His fingers slide into my hair, gentle at first, then firmer, cradling the back of my skull. He guides me until the blunt head nudges the soft back of my throat. My eyes water, a soft gag flutters in my chest, but the stretch, the fullness, sendsanother rush of wetness slicing my folds. He eases me off, thumb sweeping the damp curve of my cheek, then wraps his hand lightly around my throat, not constricting, just feeling the frantic flutter of my pulse racing beneath his palm. Our gazes lock. His eyes are molten at midnight.
“Your mouth,” he rasps, voice frayed at the edges, “is already ruining me.”
He rocks forward again, slow, measured and I meet him eagerly, sucking harder, tongue pressing flat along the pulsing vein underneath. Every throb echoes on my tongue, every shallow thrust makes my jaw ache in the best way, makes my clit throb in perfect time. When the air becomes desperate I try to pull back, his fingers tighten just enough to hold me a heartbeat longer, then release. I stay anyway, lips tight, throat working, tears pricking the corners of my eyes from the effort and the overwhelming intimacy of it.
He withdraws suddenly. I look up, startled, a flicker of worry flashing through me. His smile comes slow, wicked, tender, devastating.
He helps me to my feet. “Clothes off,” he says.
My fingers tremble as I strip away the last scraps skirt pooling at my ankles, blouse sliding from my shoulders, underwear clinging damply before I kick them aside. Naked now, the cool air pebbles my skin, tightens my nipples to aching points. Matteo lifts me like I weigh nothing, the mattress dips as he lays me down. Then his body covers mine, skin scorching, chest hair rasping against my breasts, the heavy length of him nestling hot and insistent against my inner thigh. I arch instinctively, seeking friction, seeking more.
He kisses me deeply, tongue stroking mine in lazy, claiming sweeps. Then he drifts lower, open-mouthed kisses along my throat, teeth grazing the pulse point until I whimper. Between my breasts he lingers, breath fanning hot across one nipplebefore he draws it into his mouth, slow, wet suction, the gentle scrape of teeth making me bow off the bed. The other receives the same worship, tongue tracing the sensitive skin of my stomach, dipping into my navel, teeth nipping the crest of my hipbone. His hands grip my thighs and part them with reverent care.
When he settles between my legs, his gaze lifts to mine, dark and intent. “So wet for me,” he murmurs, the words vibrating against my folds. The first long, slow lick unravels me, gliding from entrance to clit, gathering every drop of arousal. I moan, loud and broken. He pauses, blows a cool stream of air across my swollen clit, and the sudden contrast makes me shiver violently, hips jerking upward.
“Don’t stop,” I plead, voice cracking.
His smile is pure sin and adoration. Hands press to the backs of my thighs, opening me wider, he licks again, long, deliberate strokes, tongue dipping inside me on every pass, tasting deeper. Pleasure coils bright and tight. Two thick fingers slide into me, stretching, curling, stroking that perfect spot inside while his mouth latches onto my clit, flicking tongue, soft graze of teeth. The dual sensation overwhelms.
My fingers knot in his hair. I grind against his face, heels digging into his shoulders, thighs trembling. “Matteo—yes—” His name tears from me as I shatter. Pleasure explodes in bright, shuddering bursts, my body clamps around his fingers, pulses against his tongue. I laugh through the aftershocks, legs locking around his head as wetness floods between us.
He crawls up, kisses me fiercely. I taste myself on him, sweet, tangy, intimate. His cock throbs against my thigh again. I wrap my legs around his waist, hips tilting in silent, desperate invitation.
He shifts, hooks my legs over his broad shoulders, guides himself to my entrance. The broad head drags along my foldsnudging my clit with every pass, each touch igniting fireworks behind my eyelids. I whimper, needy. He kisses me slow and deep, then presses in, just the tip. My walls flutter, clench, try to pull him deeper. He withdraws almost completely, teasing, watching every flicker across my face.
“Matteo,” I beg, half sob, half laugh.
He chuckles and slides back in a fraction deeper. Torturously slow. In. Out. Eyes fixed on where we join, then lifting to hold mine. I arch to meet him, aching to feel every inch.
He pauses, reaches for the nightstand. “Need to wrap up,” he mutters, voice thick. “Soon you’ll be on the pill, I there will be nothing between us from start to finish. The promise sends a fresh shiver through me.
When he thrusts back in, I gasp. He sinks to the hilt, holds still, letting me adjust to the burning fullness, the way he presses against every sensitive place inside. My legs tighten, my hands grip his hips, nails digging in, urging him impossibly closer.
“Fuck, little lamb,” he breathes against my ear, voice frayed, “you feel like heaven.”
He starts to move, slow rolls giving way to deeper, harder thrusts. The wet slap of skin, his ragged breaths, my own broken moans weave together. Sweat drips from his brow onto my chest, he watches it slide between my breasts and smiles. He shifts my legs wider, slows but goes deeper, grinding at the end of each stroke.
Then he stills, leans down, kisses me hard. Hooks one leg over his shoulder and thrusts again, perfect angle, relentless. Pleasure spikes sharp and bright.
“Yes—” The word rips from me as another orgasm crashes through, fiercer, body shaking, clenching around him in rhythmic pulses.
He groans, hips snapping faster. “Fuck—fuck—” He follows, pulsing deep, voice rough with my name. He keeps moving, lazy thrusts, milking every last tremor from us both.
Finally, he eases out, deals with the condom, then gathers me close. Forehead presses to mine, breaths mingling. “Got a whole packet,” he murmurs, teasing but serious. “I might need to taste you again first… recharge.”
I laugh and curl into him, ear over his heart. The steady thunder of it grounds me. His fingers drift lazily over my breast, circling the nipple back to a stiff peak.
I smile against his skin, boneless and glowing.
Whatever waits beyond this room—family, conflict, consequences—can wait.
Tonight, the world is only his heartbeat against my cheek, the lingering taste of us on my tongue, and the promise of more slow, burning hours ahead.
I want every single one.
Chapter 38
Matteo
