Raven
Matteo takes my hand, leads me toward the back exit, avoiding the remaining staff and stragglers. As we pass the staff room, I quickly slip inside to get my small shoulder bag and shawl.
Outside, the night air hits my flushed skin like a shock. A sleek black car idles at the curb, a driver standing beside it who opens the door without a word as we approach.
Matteo guides me inside with a hand at the small of my back. “After you,” he says, following me inside.
As soon as the door closes behind him, sealing us in privacy behind tinted windows, the careful distance between us evaporates. I’m in his lap before the car even pulls away from the curb, his hands spanning my waist, mine buried in his hair.
“You taste like trouble,” he murmurs against my throat, teeth scraping the sensitive skin there.
I roll my hips against his, feeling him harden beneath me. Judging by the very impressive length and width between my legs, I’ve won the dick lottery for tonight.
“You have no idea,” I half purr, half moan.
His hands slide up my thighs, pushing my dress higher, fingertips digging into my flesh. “I’ve been wanting to wreck you since I saw you commanding that room like you owned everyone in it.”
His mouth captures mine again, hungrier this time, one hand tangling in my hair to tilt my head exactly how he wants it. The other slips between us, cupping my lace-covered pussy.
“Fuck,” he growls against my lips. “You’re already wet.”
I bite his lower lip in response, drawing a hiss from him. “Don’t act surprised.”
His fingers move beneath the lace, teasing but not entering, building a maddening pressure that has me grinding against his hand.
“We’re almost there,” he says, voice strained with restraint. “But I’m already thinking about all the ways I’m going to take you.”
The car stops. Through the window, I glimpse a sleek high-rise gleaming against the night sky. The driver’s discreet cough from the front seat barely registers.
Matteo helps me fix my dress, his movements efficient. But the twinkle in his eyes promises that it won’t stay on much longer. We exit the car, and his hand finds the small of my back again as we enter the building, the doorman nods respectfully.
The elevator requires a key card to access the penthouse. As the doors close, sealing us alone in the ascending box, Matteo’s fingers intertwine with mine. The simple touch feels strangely more intimate than the heated groping in the car.
The metal walls throw our reflections back at us; when his eyes track mine, one seems half a beat slow—maybe the elevator light, maybe him. I don’t dwell on it.
“Last chance to change your mind,” he rasps.
I answer by pressing the length of my body against his. “I never do anything I’m not absolutely certain about.”
The elevator chimes, announcing our arrival. The silver doors slide apart, but I barely register Matteo moving us. I’m completely lost in the sensation of his lips on mine, his tongue in my mouth.
Before I know it, he has me pinned against the wall, his body a solid wall of heat against mine. My back hits the smooth surface with enough force to knock the air from my lungs, but his mouth is there to swallow my gasp.
There’s no pretense now, no slow build—just desperate, clawing need that mirrors the hunger I’ve been fighting all night. He bunches my dress around my hips, exposing me to the cool air and his searching touch.
“Been thinking about this since I saw you,” he growls against my neck, teeth scraping sensitive skin. “Thought about bending you over right there at that fucking party.”
Only then do I register that I’m still holding my bag and shawl. I drop them both on the floor.
My fingers fumble with his shirt buttons, revealing more of the intricate black ink covering his torso—a canvas of darkness flowing from his neck downward in abstract patterns that somehow tell a story I can’t quite read.
“I would’ve let you,” I admit, breathless as his fingers hook into my thong, dragging it down my thighs. “Maybe next time.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, pupils blown wide with desire. With one smooth motion, he tears my dress down the middle, the expensive fabric giving way beneath his strength.I should be outraged—it’s Versace, for God’s sake—but the raw display of desire sends liquid heat pooling between my thighs.
“I’ll buy you ten more,” he promises as he removes my strapless bra with deft fingers. Then stops, his gaze fixed on my naked chest. “Fuck.”
My nipple piercings catch the dim light—small silver barbells with pink rhinestones at the end. They’re pretty, if I do say so myself.
