“Don’t you dare.” I throw him a narrowed glare, but the corners of my stupid mouth are already quirking up.
Suite Seven is small but spoiled with cream walls, a compact sofa, a real bed with a headboard, and a tray already set with water and champagne. The lamps are lit and glowing low. Much too romantic for two fugitives on a getaway mission. Then I spot the sliding door which leads to a sliver of a private deck.
The hum of the ship lives in the bones of the room, vibrating through my own. There’s something about the intimate space after the tension-filled car ride that has my nerves rioting. I need a release…
“We should go over the plan…” Matteo drops down onto the couch. “The ferry docking, the car, the foot passenger exit, which stairwell we?—”
“Matteo.” I shake my head, walking toward him. “Not yet.”
His brow knits. “We can’t?—”
“I know,” I say, softer. “But for a minute, will you just pretend with me?” I step closer until the distance turns to heat. “That we’re teenagers again on that beach. There are no ghosts, no trackers, no men with our names in their mouths. Just… us.”
He holds my gaze like he’s weighing the sin of it. Then he exhales, the fight leaving from his shoulders. “One minute,” he warns, which we both know is a lie. That dimple escapes and with it, the spark in those mischievous eyes.
I slide open the balcony door, and the night rushes in. It’s wind, salt, and a low thrumming dark. The deck is barely two strides deep, ringed in a glass, waist-high rail. Far below, the Irish Sea roars and glows where the ship worries it white.
He only hesitates for a second before he follows me out. The wind teases hair across my mouth, but his hands are there first,tucking it behind my ear. His fingers linger like they’ve been waiting four years to remember the map of my face.
“Hi, Kitty Cat,” he says, almost laughing at himself.
“Hi,” I echo, and the word is a tipped match.
His mouth finds mine like it was always going to. There’s no preamble and no apology. It’s not tender this time. It’s messy and young and starving, just like we were back then. There’s salt on our lips, the wind in our lungs, and the railing cold under my palms as I back into it and pull him with me. He brackets my arms against the balustrade, hips slotting to mine, and the ship’s hum synchs to the thud in my chest.
“Someone might—” I start before I cut myself off, realizing I couldn’t care less who sees this.
“It’s black as sin out here,” he murmurs, kissing the words from my mouth. “And I don’t care.”
I tug him closer by his jacket, greedy, and daring. We crash and cling, laugh against teeth, and chase the kiss like it’s running. His hands roam up my back, down my sides, urgent and certain, and relearning what never left. I hook my fingers into his belt, and he groans into my mouth, the sound wrecked and grateful.
“Look at me,” he whispers as he presses his forehead to mine, breath hot in the cold. “Kitty Cat, look at me.”
I do, and it guts me. I see the joy wrecking his eyes, and the ache under it. He kisses away the sting at the corner of mine. I know what he’s doing. He’s keeping his promise not to repeat those three little words that destroy me every time. And still, a stupid part of me wants to hear them. But I know he’ll keep his word. The balcony shudders as the ship hits a wave, and we steady each other like drunkards.
“Inside,” he manages, voice ragged. “Before I forget the word ‘privacy.’” His dark brows furrow as my fingers fly to his zipperand free his cock. “Cat…” My name is nothing but a gasp. “What are you doing?”
“Remember that night on the jetty?”
His eyes darken into the deepest emerald, as if he’s reliving the moment he laid me bare under the stars. “You sure?” There’s a satisfying jagged edge to his tone.
I push down my leggings and panties in one go and spin around, pressing my ass to his hard length. “I want to enjoy the view while you fuck me, Matteo.”
A strangled sound vibrates his throat as his arm comes around my waist, and he draws me back against him. My shoulders hit the hard expanse of muscle of his chest, and I arch against him.
His hand skates lower, finding my wet folds and we groan together. “Mmm, Kitty Cat, I love how soaked that pretty pussy is for me.” His finger glides through me, spreading my arousal and when he reaches my sensitive clit, my hips buck against him. “Are you ready for me?”
Fiery heat surges through my veins as he grabs his cock and runs it across my entrance. “Umhmm,” I mumble incoherently as he bends me over the railing. His thumb circles the taut bundle of nerves while his throbbing head presses at my entrance. I arch my hips back, desperate to take him in.
“Mmm, that’s my girl.” He drops kisses along my spine as he eases himself in, slowly stretching me until Matteo Rossi is all I feel, all I know.
Then he thrusts, long and deep and fills me to the core. A gasp escapes as I grip the railing, the icy metal sending goose bumps across my heated skin.
“Yes, Matteo,” I cry out.
He picks up the punishing rhythm, finger circling my clit while he pounds into me from behind. It’s chaotic, bordering onpainful because of his massive size and the deeper angle, but I can’t get enough.
“Don’t stop,” I command when he slows to lick the back of my neck.
