"I'm sure." My hand came up to cover his where it rested against my jaw. "I choose this. I choose you. Even though it's fucked up and complicated and probably the worst decision I could make."
"Stefan—"
"I know what you are. I know what you've done. I know you're keeping me here because you're obsessed and possessive and probably dangerous as hell." I leaned closer. "And I still want this. I still want you."
His control cracked.
Matteo pulled me into his lap in one smooth motion. I straddled his thighs, the chair creaking under our combined weight. His hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise.
I should protest. Should maintain some kind of dignity. Should remember that he was my captor and I was his prisoner and this was wrong on every level.
Instead, I kissed him like I'd been waiting all day for this. Like I'd been waiting since the night he'd caught me in that office and looked at me like I mattered.
Matteo kissed back with devastating intensity. His mouth was hot and demanding. His tongue swept against mine. One hand slid into my hair, gripping tight. The other stayed on my hip, holding me exactly where he wanted me.
I gasped against his mouth and rocked forward. Felt him hard beneath me. Felt my own body responding with an urgency that should have embarrassed me.
His hands slid under my new shirt—the one he'd bought me—and his palms were warm against my skin. Callused. Strong. They mapped my ribs, my spine, the sensitive spot at the small of my back that made me arch into him.
"Stefan." He broke the kiss to look at me. His pupils were blown wide, lips swollen. "Do you want this?"
"I shouldn't." My voice was wrecked. "But I do."
"That's not a yes."
I kissed him again. Hard. Desperate. Poured everything I couldn't say into the physical connection. Then pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.
"Yes," I said clearly. "I want this. I want you."
Matteo stood with me still wrapped around him. Carried me to the bed like I weighed nothing. Laid me down and covered my body with his.
We shed clothes between kisses. My new shirt hit the floor. The jeans he'd bought me joined it. His shirt. His jeans. Until we were skin against skin and I could feel every hard plane of his body pressed against mine.
I'd had sex before. A girlfriend in college that my father had approved of because her family had the right connections. The night at the auction when the banker had bought me and I'd done what was expected because that's what Giuseppe's sons did—performed for the family's benefit even when it was distasteful and uncomfortable and utterly devoid of pleasure.
But nothing that mattered. Nothing that felt like this.
Matteo used his mouth and hands with devastating precision. Kissed down my chest. Sucked marks into my collarbones. Bit gently at my hip bone. His hand wrapped around me and I cried out at the sensation.
"Beautiful," he murmured against my skin. "Fucking beautiful when you fall apart."
He took his time. Made me tremble. Made me beg. Used his mouth in ways that made me forget my own name. When he pushed one finger inside me, I arched off the bed.
"Matteo—please—I need—"
"I know what you need." He added a second finger. Crooked them. Found the spot that made stars burst behind my eyelids. "But I'm going to make sure you're ready. Make sure this doesn't hurt."
"I don't care if it hurts—"
"I do." He kissed me. Soft. Almost gentle. "I care about you, Stefan. More than I should. So I'm doing this right."
He prepared me thoroughly. Three fingers. Stretching and scissoring until I was loose and desperate and so empty I thought I might die from wanting.
Then he was there. Pressing inside. So much bigger than his fingers. Intense and overwhelming and everything I needed.
I cried out. Gripped his shoulders. He stopped immediately.
"Too much?" His voice was strained. "Stefan, tell me—"
