Page 83 of Tempting Tessa

She pulls back just enough to look at me. “I love you, Matteo.”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d say it first, so you finally beat me at something. I love you too, stellina.”

Chapter 26

Contessa

The words barely leave my mouth before he’s moving.

Matteo stands so fast the chair scrapes against the tile, and then I’m airborne—one arm under my knees, the other behind my back, my pregnant ass cradled against his chest like I weigh nothing. My arms fly around his neck on instinct.

“What the fuck⁠—”

“You don’t get to drop that on me and stay in the kitchen.” His voice is a growl, low and wrecked, and his eyes are doing that thing. That molten thing that makes my thighs clench. “Bed. Now.”

“I can walk, you know. I’m pregnant, not paralyzed.”

“Don’t care.”

Okay, I guess he’s just talking like a caveman now. He carries me through the house like I’m a fucking prize, and honestly, I don’t even fight it. My cheek is pressed against his shoulder, and I can smell the gym on him. It should not be hot. It is so fucking hot.

He shoulders the bedroom door open and drops me onto the mattress with a gentleness that contradicts everything about him. My shirt rides up, exposing the swell of my belly, and he just stares at it for a second like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Then his hands are on me.

He pulls the shirt up and over my head in one smooth motion, tossing it somewhere behind him. My bra follows—the expensive one with the lace that barely contains my tits anymore because pregnancy has turned them into these ridiculous, heavy things that ache if he even looks at them wrong. His hands cup them immediately, thumbs dragging over my nipples, and I arch into the touch with a whimper.

“Fuck, look at these.” His voice is reverent, almost broken. “So fucking full. Getting bigger every day.”

“Matteo—”

“Shut up.” He says it like a prayer, not an order. His mouth finds my nipple, sucking hard, and I cry out, my fingers fisting in his hair. The sensitivity is insane and he knows it, the bastard. He works me with his tongue, teeth grazing just enough to make me jerk.

He pulls back, breathing hard, and his eyes are dark enough to drown in. “Off. Everything. Now.”

I shimmy out of my leggings and underwear while he strips, and fuck, the man is a goddamn sculpture. Broad shoulders, the V-cut at his hips, that thick cock already hard and leaking against his stomach. He climbs onto the bed and leans back against the headboard, spreading his legs, and the look he gives me⁠—

“Come here.”

“Bossy.”

“Always.” He pats his thigh. “Ride me. I want to watch you.”

My pussy clenches at the command, and I crawl toward him, my belly heavy between us. He reaches out, his big hands spanning my stomach, cradling it. His thumbs stroke the skin, and the baby kicks hard right against his palm.

His hands slide up to my breasts, lifting them, testing their weight. “These are going to be even bigger. I can’t wait.”

“Can’t wait for what?” I’m breathless already, and he hasn’t even touched me where it counts.

He squeezes, and a bead of wetness—not milk, not yet, but something—leaks from my nipple. His eyes go feral.

“To suck on these while they leak.” His voice drops to that register that makes my clit throb. “To taste you. I want you to squirt that milk right into my fucking mouth, Contessa. Every drop.”

“Jesus Christ⁠—”

“And then I want it all over my cock.” He’s stroking himself now, slow and deliberate, his eyes locked on my tits. “I want to be dripping with it while I fuck you. Want to feel it slick between us while I fill you up again.”

My thighs are soaked. Literally soaked. I can feel it running down my inner thigh, and I haven’t even gotten on him yet.