When my nose is pressed against his stomach, my eyes are watering, my throat spasming around him, my core pulsing.
“I’m going to hold your face nice and tight, so I can fuck that throat like it’s your pussy now.” He groans as I swallow around him.
Matteo takes over. He starts to move faster and faster, and the rock of his body, the way he uses me, along with the noises he makes, has a rush of pleasure racing through me.
God, this man is so addictive, I could never give him up.
I lose track of time, taking my fill of him. I want to alleviate the building pressure between my legs, but that’s not for Matteo. He doesn’t push for me to come, or to touch myself, instead giving me his pleasure.
And it’s exactly what I want. I want the rush of power that comes when a strong man like him can fall apart under my touch. I want his desperation making his breathing harsh. I want the twist of pain as he bruises my throat while he succumbs to his climax.
He shuffles forward, his butt resting on the edge of the seat, so he has even more control of how deep I take him. Swallowing is hard, breathing is difficult, but my head is only full of Matteo.
With a deep grunt as the only forewarning I get, he surges deep and holds me still as he comes.
“Choke for me, beautiful.”
Each time he fills my throat, he pulls back, so he can feel me swallowing around him. He makes noises that sound a lot like a song, full of the melodic highs and lows of his pleasure. It's a song I want to hear until the day I die.
He falls backward at the same time his hands fall away; the movement drags him out of my mouth. A long, thick cord of his orgasm and my spit keeps us joined, which is hot as hell to see.
He chuckles triumphantly, knowing I’m loving it as much as he is.
“Poke that tongue out for me now,” he whispers.
The second I show him how much of his come I haven’t swallowed, he moves so fast I don’t have time to blink. His tongue is on mine, and he groans again as he shares with me the leftovers of our reunion.
When we pull apart, it’s not for long. I chase him for another of his kisses before I sit back, far out of his reach. Not because I don’t want him, but because I want to enjoy him leaning back in all his post-orgasm haze. The grin on his face makes me smile. The way he holds his dick makes me laugh.
I shift close again, then move his hand out of the way, leaning down to give the head of his dick one last lick. I tuck him back inside his underwear before waving him to lift up, so I can fix his suit pants. Once I finish with his belt buckle, he grabs my attention by lifting my chin.
“I lied, you know. Ages ago. I asked you to fall with me, but I’d already fallen.” The sincerity in his eyes is ambrosia to my soul. “I need you to know that. And never forget it.”
“I won’t.” The words of love and eternity swirl around in my head, and they settle like a warm glove around my heart.
“I won’t let you.” He opens the door and climbs out before holding his hands out for me.
He helps me out of the Escalade, and as soon as my feet touch the ground, the dogs come trotting over, and I walk to the elevator with my hands buried in their fur.
Matteo doesn’t push me for conversation or more PDA. Instead, he leans against the wall of the elevator on one side, and I take the other. We have a whole conversation without saying a word, but that’s the way we are. I can read him effortlessly, and I never feel like I have to hide a thing from him.
The doors open, and he holds them so I can step out into the apartment.
“It smells like home,” I say, looking over my shoulder at him.
“It’s you. You’ve changed the place, and us. And I have never been happier. Or more in love.”
He walks off, leaving me in the foyer with a heart full of happiness and the knowledge that he’s one of my forever people.
43
Layne
The prickle of tears as I watch Matteo disappear from view isn’t at all surprising. I’ve been a closet crier for years. And they’re not about him walking away with a part of my heart—I mean, that adds to the swell of emotion—but the tears are just a sign I’m full to the brim. Out of spoons.
Some people retreat when they’re overwhelmed, others dive into a frenzy, while I just need to let the tears run down my cheeks until my ducts are empty. I’ll still have to unpack what happened today, but first, my tears need to come out.
All around me, I get confirmation that I am exactly where I’m meant to be. Matteo wasn’t wrong—the apartment smells like home. From deeper inside the apartment, I can hear Valentine talking on the phone while he’s cooking, Matteo’s shower starting up, and Dante yelling at someone. The way they’re getting on and doing what needs doing is my sign I should do the same.
