Somewhere between the third shot and the thought of a fourth, the tight coil in my chest snaps. I stand because sitting still hurts too much. The cabin sways, but my balance doesn’t. I tumble forward and wait for the crack of my knees against the floor, but it never comes.
Instead, I fall face first into warm, unyielding arms. My nose is squeezed against Matteo’s familiar, musky scent and I draw in a deep breath. Fuck me, he still smells the same.
“I gotcha, Kitty Cat.” His warm breath skates across the top of my head as he tucks me into his side.
My body wants to melt into his… needs it. But I don’t want this warm comfort, it’ll only make me softer, and I can’t break right now. I need something else. A distraction.
I need to be fucked like only the wicked devil, Matteo Rossi, knows how. Pushing free of his hold, I catch his wrist and tug. “I need you to distract me.”
“Distract?” He blinks as understanding crawls across his handsome face. “Cat?—”
“Don’t.” I pull harder, toward the rear where a door hides a narrow bedroom. “Just, I need—” I don’t finish the sentence. I can’t sayI need to forgetlike it’s a luxury.
He resists long enough to make me look back. “You sure?” he asks, low and careful. “Or am I just a tourniquet you’ll hate me for later?”
“I don’t have later,” I snap. “All I have is now.”
That’s either the worst thing or the truest thing I’ve ever told him. He reads it on my face and his expression changes. It both softens and hardens at once. Then he follows behind me.
The bedroom is barely a room. It’s cream walls, a too-clean duvet, and a window that knows nothing but clouds. The door clicks shut behind us, and the world we don’t control stays on the other side.
But here… here I can just pretend for a few blessed hours.
I press him to the edge of the mattress, then climb into his lap. His hands frame my face, gaze stormy as it latches onto mine. “Cat…” I hate how much I like my name on his lips.
Then I kiss him like the ground’s gone. My mouth claims his and he devours me like he’s been waiting to be told to. We’re a whirlwind of hands, lips, and breath. There’s no time to strip down, not with the red-hot need coursing through me. I slip my leggings and panties off in one smooth motion then undo the button of his jeans, lower his zipper and his cock springs free. He’s already thick and hard, and just the sight of him has wetness pooling between my thighs. The same hunger we pulled out of the rain ignites, only it’s sharper now that we’re dry.
He hesitates once more with his palm on my hip, eyes searching mine. “Maybe we shouldn’t…” he murmurs.
“Don’t you dare, Rossi,” I whisper and sink onto his cock. “I need you to fuck me like we’re eighteen again.”
“Merda,” he grits out as I take all of him in.
I barely restrain the groan myself as he fills me up, stretching me until he’s all I feel.
We find the same rhythm and a different one. Urgent, yes. Brutal, yes. But threaded with something that makes my throat tight if I look at it too long. It’s bursting with history, mercy, and a stubborn hope that doesn’t know when to quit.
His punishing grip on my hips steadies me as he slides me up and down his hard length. For a few impossible moments, everything else vanishes. The world tunnels to the feel of his cock rubbing my clit, to the torrent of unspoken emotions racing between us, to our ragged breaths as we consume each other.
“Cazzo, Cat,” he rasps before his hand climbs up my side and finds my breast beneath my shirt. “Your pussy feels just as tight and warm as I remember it.”
I arch into him as he shoves my bra aside and toys with my nipple. Fire races through my veins, amplifying the building heat at my center. Then his mouth replaces his fingers, sucking and licking the sensitive tip over the thin fabric.
He drives into me, harder, faster. Only pleasure exists, pure, fiery heat and nothing else.
“I’m going to come,” I whimper.
“Good girl,” he growls, “Come for me, Kitty Cat.”
I’m so close, toeing the edge. His hand slides up my neck and closes around my chin, forcing my eyes to his. “Fuck, I love you.”
It splits me. Heat, ache, fury, all of it. I clamp my hand over his mouth and almost laugh, ragged. “Don’t say that,” I gasp. “You aren’t allowed to say that anymore.”
His eyes blaze and that pounding pace slows. “But it’s the truth…”
“I don’t care. Just please?—”
He kisses my palm then moves it aside with a frustrated sigh. “Fine, I won’t,” he murmurs, voice jagged and wrecked, “not again. Not until you say it first.”
