.”
The water pours over our bodies, steam rising all the way to the ceiling. His hand dips lower, his fingers brushing against my lips, and I moan.
“I missed you too.” I turn my head and press the gentlest kiss to his cheek. He moves, capturing my lips with his.
The kiss is short-lived, but the emotion packed behind it is cosmic.
I turn in his arms and press my palms to his chest. My eyes connect with his, and the world stands still.
It always happens with him. Life stops, and all that exists is him and me. His coffee-colored eyes stare into me like he can see every part of who I am.
His hand cups my face, thumb stroking my cheek, and the contact alone sends a shock straight through me.
“Seila cosa più bella della mia vita.”
Something in my chest gives way. “Ti amo.”
I rise onto my toes and kiss him, but there’s nothing tender in it this time. It’s raw. Hungry. The kind of kiss that takes instead of asks. It grips me low in the throat, steals every sound from my mouth as I drive him back until the tiles hit his spine. Water pours over us, slick and relentless, the kiss turning brutal as our tongues clash, teeth scraping, neither of us willing to surrender control.
His hand slides between us, fingers finding my swollen lips, his touch unerring. I bite his lower lip hard when he presses against my clit, the sensation ripping through me.
“Oh fuck,” I moan into his mouth.
He groans, tearing his lips from mine. “So wet.” His hand moves with ease, confident, knowing exactly how to make me unravel. He hooks my leg over his hip, dragging me closer. “So responsive.”
He pinches my clit and I arch into him, nails digging into his shoulders as a sound tears out of me, echoing off the tile. His mouth finds my neck, sucking hard, pulling me deeper, while one hand cups my breast and the other works me relentlessly, fingers sliding in and out with slow, deliberate control. It should be torturous. Instead, it makes me feral.
His mouth bruises my skin, pleasure tipping into pain, my entire body burning under it.
“My perfect Beatrice,” he breathes, teeth grazing my shoulder, the words hitting me as hard as his touch.
His fingers move inside me painfully slow, curling just right, and I push into him without shame, grinding against his hand, chasing more.
“You likeit when I fuck you with my fingers, don’t you, amore,” he murmurs at my ear, teeth catching my lobe.
He adds another finger, then another, giving me no time to adjust before the pace increases, the sensation crashing through me like a wave.
“Yes,” I breathe, moving with him, taking every thrust he gives me.
Pump after pump, he fills me until I’m right on the edge, my body straining for release. I reach for myself, rubbing my clit, pushing myself over faster, deeper, chasing the fall I can already feel coming.
“Jesus,” I gasp, every nerve lighting up at once. “Yes—right there. Don’t stop.”
I’m right on the edge, every nerve screaming, when he suddenly pulls out of me. The protest is already on my tongue when he shoves his fingers into my mouth instead.
