Chapter 19 #2
I laugh, pulling back enough that I can see his face.
“I’m far from perfect.” He’s not going to accept that answer, clear by the tilt of his head.
I look away. “It’s easier, I guess. I know many other people have had hard lives too.
Even on the days I can’t be kind to myself, I can be kind to others.
” Meeting his eyes again, I finish, “The least I can do is give others grace on their worst days.”
His lips twitch up, and something tender slips into his eyes.
“Your outlook on life is exactly why I wanted to play with you. Sure, I need to rehab my image so I don’t lose out on sponsorships and other opportunities, but after meeting you this season and seeing how radiant you are—how easily you bring others into conversations and put them at ease—I knew I had to learn from you.
My therapist called it a Band-Aid on a bullet hole but…
” He raises a shoulder, laughing self-deprecatingly.
“She’s right, obviously. I haven’t magically become someone new.
I have a lot to work through, but sometimes, when I’m with you, I feel like I am capable of being someone new. Someone better.”
“I hope you don’t change too much. I like you quite a bit exactly as you are.” He chuckles, though I haven’t made a joke. “I’m serious,” I insist.
Matteo’s eyes drop to my lips, and it’s a reminder of what we started upstairs. My body flushes.
He straightens, dropping his hands from around me. “I shouldn’t have kissed you before you were ready. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I…I’ve been wanting to do that since the morning I left.”
A frustrated groan escapes him, his hand running through his hair. “Tesoro, please. You can’t say things like that to me.” The shadows cast by the streetlamp accentuate the torment, the absolute devastation in his eyes, and I can’t take it.
My fingers find his T-shirt, fisting the fabric and pulling us back together.
Our lips clash, desperation clinging heavily to the air around us.
He flips us so my back is pressed to the car, his hand bunching my hair, pulling my head back enough for him to kiss along my jaw hungrily, the scrape of his beard against my skin soothed by his soft lips.
His other hand blazes a trail up and down my side. Right when I’m ready to drag him into his car, he pulls away, eyes wild. “I—” He pants. “I don’t want to make your life any more difficult than it is. You said we should wait until after Austin is back, and I can do that for you.”
But he doesn’t look like he can do that. And I don’t feel like I can do it. “I don’t care about that right now.”
This time, it’s him surging forward as soon as the last word is out of my mouth.
His kiss is demanding, like he’s terrified this could be his last chance.
Like I’ll change my mind. When he lifts me, my legs wrapping around him, I feel him hard against my center, the pressure almost unbearable.
His lips light a path down my jaw again, to my throat, heat bursting like fireworks all over my body in anticipation.
“Upstairs or mine?” he asks gruffly against my collarbone.
I hardly register the question, upping the friction until my fingers curl into his shoulders, desperate to get him inside me. When the words come again, stuttered and unsure, I knock a knuckle against his car.
Matteo pulls back, scanning my face until he’s found whatever it is he’s searching for. He rips the door to the driver’s side open, tugging me inside after him so I land in his lap, straddling him. The moment I feel him pressed against me again, the desperation is back with a vengeance.
He says something in Italian that sounds an awful lot like he’s swearing before placing a hand on my face, his lips back on mine. His other hand settles on my hip, guiding me so I’m grinding against him.
“Clothes. There’s too many.” I pant.
It’s a mad dash to rip off my shorts and underwear while keeping every point of contact that we can. As he reclines his seat, I help him out of his pants and boxer briefs, rubbing the bead of precum dripping from his tip.
He groans. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to”—he exhales choppily when I move my hand lower, pushing up on my knees and swiping him through my arousal—“regret this like last time.”
I shift, leaning down to kiss him gently, trailing kisses down his jaw to whisper beside his ear, “I never said I regretted it. And I’m not going to leave this time. Do you have a condom?”
Matteo reaches blindly toward his center console. He unlatches it and I find one, ripping it open and rolling it on him. Just as I’m positioning myself over him, he grips my hip. “Come sit on my face.”
“There is no way we’re going to be able to do that,” I say, gesturing at the limited space. It’s already cramped in here; I wouldn’t be able to bend that way.
His eyes narrow at my disobedience, but he puts a hand below my mouth.
“Spit.” The thrill of being told what to do zips through my blood, and I listen, gasping when he moves his hand down to cup me.
“I’ll have to make sure you’re ready a different way,” he states, then waits for my nod to circle my clit expertly.
It only takes a few moments before I’m whimpering, and he takes the sign to move to where I’m slick with need.
“Fuck,” he moans throatily. “You liked rubbing on my cock, didn’t you?”
Another nod.
That wicked smirk pulls at his lips. “You drive me to distraction all the time in those fucking dresses of yours. It’s my turn to do the same for you.
” My head rolls back as he sinks a finger in, my heartbeat picking up.
Lighting zings at the base of my spine, building hotter and hotter until I’m sure something as simple as a word will set me off.
Except, he takes his fingers out right before I come. I pout. Matteo uses his thumb to pull my bottom lip down gently. “I want the first time you come tonight to be around my cock. That okay?”
“I didn’t take you for a tease, Matteo Corsi.”
In less than a second, he’s guided my hips to his, notching himself inside of me, pushing in slowly. My body bends to his touch, sinking lower and lower until I can feel every inch of him. “Delilah,” he whispers, a slight hitch in his voice. “Look at you.”
Our movements are slow at first, but the moment I adjust to him, it turns passionate and frenzied again, our kisses sporadic and messy.
“You take me so good, tesorino.”
That first wave crests, my vision flushing black around the edges. “Matteo, I’m going t—”
The calloused pads of his fingers grip my chin carefully, forcing my eyes to meet his. “Touch yourself.”
He hits the perfect spot just as I brush my fingers over my clit and shatter, losing all rhythm as I come. “Matteo.”
Picking up the slack, Matteo whispers praises and pulls my body over his so he can kiss me properly, his hands on my hips while he drills into me faster and faster. Moments later, his rhythm turns to a staccato.
“Delilah,” he whispers against my chest, completely undone and entirely out of control.
When we catch our breath a few minutes later, we readjust, him lying on his back, me on my side with his arm wrapped around me. “I will beg on my hands and knees for you to come home with me,” he murmurs into the hazy silence, finger swiping at a fogged-up window.
Beaming, I say, “As much as I would love to see that, there’s no need.” My fingers trace a lazy pattern on his chest. “I hoped you’d ask.”
Us existing as we are right now is proof we can work through any issues that might arise and impact our tennis. We already have.
I’m done fighting this. If a week is all we have together before the season begins, I’m going to make the most of it.