Though the crowd is waning, we’re not alone as we walk farther until he finds a chair facing the water. I think we’re going to sit there, but he chuckles, flicking his eyebrows up as he walks backward, leading me to the restored bandstand. The lights are off, but the streetlights around us are enough to see how old, but beautiful, the burnished red wrought-iron filigree is around each of the columns, holding up the tiled roof. It’s so freaking romantic.
“In summer, they have live bands playing here, but tonight, we’re going to make our own music,” he says, his voice dipping low, keeping our time special and intimate.
I roll my eyes, teasing him. “Incredibly corny, Mr. De Luca.”
“Says you, but interestingly, you’re walking faster, your scent is blossoming harder, and your eyes are dilating.”
“Yeah, well, if you remember, I didn’t say no to making music with you, either.”
“Truth.” He spins me again, like he did when we got away from dinner.
The whole time he’s dancing around the edge of the raised bandstand stage, his focus extends farther away than just me.But I know he’s just triple-checking we’re safe. When he looks back at me, his eyes are like the darkest night sky, and he walks me backward until my ass hits the wooden railing that circles the structure.
My legs open, and he steps into the space I made. I fumble with his belt as he dips down and licks his way into my mouth. He sucks on my tongue and pulls my lower lip between his teeth.
“You know you’re safe with me,” he says. I wrap my legs around his waist as my answer. “If this makes you uncomfortable, you tell me.”
“I would,” I promise as I bury my hands inside his jeans and groan when I find him bare. Squeezing his length, I run my hand up and down it while he licks the palm of his hand and wets his fingers.
“Unnecessary, I promise. I’m so wet for you.” I whimper as he pushes his mouth to mine, licking his subtle vanilla taste over my tongue. In the blink of an eye, he’s rubbing the head of his cock over my entrance.
“Layne, you’re not wet, you’re soaking.” He grips my hips and slowly pushes inside. “Fucking hell, you feel incredible. Open that pussy for me, I’m going to claim your womb as mine.”
Matteo is thick, and there’s always a slight resistance when we have sex. It’s a beautiful burn that brings a promise of amazing orgasms. He’s cautious, but he was right before—my body is ready for him and has been all night.
He inches farther in, and I nearly fall off the banister when I wiggle impatiently, wanting more. I only manage not to fall by linking my arms over his shoulders, bringing him closer, which is what I wanted, anyway. “You feel so good,” I murmur, licking up his throat, knowing my dirty-talking Beta also loves listening to praise. “Don’t hide what we’re doing, Matteo.”
He breaks the silence by laughing loudly, then he starts to move faster and more obviously. “Fuck, yes,” he groans onemoment when he flexes deep inside my pussy, and the next, he’s being obscenely loud in all his pants and moans, making it impossible for anyone walking past to pretend we’re not having sex.
The slap of our skin and the squelch of my pussy each time he rails inside is exactly how good sex sounds. Already, I’m skirting the edge of coming, spurred on by him getting harder with each thrust.
His enjoyment makes his vanilla scent even more potent, and I smell myself perfuming right along with him. When he exhales, I inhale, so when we breathe, the air is infused with our shared sweetness.
“Rub that clit for me,” Matteo demands, tipping his head back and driving in harder.
I get off seeing the stretch of his neck. “Matteo, show me where your claim will sit. Mark my throat.”
Our public lovemaking is frantic and desperate but also tender and full of intimacy. The closeness we share, both physically and spiritually, brings tears to my eyes.
Matteo’s beauty is staggering, and the look on his face, the way his eyes are dipped in pleasure, is something I will need for the rest of my days. Daily, if possible.
“You blow my mind,” he whispers.
And then he comes. I was already there with him, but my orgasm doubles, or maybe it triples—either way, it’s mind-blowing and rolls on and on.
But Matteo isn’t done. He is such an unselfish lover.
“Again,” he demands quietly. Purposely, he slows his movements to continue stimulating my oversensitive body. He uses every glorious inch and veiny ridge, teasing me to the cusp of another release.
He trails small kisses up the column of my neck until his mouth is on the shell of my ear, and then he works my pleasureaurally until he feels my gentler, but sublime, orgasm wash over me.
“More of that. I want more. Until I die,” he whispers, peppering kisses all over my face.
We get interrupted by a “yee-haw” from a passing couple, but Matteo is more focused on my yee-haw as I squeeze around his length, succumbing to his loving.
51
Weeks Later…
