23. Matti
Matti
My bag is already packed, and the sterile silence of the room sets my nerves on edge. I’m in Chicago, another stop on Aurelio’s whirlwind tour of busywork, a pointless assignment meant to keep me out of New York. And away from my little loose end at the Edge. And her asshole brother.
But Franco is the last person I want to think about right now. The only thing on my mind is Siena and the little daily ritual she doesn’t realize we have going.
On the cameras, I watch as Siena wakes up, just as she does every day at the same time. She rolls over and stares up at the little window closest to her, the sunrise barely peeking through the bars.
I always wonder what she’s thinking about when she does this. Is she thinking about her little house in Jersey and the plants that I’ve had someone water every few days since she’s been gone? Is she missing her job or her friends? Is she missing Emily?
Is she missing me?
I’ve had Eleanor, my personal assistant and CEO of Dragovari Tower, oversee some research into Siena over the past few weeks.
I know she’s had her shitty little Impreza for over a decade, but takes the train into the city every day to work.
I know she works as a client liaison at the Victim Advocacy Center, helping to connect victims of crimes with support and resources with two of her best friends and co-workers, Amelia and Blake.
That she eats lunch with them most days, ordering a burrito with chicken tenders and fries in it with extra guac at a fusion food truck called Vibe unless her cousin Sophie brings her food from her restaurant.
I know that she wears heels on the train but brings running shoes to work in her bag and swaps them out when she arrives, the opposite of every other woman in New York.
I asked Eleanor to have the team look for dirt on Siena, angles, what she really wants, who she’s connected with. So far, there’s nothing like that.
I’m well aware of the Bellamorte name and the weight it used to carry in our world, and it wouldn’t surprise me if she was a diversion planted to distract me from finding dirt on who took out Mikey.
If she was, she’s very good at her job, because so far, my people haven’t turned up any evidence to support that theory.
As far as my sources can tell, she never went out much. She would go to the gym on the way home from work, shower there, and wear yoga pants home where she would heat up leftovers from lunch for dinner, drink a Guinness Stout, and binge watch reality TV until she goes to bed.
No boyfriend. No dating or hook-ups. No nefarious connections. Just the occasional night out drinking with her work friends at a random club.
That doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a boyfriend or a fuck friend in her life, a connection to the criminal world. It just means that there’s no sign of it so far based on their work hacking her phone, her cloud, her social media, and her streaming history.
I don’t care that the research is slow going. I crave every detail about her. I want to know everything there is to know about Siena Bellamorte.
On the screen, Siena stretches and rolls onto her back, sliding her hand over her stomach, then under the covers. My breathing kicks up, watching as she bends her legs, knees spread wide, and closes her eyes.
My cock is instantly hard, but I resist the urge to take it out, to follow her lead. It’s not time yet.
She opens her mouth to moan, and I turn the volume up as high as it can go so that I don’t miss it. Tugging on her breast through her shirt, she pulls on her nipple and arches her back.
I can tell when she goes from rubbing her clit to pushing her finger inside her—does she use one finger or two?—because she arches her back and moans louder, pulling up her shirt to expose her breasts. They bounce as she fucks herself, and I groan watching her, waiting for phase two.
As if she can hear me, she opens her eyes and shoves the covers off, frustrated. She hasn’t yet been able to make herself come during phase one, but she always tries. There’s only one thing that will work, and she knows it. Possibly resents it, but it’s what I’m waiting for.
Grabbing some clothes out of the dresser, she leaves the room and heads into the bathroom, our bathroom. I switch camera views so that I can watch as she turns on the water and yanks off her clothes, stepping under the stream before it has time to get warm.
With a gasp, she lets the cold water hit her, soaking her hair and running down her face. My girl likes pain, her nipples hardening almost instantly.
I can tell when the water begins to warm up because she starts to touch herself. Faster and harder, she works her clit, the other hand snaking up to her breast, pinching her nipple, digging in her nails until she hisses out a sharp breath.
I undo my pants and take out my cock, grabbing my bottle of Bergamot & Basil lotion and squirting a generous amount in my palm before smoothing it up and down my hard length.
I’m rock hard watching her like I am every morning, stroking myself, slowly building to match her relentless pace on her clit. She never fucks herself with her fingers in the shower.
Usually, this ends minutes later with both of us coming together. I know her tells, I see her body stiffen as she gets closer, her mouth shaping into a perfect circle, her eyes closed. I’d fucking give anything to know what she’s picturing in her mind as she gets closer and closer to orgasm.
But today is different. Today, instead of staying under the warm shower stream, she moves out of the water and backs into the stainless steel wall. The same place where I had my hand on her throat, forcing her to look at me .
When her skin hits the cold steel, she arches her back with a hiss, just like she did with me, her full breasts engorged, her nipples standing up.
She opens her mouth in a loud moan, and I stroke myself in time to her finger movements. My eyes are glued to her face, her wet writhing body, the way her hips jerk back and forth, grinding against her fingers. Wishing with every fiber of my being that it was my face she was riding instead.
My pace quickens as I see the signs that she’s about to come.
My goal, as it is every morning, is to come with her, to stroke my hard cock until I come, imagining that I am coming on her tits, in her tight cunt, on her round ass, shoving my cock into that perfect round O she makes with her wet lips and coming down her throat.
She’s almost there, and so am I, a good thing because the lotion is absorbing into my skin so that I’m rubbing my dick raw. But I don’t care. I’m coming with her today, imagining that I’m about to shoot my load all over her pretty face.
Tight heat grips my stomach and moves into my balls, building at the base of my cock. I watch her tits bounce, watch her thrum her clit mercilessly, her eyes closed, shoulders stiff, mouth open.
Just as I feel myself teetering on the edge, a second away from coming, it happens—
“Matti!”
Clear as day, the volume all the way up, she screams my name as she comes, her body convulsing and shaking against the shower wall as she fucks herself through it.
The shock and pride that shoot through me shove me over the edge.
“FUCK,” I yell out, my orgasm exploding through my body, my cock pulsing in my hand as I come.
Breathing hard, I watch her body soften, sliding limply down the shower wall to the floor as she opens her eyes, panting hard.
A slow smile spreads across her face and she shakes her head, pushing went tendrils of hair off her body.
“Fuck you, Matti,” she says softly.
I grin back at the screen, surprised and happy. “Yeah, fuck me, kitten. Fuck me all day long.”
She’s thinking about me. She wants me.
Fuck this. I’m going home.