Page 84 of Tempting Tessa

“Get on me,” he commands, his voice rough. “Now.”

I swing my leg over his hips, bracing my hands on his chest. His cock is right there, thick and hot against my entrance, and I sink down onto him in one slow, agonizing slide.

We both groan. I’m so wet he just slides in, no resistance, my body opening for him like it was made to take him.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his hands gripping my hips. “Look at you. So fucking wet.”

I start to move, rolling my hips in a slow grind that has him throwing his head back against the headboard.

“Pregnant pussy is different,” he growls, his eyes half-lidded but watching every movement like he’s memorizing it. “Wetter. Fucking dripping all over me.”

I clench around him, and he groans, his fingers digging into my flesh.

“That’s it. Squeeze me. Show me how much you need this dick.”

“You’re such an asshole,” I pant, but I’m grinding harder, chasing the friction.

“Your asshole.” He cups my belly again, holding it steady as I ride him. “Look at this. My baby is in here. My cock in you. You’re fucking full of me, stellina.”

The words send a shockwave through me, and I moan, my rhythm stuttering. He catches it and his hand slides between us, his thumb finding my clit.

“Right there,” he murmurs, circling. “Right fucking there. You’re so close already.”

“Matteo—”

“I know.” He’s relentless, his thumb working in tight circles while his other hand holds my belly. “I can feel it. Your sweet pussy is pulsing around me. Soaking my balls.”

And he’s not wrong. I can feel it—the wetness, the obscene slide of it, the way his cock glides in and out of me like I’m made of silk. Every thrust pushes more of it out, and I can feel it running down, coating his balls, probably dripping onto the sheets beneath us.

“God, you’re dripping,” he groans, his eyes dropping to where we’re joined. “Running down my fucking balls. I can feel it sliding between my ass cheeks, Contessa. That’s how wet you are.”

“That’s vivid,” I gasp, but my hips are moving faster, chasing the orgasm building at the base of my spine.

“It’s perfect.” His thumb presses harder. “I fucking love it. Love how your body responds to me. Love how you just open up and gush every time I’m inside you.”

His words are doing things to me—filthy, devastating things—and I can feel myself climbing, climbing, my walls fluttering around him.

“Look at me,” he commands, and I do. His eyes are burning, dark, and possessive. “I want to watch you come on my cock. Want to see your face when you break.”

“Please—”

“Please what?” He slows his thumb, just barely, teasing. “Use your words.”

“Please let me come.” The admission spills out of me, desperate and raw. “Please, Matteo. I need it.”

“Good girl.” The praise hits me like a drug. “Come for me. Now.”

His thumb speeds up, and I shatter. My orgasm crashes through me, violent and consuming. I’m clamping down on his cock in pulses that have him swearing through clenched teeth.

“That’s it,” he growls, his hips bucking up into me. “Take it. Fucking milk me with that tight little cunt.”

I’m shaking, boneless, but he doesn’t stop. He flips us—careful, so careful of my belly—and pins me beneath him, driving into me with deep, punishing strokes that hit something inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.

“Not done,” he snarls, his mouth at my ear. “Not even close. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember your own name.”

He pulls out suddenly, and I whimper at the loss, but he’s already flipping me onto my hands and knees, his hand between my shoulder blades pressing me down. The new angle is insane—his cock hitting spots that make my vision blur—and I’m babbling and begging. I’ll be embarrassed about it later.

“Matteo, fuck, right there⁠—”