I was close—too close. He could tell.
He reached down, thumb circling my clit again, merciless.
“That’s it,” he whispered. “Come for me, baby. Be my good girl.”
And I did.
My orgasm slammed into me like a wave, sharp and shattering. I cried out his name, legs trembling, every nerve on fire.
He kept moving, chasing his own release, and with a ragged groan, he buried his face in my neck as he came.
For a moment, we just breathed.
Sweaty. Shaking. Tangled in each other like something inevitable.
He kissed my jaw, gentler now, like he hadn’t just ruined me. “You okay?”
I nodded, dazed. “You’re not nearly as annoying when you’re shutting me up with orgasms.”
He laughed, boyish and breathless. “Don’t tempt me to make it a habit.”
I rolled my eyes, already sore and already wanting more.
I should’ve known better.
We were supposed to becleaning up. Just rinsing off the sweat, the sex, the mistake. But then Matteo pressed me against the cold tile wall with that now-familiar glint in his eyes—hungry and dangerous and way too pleased with himself—and I knew we were fucked.
Again.
“Just once more,” he said, voice a low rasp in my ear. “Just to get it out of our system.”
I was already breathless, already arching into him.
“This is a terrible idea,” I muttered, palms flattening against the slick tile as the hot water poured over both of us. My skin was flushed, oversensitive, my thighs still trembling from before.
“Yup.” He kissed my neck, then bit gently. “So don’t think.”
His hands were on my waist before I could reply, dragging me back against him. I felt how hard he was again—already. The bastard had stamina like a fucking god. He pressed himself between my thighs, one hand sliding down my front with an obscene kind of confidence.
I hissed, hips bucking back against him.
“I’ve been dreaming of this since that night after the gala,” he said, like we hadn’t just been tangled up ten minutes ago. “This perfect, bossy mouth. These fucking hips.” His fingers slid lower. “This wet pussy.”
“Matteo—”
“It’s all I see when I close my eyes.” His hand clamped over my hip. “Every fucking night, then you wear those damn heelsand walk around the paddock like you own the place. So fucking sexy, baby.”
And then he was sliding inside me, slow and deep, like he had all the time in the world to drive me completely insane.
I gasped, forehead hitting the tile.
“Fuck,” I whispered, voice breaking. “You feel—God—even better than before.”
“You feel so good,” he growled, thrusting hard enough to make me cry out. “Like your bodyknowswho you belong to now.”
I would’ve argued if I could form a single coherent thought.
But all I could do wasfeel. Him. The water. The slippery, filthy sound of our bodies meeting again and again as he fucked me into the wall like he was trying to erase the space between us.
