Azra
Valentina, Lucia, and Camille’s footsteps fade down the hallway when they finally leave me alone with my thoughts.
When the door of Matteo’s room clicks shut, the silence is deafening.
I haven’t experienced the noise and chaos of the past eight hours for over four years.
I didn’t realize how much I missed female connections and blossoming friendships until now.
Although I’d give anything to bask in their nonjudgmental attention for a few more hours, the memories their unexpected help conjured solidified the reason I’m in Sicily, endeavoring to marry a man I hate.
This isn’t for me.
It’s for her.
After twirling my friendship bracelet around my wrist, I spritz some perfume on my neck and stare at my reflection.
For two women who claim not to be professionals, Lucia and Valentina did a wonderful job polishing me for the gala.
They smoothed my hair into soft waves, applied understated yet flawless makeup, and ensured my dress fit perfectly.
I look like someone who belongs at a gala—someone elegant, composed, and untouchable.
But inside, I feel hollow.
I am a meticulously made object with a hollow interior.
My fingers tighten around the vanity sink as flashbacks of my time in the abandoned field with Matteo filter through my mind. The way he looked down at me and how his breath caught when my lips hovered over his fat cock have kept the furnace inside me well stacked all day.
The knowledge triples my fury.
He left me hanging. Again!
I shouldn’t care that he’s displaying the selfishness I’ve been surrounded by my entire life, but it’s frustrating the hell out of me.
Is all the tension I feel around him only in my head? The pull, the spark, the way my pulse stumbles when his eyes meet mine—are those feelings solely mine? If so, he should consider a new career. He would make a killing as an actor.
I swallow hard before remembering the reason I’m thousands of miles from home.
With my spine hardened with resolve, I drink in my reflection again. Something is missing. What it is, I can’t say, but it’s as obvious as the ache between my legs that hasn’t eased for a minute over the past eight hours.
“Maybe earrings will help?” I mumble to myself. “Something bright and distracting.”
I push away from the sink and hurry out of the bathroom, crossing the room to my suitcase stashed in the mammoth dressing room. Kneeling, I rummage through a small velvet pouch tucked into the front pocket of my luggage until I find a pair of gold drop earrings.
Perfect. Hopefully they’ll make my outfit feel less unfinished.
I stand too quickly and stumble into someone. A hand steadies my elbow, and although that shouldn’t be enough to identify the person assisting me in staying upright, there’s no mistaking the zap darting up my arm.
Matteo.
He stands so close that his aftershave infuses with my perfume and each breath batters my nape.
I pivot to face him, my footing unbalanced.
Partway around, my pulse kicks up a notch.
Matteo is wearing the full ensemble of a gala attendee: a bow tie, a crisp dress shirt, onyx cufflinks that catch the light, and a tuxedo that showcases his physique in panty-wetting detail.
He is devastatingly gorgeous, and I can’t help but drool.
My knees touch when his hooded eyes sweep my body. The skirt of my not-quite-ball-gown dress is risqué, and the neckline is daring, so I feel strangely out of place now that I’m standing across from a man who exudes sex and power as much as he does danger and control.
Needing tonight to go off without a hitch, I ask, “Am I underdressed?”
Matteo considers my question for a moment, lips pursed, before he shakes his head.
My relief is brief and fragile.
“But something’s missing.”
With more attitude than I usually hold, I dangle the earrings I recently fetched from my bag.
He inches closer, his movements slow and deliberate. His gaze softens, but not to make me feel small—rather, to make me feel seen.
“That isn’t it,” he says. “It’s not a possession you’re missing.”
“Then what?” I ask, desperate.
My eyes fall to his mouth, and I stare at his full lips surrounded by dark stubble as he murmurs, “This…”
I choke on my breath when he kisses me.
The moment his lips touch mine, the tension from the past eight hours dissipates, but I’m still angry, so I pull back—reluctantly.
What the hell is wrong with you? He treated you like a whore, then left you unsatisfied! You should be glad to reject his kiss.
I fold my arms across my chest to hide how hard it’s thrusting. “I’m not going to get on my knees and—”
He clutches my waist and pulls me into him, grunting when the intimate parts of our bodies collide. “Shut up and kiss me back, micina.”
