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And again.

And again.

The pressure inside me winds quickly. I’m already close. I’m already so taut I might break.

I hook my legs over his shoulders, bring one hand to his hair. The other to his back.

He’s still wearing his fucking jacket. It’s ridiculous.

So I bring my hand to his neck instead. Dig my nails into that tender skin as I tug at his hair.

I dig hard enough to draw blood.

He pulls back enough to groan into my thigh. “Give it to me as hard as you want, diavolessa.”

Then he brings his mouth back to me and works me just how I need him.

The pleasure in my body builds quickly. He feels too good. My body is desperate be his.

I come fast, tugging at his hair, pressing my thighs against his cheeks, surrendering to the ecstasy exploding through me.

For that perfect moment, I’m one with him, and the universe.

For that perfect moment, I’m completely at peace.

I savor the feeling of his head between my legs one more time.

Then I collapse into the sheets. Spent. Rapturous. Free.

He presses his lips to my thigh. Then it's the soft scrape of his teeth against my flesh.

Then harder.

Hard enough it hurts.

Hard enough to leave a mark.

A mark for a mark.

An orgasm for an orgasm.

A betrayal for a betrayal.

Fucking perfect.

“One more, baby,” I say.

He complies. Markes my other thigh with a bite that’s half love, half pain.

And he pulls away.

And I’m back to the reality I have to kill him in three weeks.

Matteo pushes himself off the bed and says, “I'll take the couch.” His voice is matter-of-fact. Like it’s obvious he’d take the couch. Like he really did eat me out just to even the score.

Like it meant nothing to him.

I shrug as if I feel the same. “Suit yourself.”