My hair falls forward, curtaining my face as I take the dildo in hand, positioning it at my entrance. I’m already wet enough that it slides easily against my folds, teasing my clit before I align it properly.
“Let’s see if you can give me what he won’t,” I murmur to the toy, spreading my knees wider on the bed.
Taking my time, I lower myself onto the thick silicone shaft, a soft gasp escaping my lips as it stretches me open. The initial penetration sends electricity dancing up my spine, my inner walls clenching around the intrusion in a greedy welcome.
I pause for a moment, savoring the fullness, before rolling my hips in a slow circle that makes my breath catch.
This… this is what I needed. The deep, almost uncomfortable stretch of something substantial enough to make me feel conquered.
I whimper as I brace my hands on the bed in front of me. I lift myself until just the tip remains inside, then sink back down with deliberate slowness, feeling every ridge and vein drag against my sensitive walls.
My thighs already tremble with the effort of controlling my descent. I repeat the motion; up, down, up, down. Establishing a rhythm that makes my toes curl and my breath come in short, sharp pants.
The base of the dildo presses perfectly against my clit each time I seat myself fully, sending jolts of sharp pleasure throughmy lower body. I angle my hips forward, grinding against it in tight circles that make starbursts explode behind my closed eyelids.
My nipples have hardened to stiff peaks, aching for attention, and I reach up with one hand to roll a nipple between my fingers, pinching just hard enough to make myself gasp.
In my mind, it’s not my own fingers teasing my breast, but Matteo’s. I imagine his large hand spanning my ribcage, thumb flicking across my nipple before tugging at the piercing he used to control me when he fucked my tits.
The memory sends a fresh flood of wetness coating the dildo, easing my increasingly frantic movements. I rock harder, faster, chasing the building pressure low in my belly. The wet sounds of my arousal fill the room, obscenely loud in the midnight quiet.
“Mhmm, yes,” I moan, grinding down harder.
I picture Matteo beneath me instead of the pillow. His powerful body stretched out on my bed, his cock—larger than even this impressive toy—pushing deep inside me.
I can almost feel his hands on my skin, guiding my movements, his voice rough with desire as he tells me how good I look riding him. My pace increases, movements becoming less coordinated as my orgasm builds. I’m chasing it now, desperate to reach that peak.
My thighs burn with exertion, but I don’t slow down. Can’t slow down. I need this release like I need my next breath.
I shift my weight to one arm, my other hand sliding between my legs to circle my clit directly. The dual stimulation almost has me crying out. I have to bite my lip as my back arches sharply.
Fuck, I’m close… so damn close. Practically hovering on the knife’s edge of orgasm. My inner walls clench rhythmically around the dildo, my body preparing for the release it craves.
I grind down harder, faster, feeling the tension coil tighter in my belly. I close my eyes, picturing him watching, transfixed by the sight of me getting myself off.
Is he touching himself? Is he as desperate as I am? The image pushes me closer to the edge, my movements becoming erratic as my climax builds.
“Matteo,” I moan, the name tumbling from my lips before I can stop it. “Fuck, Matteo!”
The shrill ring of my phone shatters the moment like glass. My eyes fly open, orgasm retreating like a wave pulled back from shore.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I snarl, reaching for my phone with trembling fingers. The screen illuminates with Matteo’s number. Of course. Of fucking course.
I’m tempted to ignore it, to throw the phone across the room and finish what I started. But something stops me. With a sigh that borders on a sob, I swipe to answer, staying seated on my dildo pillow out of pure spite.
“What?” I snap, not bothering to hide the irritation in my voice.
For a moment, there’s nothing but silence on the other end. Then, a low, familiar chuckle that sends shivers down my spine despite my frustration.
“Bad time, Little Thief?”
Chapter 18
Matteo
Her sharp intake of breath is like music. “Youarewatching,” she whispers, sounding fucking thrilled at the confirmation.
My cock pulses in my hand, painfully hard from the minute she sent me that link. I’ve been stroking myself leisurely, to the sight of her fucking herself.