The invasion of his tongue in my mouth is so sudden that before I can caution my heart to slow down, my hands shoot up to thread my fingers through his dark mane.
“I’m still angry at you,” I murmur through a blur of lashes, playful nips, and inappropriate moans. “You should be grateful I’m not biting your tongue off.” His groan rattles my core. “You’re so fucked in the head.”
“So fucked,” he agrees.
He moves his tongue over the roof of my mouth, unconcerned about my threat.
Hours of bottled-up frustration and desperation fuel our kiss. We maul each other for several long minutes. His tongue scorches every inch of my mouth until the tingles between my legs become too much to bear.
I stumble backward until the mirrored wall is at my back, and every magnificent inch of Matteo heats my front. While matching the strokes of his tongue, I grind down, rubbing myself along his girthy cock.
I’m not leaving anything to chance this time.
If I have to ride his cock through his trousers, I’ll do that.
That’s how badly I need this climax.
With his mouth still on mine, Matteo slips his hand between our bodies. He brushes my clit with his fingertips, and a shiver runs through me.
“Still angry?” he asks, his words breathless.
“Yes.” I grind down on his hand, moaning into his mouth as the tension reaches an excruciating level. “It’ll take more than a PG-13 grind-up for me to forgive you.”
I sense his smile more than I see it. “Challenge accepted.”
The coils are already so tight they’re moments from snapping. Then Matteo pulls his mouth away from mine and falls to his knees.
The thought of his mouth touching me there makes my heart pound uncontrollably. I play it cool, though. Barely.
Panting, he drinks in my drenched panties before his eyes rise to mine. He watches the trail of heat creeping up my neck and spreading across my cheeks as he brushes his fingers over my slit. I’m so wet my panties cling to the lines of my pussy, and the heady scent of lust infiltrates the air.
“Has anyone ever kissed you here, micina?”
Refusing to be seen as vulnerable by this man, I nod.
He knows I’m lying, but it pleases him more than it annoys him.
His ego must feed on lies.
“I’ll make you come no matter your answer. I just want to know whether you need me to step you through it or if you’d rather go in blind.”
Lust swirls in my head when he peels the damp material off my body before he slowly guides my panties down my trembling thighs. He pockets them before he tilts in so close that the heat of his breath on my pussy steals my smarts.
“I don’t care. You pick. But be warned, if you stop now, I will kill you.”
Matteo’s smirk adds to the blush coloring my cheeks. “All the money in the world couldn’t stop this.” He collides his hooded eyes with mine. “Not even a hundred million dollars.”
My head smacks into the mirror, and my eyes roll when his head disappears between my legs.
A moan vibrates my lips when he gives me a long, satisfying lick. He slides his tongue from the bottom of my labia to my clit, groaning when my taste explodes on his taste buds.
“Fuck, your pussy tastes sweet.”
A strange mewling sound rumbles up my throat as pressure builds low in my stomach.
He curls his tongue around my clit, and my breaths stutter.
“Matteo… god.”
“There ain’t no way a man has ever eaten you.
” I assume something is wrong, that I have a grotesque disorder I’ve never been told about, until he adds, “Because there’s no way he’d give up a cunt this tasty.
” He hits my clit with back-to-back licks, then meets my gaze.
“Tell me the truth. Has anyone ever eaten you?”
“No,” I reply, too blinded by lust to care if he learns that I’m a twenty-two-year-old walking billboard for the nunnery. “No one has touched me… not in the slightest. Excluding myself, no one has ever made me come.”
My final sentence detonates the bomb.
Matteo goes to town on my pussy.
He eats me hungrily and urgently, his moans as vocal as mine.
It feels a thousand times better than I could have ever imagined.
With one hand in his hair, stabilizing my sways, and the other clutching the mirror, I buck against him, wanting to feel his tongue over every inch of me.
The sensation of his mouth on mine and his tongue toying with my clit activates several erogenous zones. I moan on repeat as I rock my pussy against his mouth, uncaring if he can breathe.
Dying by pussy suffocation would be a satisfactory ending for a man like Matteo.
My hips buck wildly as tingles race from my head to my toes.
“Oh…” I moan, my body alive with pleasure.
