"I need you," he said against my mouth. "Need to feel you. Need to prove—"
"I know." I kissed him back just as desperately. "I need it too."
We stumbled toward the bedroom. Shedding clothes between kisses. My shirt hit the floor. His followed. By the time we reached the bed, we were both half-naked and breathing hard.
Matteo pushed me down onto the mattress. His bed. Our bed, maybe, given how many nights I'd spent here. Covered my body with his.
"Tell me what you need," he said, his voice rough. "After that call. After what you just did. Tell me what you need from me."
"Make me forget." My hands gripped his shoulders. "Make me forget Antonio's voice in my head. Make me forget the guilt. Make me feel like I made the right choice."
"You did make the right choice." He kissed down my throat. "Choosing yourself. Choosing freedom. Choosing me."
"Then prove it." The words came out challenging. Desperate. "Show me this is real. Show me I'm not being used. Show me—"
He kissed me before I could finish. Hard enough to bruise. Hard enough to silence the doubts Antonio had planted.
"I'll show you," he promised. "I'll show you exactly how real this is."
He stripped away the rest of my clothes. Efficient. Purposeful. Until I was bare beneath him.
Then he just looked at me.
"What?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious.
"You're beautiful." His voice was rough. "And you're mine. And everyone knows it now. Your family. The other families. Everyone."
"Is that what you want? Everyone knowing I'm yours?"
"Yes." He traced a hand down my chest. My stomach. Lower. "I want everyone to know you chose me. That you're staying because you want to. That this is real."
"It is real." My breath caught as his hand wrapped around me. "God, Matteo, it's real—"
"I know." He stroked slowly. Watching my face. "I know it is. But I'm going to make sure you know it too. Make sure you feel it so deeply you can't doubt it."
He worked me with his hand until I was trembling. Until I was gasping. Until the guilt and worry from Antonio's call faded beneath waves of pleasure.
Then he moved lower.
His mouth replaced his hand and I cried out. Gripped the sheets. Felt myself falling apart under his attention.
"Matteo—please—I need—"
"I know what you need." He pulled off. Looked up at me with dark eyes that saw everything. "You need to feel wanted. Chosen. Like you matter more than anything else."
"Yes."
"Then let me show you."
He took his time. Used his mouth and hands in ways that made me forget my own name. Made me forget everything except the sensation. The way he focused on my pleasure like it was the most important thing in the world.
When I was trembling and desperate and so close I could barely breathe, he pulled back.
"Not yet." His voice was commanding. "I want you desperate. Want you so far gone you can't think about anything except this. Except us."
"I'm already there—"
"Then go further."
