His fingers find the hem of my sweatshirt and drag it up. When he realizes I’m not wearing anything underneath, he makes a sound of approval that vibrates through my entire body.
Then he drops to his knees.
Holy shit.
I’ve fantasized about a lot of things in my life. This was never one of them. But seeing Matteo Rossi on his knees in front of me,looking up at me like I’m something sacred and profane all at once, short-circuits my brain.
His mouth closes around my nipple, sucking hard enough to ache.
I moan, loud and shameless, gripping his shoulders to keep from collapsing. There’s a pulse between my legs, sharp and demanding, narrowing my entire world to the contact between us.
“Matteo.” His name comes out broken as he switches to the other breast. “God, I need you.”
“I know what you need.” His hands drag my sweatpants and panties down in one rough motion. Then he looks up at me, eyes dark. “Spread your legs.”
I obey without thinking.
The first stroke of his tongue makes my knees buckle. He grips my thighs, holding me steady, and does it again. Slow and deliberate; like he’s savoring me.
“So fucking sweet,” he growls against my core, and the vibration alone nearly sends me over the edge.
He’s not gentle. His mouth works me with the same intensity he brings to everything else, tongue and lips and just the edge of teeth until I’m shaking, fingers threaded through his short hair, thighs trembling against his face.
“I’m going to—” I can’t finish the sentence.
“Yeah, you are.” He seals his mouth over my clit and sucks.
I shatter. My orgasm tears through me, wave after wave, and I cry out his name loud enough that I’d be embarrassed if I could think straight.
Before the aftershocks even fade, he’s on his feet. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, hands gripping my thighs, and my legs wrap around his waist on instinct.
I’m not a small woman. Hips, thighs, an ass that’s never fit into single-digit jeans. I’ve been with guys who grunted with effort or suggested we try something different. But Matteo holds me like I’m exactly the right size. Like he could do this all day.
The mesh of his basketball shorts presses against my oversensitive center. I whimper.
“Too much?” he asks, but he’s already walking us toward the wall.
“Not enough.”
His lips twitch. Almost a smile. Then my back hits the plaster and he’s shoving his shorts down just enough, and the blunt head of him is right there, pressing, pushing?—
He thrusts home in one brutal stroke.
I gasp, my body stretching to accommodate him. I’m still sensitive from coming, almost too sensitive, and the fullness of him is overwhelming in the best way.
“Fuck.” His forehead drops to my shoulder. “You feel incredible.”
He starts to move. Not gentle. Not slow. His hips piston back and forth, driving into me with a rhythm that steals my breath.
I tighten my legs around him and hold on, my back sliding against the wall with every thrust. The overstimulation from my first orgasm fades into something deeper, pleasure building again in slow, rolling waves.
“So tight,” he grunts, teeth grazing my neck. “Love these curves. This body. Could fuck you forever.”
His filthy words make me clench around him, and he groans in response. I rake my nails down his back, heels digging into his ass.
“Harder,” I gasp. “More.”
He pulls me off the wall. Spins toward the bed. Drops me onto the mattress and pushes my legs up onto his shoulders before I can catch my breath.
