“You brought it,” I whisper, staring at the marker like it’s some precious artifact.
“Of course I did.” He uncaps it with his teeth, his eyes never leaving mine. “It’s yours. And you’re mine.”
The simple possessiveness of the statement washes over me, soothing the jagged edges of my nerves better than any platitude could. This is Matteo—not trying to fix me or change me, but claiming me exactly as I am, broken pieces and all.
The first touch of the marker against my toenail sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with cold. Matteo works with methodical precision, his attention entirely focused on filling in each nail with even strokes of pink.
“I make a mess of everything,” I say, watching his hand move with hypnotic steadiness. “Your bathroom. Your floors. Your life.”
He doesn’t look up from his task, finishing one toe before moving to the next. “You make everything interesting.”
“Is that what we’re calling property damage these days?”
The corner of his mouth lifts in a half-smile that makes my heart flip over. “I’ve burned down buildings for less entertaining reasons.”
I laugh, the sound startling me with its normalcy. It feels like the first real laugh I’ve had in days, maybe longer. Matteo glances up at the sound, his eye crinkling at the corner, something warm and possessive in his gaze.
“There she is,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking along the arch of my foot in a way that sends tiny sparks up my leg. “My Little Thief.”
The nickname wraps around me like a security blanket. I am his thief. After all, I stole his lighter and his heart when he wasn’t looking.
And this dangerous man—who paints my toes at four in the morning after I flood his bathroom, who holds me through panic attacks without making me feel weak for having them—is mine as well.
I watch him finish the last toe on my right foot before shifting to my left, his movements never losing their deliberate care. Each stroke of pink across my nail feels like he’s painting me back into myself, restoring the pieces that have somehow been misplaced.
“I meant it,” I say, the words slipping out before I can overthink them. “When I told you I love you. I do. So, so much, Matteo.”
His hand stills for just a moment, his eye lifting to meet mine. Something passes between us, electric and inevitable.
“I love you too, Little Thief.” His voice is low, rough at the edges. “More than I thought possible.”
The words unfold in my chest like flower petals opening toward the sun. I’ve heard them before, but they feel different now—weighted with everything we’ve survived together.
As soon as he finishes the last toe, he caps the marker with a decisive click that feels like punctuation to his declaration.
“Perfect,” he says, but he’s not looking at my toes anymore. He’s looking at me with a hunger that has nothing to do with my freshly painted nails and everything to do with reclaiming what we almost lost.
I stare at Matteo sitting between my legs, his work on my toes complete but the hunger in his eye just beginning. My bodyhums with a tension that has nothing to do with panic now—something warmer, deeper, more urgent.
“Are you going to suck them again?” I ask, the question barely above a whisper. My toes flex instinctively, freshly painted and suddenly hypersensitive at the memory of his mouth on them.
His grin unfurls slowly, wicked and predatory. Not the smile he shows anyone else. This one’s just for me, just as dangerous as the rest of him but tinged with something that makes my stomach drop in delicious anticipation.
“Is that what you want, Little Thief?” His voice is gravel and silk, his hands still framing my foot like it’s something precious.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak without begging outright. I’ve been stripped raw tonight—emotions flayed open, body wrung out—but this hunger between us remains, constant as gravity.
Matteo lifts my foot to his mouth, pressing his lips to the top in a kiss that seems almost reverent. His eye stays locked on mine as he turns his attention to my big toe, tongue flicking out to trace the edge where pink marker meets skin.
The sensation sends a jolt straight to my core, my breath catching audibly. His mouth opens, drawing my toe inside with deliberate slowness. And then… oh, God. His tongue curls around the digit with expert precision.
“Matteo,” I moan as the suction that follows makes my back arch.
I feel my body respond as if he’s touching me somewhere far more intimate. My pussy clenches around nothing, already wet and throbbing with want.
Matteo hums against my skin, the vibration traveling up my leg as he releases my toe with a soft pop. “Already so eager,” he murmurs, moving to the next toe. “So responsive for me.”
He takes his time, lavishing each toe with the same thorough attention, alternating between gentle suction and the firm pressof his tongue. By the time he’s finished with my left foot and moves to the right, I’m squirming on the couch, the towel fallen open to expose me completely.