I have no desire to come yet. I want this to last as long as the teasing buildup. But my body is coiled too tightly. He brings me to climax within a handful of licks, my praise of his brilliance incoherent as my body convulses and trembles.
My head is so trapped in the clouds that before I come back down, Matteo moves our exchange from the wall to the oversized chaise occupying the dressing room. My back sinks into the plush material as my dress’s inappropriate hem circles my waist like a belt.
“One more. Maybe two. Then perhaps you’ll be on your way to forgiving me.” He meets my gaze, and I almost combust. His eyes are brimming with lust. “I’m also extra hungry tonight.”
This is when I should remind him of the no-penetration rule, but I’m unable to make my mouth comply with the prompts of my head. The sensation ripping through me is so unsettling that I lose everything I know about myself.
Mercifully, Matteo is as smart as he is handsome.
Even with the zipper of his tuxedo stretching the stiff material, his cock remains in his pants. He doesn’t even use his fingers to bring me to climax again. He uses nothing but his mouth and tongue, and I claw at his head without remorse.
I don’t know how many times I’ve climaxed by the time Matteo crawls up my spent body. It could be a dozen or even just three. That’s how wrung out I am. They’re back to back, leaving me utterly exhausted.
“There it is.”
My brows scarcely furrow before he strives to eradicate my confusion.
“The thing you were missing. It’s back now.”
You can hear my smile in my words. “Weren’t you on your knees, begging for forgiveness?”
His smile. Kill. Me. Slowly. A torturous death may be the only way I’ll go to heaven.
“I thought that’s what this was about.” He brushes his knuckles down my heated cheek.
“But who’d ever see eating the world’s most scrumptious cunt as an act of redemption?
Eating your pussy should never be a negotiation tactic, micina. ”
I taste myself on his mouth when I reacquaint our lips. This time, our kiss is dreamy and tender in a way I didn’t think a man like Matteo could display. It soars my heart rate above my libido and has me blinking slowly when he eventually pulls back.
Immaturely, I pout.
Smiling, Matteo twangs my lower lip. “I could eat your pussy for eternity.” His voice is as strained as his tuxedo pants. “But even the fairy godmother’s patience thins when you disrespect it.”
I still as a ruckus of disaster fires through me. The theme of tonight’s gala is Cinderella. It has great significance to me, and I can’t believe I forgot for even a second.
I’ve been working toward this ruse for years.
I’m faintly aware of Matteo’s lips brushing my collarbone before strong arms pull me into a seated position. My head is woozy, trapped in a lust haze, but years of having the rules beaten into me are hard to ignore.
“My mother would kill me if I went out in public with no panties.”
“Already on it,” Matteo replies, clasping a fresh pair of panties in his tattooed hand.
I raise a brow and twist my lips before glancing at his trouser pocket. With how strained his trousers are at the groin, I can see every delicate stitch of the lacy panties he pocketed earlier.
“They’re for later.” Kneeling before me, he slides a clean pair of panties up my still-shuddering thighs. “That won’t take care of itself.” At the start of his reply, he thrusts his hand at his crotch, which is pitching a tent.
“Do you want help?” I can’t believe the words leaving my mouth. I swore after the last time he left me hanging that I wouldn’t give him the opportunity again. I must be suffering from shock. It’s expected. I’ve never come so hard. “We’re already late, so what’s another two minutes?”
He gives me a playful nudge before he guides me out of the walk-in closet.
“Appreciate the offer, but my cock deserves to be punished.” He adjusts his crotch, which announces without words that the zipper is biting in deep.
“A pinch of pain might stop him from making me act like a chump for the second time today.”
“Is that recommended?” I fight to hide my smile when he scoops up my heels from the end of the bed and keeps walking.
In Turkish culture, it’s disrespectful to wear shoes indoors, so I won’t put them on until we’re in the limousine.
“Completely changing your persona in under an hour is ill-advised. I’m shocked your shrink didn’t warn you about that. ”
Matteo’s hearty laugh gives me the perfect excuse for the heat on my cheeks. Even the elderly housemaid dusting trinkets on a hallway table blushes when it reaches her ears.
“He probably did, but it’s hard to be convincing when you’re seconds away from having your mouth filled with lead.”