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“Matteo!” I cry out, so drugged by lust that I’m slow to respond. I struggle, wrestling against his weight. By the time I get a slap in, he is straddling me in a mess of sheets, has my cami torn off my body, and is grabbing my wrists to tie them together with what’s left of a thousand-dollar PJ set.
I jerk my wrists down, but I’m trapped, tied to something on the headboard I didn’t see. I bite down on my lip as realization sinks in. I’ve messed up. Where he should have been dead by now, instead he’s going to torture me.
Matteo leans to the side and switches on the bedside lamp. “So you can see better, kitten.”
“I don’t want to see any better, thank you.” But I can’t help staring at his chest, the dark shadow of the tattoo that graces his pecs, abdomen and arms, the veins that run down his biceps to his forearms, sitting so shallow I could have aimed for one of those.
He could do anything to me now. I’m at his mercy and I’m not sure he has any.
“I should fucking gag you,” he says as he runs his knuckles along the edge of my jaw and down my chin, then spreads his fingers and circles them around my neck. There is no pressure, no squeeze, but the option is there. Instead, he caresses the bruise he made on my neck, almost contemplatively, with his thumb. “But you’re entertaining. And I want to hear you moan my name, kitten, when you come.” He leans closer, shifting and putting divine pressure on my body. He ghosts his lips from my temple down to my mouth, but he only sweeps them over mine as he murmurs, “Because come you will.”
22
TASHA
He kisses me then, right there underneath my ear, and continues to tease languid kisses down my neck and across to my other ear, until an involuntary moan escapes my lips.
“You’re so soft, so delicate,” he whispers as his fingertips caress my cheek, sliding over my lips. He runs both hands down the column of my neck, the gentle touch breathtaking and in such contrast to the rough calluses on his skin, the way he is, the things he does.
His caress travels south, down my chest and between the valley of my breasts, my nipples begging. When he circles the tight buds with his thumbs, I close my eyes and bite down on my lip, my hips bucking against him where he still straddles me. Nobody has ever touched me like this before, and this is an expert, gentle assault, something I’d never have expected from him.
“Calm down, kitten,” he murmurs as he shoves away the sheet.
Oh God. He is naked. His erection—holy shit, his erection—juts into the air, bobbing with its size and weight with every move.
He lifts off me to settle on his side and cups my cheek, making me look at him. “I promised you’re safe with me, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” I whisper, dazed. It’s true. He hasn’t hurt me once. Even when he held me when he warned me never to speak of Tatiana again, it was if he was holding a bird with delicate bones.
“Then trust me.” He stares into my eyes as he gathers a stray strand of hair from my face. “I keep my promises.”
I can’t fight this. I can’t fight my attraction to him. Not when he is like this, caring, gentle, and not the monster who executed a man in his living room. I relax my arms where I’ve been straining against the rope he’s made of my camisole, and as if he senses my complete capitulation, he drops a kiss to my inner arm.
He lifts on his elbow, and I want to reach for him, cup his face, drive my fingers into his thick dark hair, trace the lines of his tattoo and kiss him back, but I’m tied up.
“You don’t get to touch me, understand?” he says, the command clear in his voice.
“I can’t, even if—” His hand clasps down on my mouth, quieting me.
“Even if you could, you don’t, understand?” he says, peering into my eyes.
I nod, confused. He lifts his hand and I bite my lip as he starts to slide his knuckles down my chest, still peering into my eyes, into my soul. I close my eyes, not ready for what I’ll reveal, and sink into the high that is Matteo Scalera.
He caresses my skin for such a long time that I’m completely weak with desire when he finally cups a breast and sucks a nipple into his mouth. The sensation is new, warm, a sudden sweet shock that travels right to my sex, making me jerk my hips up, my body seeking friction.
“Soon, kitten,” he murmurs as he drops his hand to my pelvis, resting it on my mound to still my hips. The weight is divine and when he starts to circle his palm with just the right amount of pressure, I know it’s a matter of minutes, seconds maybe before I crash into orgasm.
He trails his lips between my breasts, taking the other nipple in his mouth, seeming only invested in my pleasure. My pleasure which is slowly building, futile to resist even if I didn’t want to come at this man’s hand.
Matteo shifts and gets onto his knees, and I startle at the size of him, at how unfazed and confident he is with being naked. But then, his type is allowed to show off. He’s ripped, all lean muscle, six pack and the dark dragon tattoo with two spots of shiny scar tissue catching the lamplight. Bullet wounds… as eyes of the dragons. I search his body for more but get distracted by that V that leads my gaze to his shaved focal point.
I want that. I’ve never craved cock before, not like this. I want to touch him, taste him, grip him and watch him as I ride my hand up and down its impressive length.
I flex and release my fingers, fisting my hands in anguish that I can’t reach out for him. He is oblivious as he doesn’t even look at my face, focused on tracing the line of my shorts before he dips his fingers under the elastic and mutters, “These need to go.”
He tugs at them, and I raise my hips so he can slide them down, panties in tow. He balls the fabric up, presses it to his nose and breathes deeply. “No wonder you’re driving me fucking insane. How wet are you, kitten?”
The visual of him with the soft lamplight on his body, holding my panties to his nose, is almost too much.
