22. Tasha
22
He kisses me then, right there underneath my ear, and continues to tease languid kisses down my neck and across to my other ear, until an involuntary moan escapes my lips.
“You’re so soft, so delicate,” he whispers as his fingertips caress my cheek, sliding over my lips. He runs both hands down the column of my neck, the gentle touch breathtaking and in such contrast to the rough calluses on his skin, the way he is, the things he does.
His caress travels south, down my chest and between the valley of my breasts, my nipples begging. When he circles the tight buds with his thumbs, I close my eyes and bite down on my lip, my hips bucking against him where he still straddles me. Nobody has ever touched me like this before, and this is an expert, gentle assault, something I’d never have expected from him.
“Calm down, kitten,” he murmurs as he shoves away the sheet.
Oh God. He is naked. His erection—holy shit, his erection—juts into the air, bobbing with its size and weight with every move.
He lifts off me to settle on his side and cups my cheek, making me look at him. “I promised you’re safe with me, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” I whisper, dazed. It’s true. He hasn’t hurt me once. Even when he held me when he warned me never to speak of Tatiana again, it was if he was holding a bird with delicate bones.
“Then trust me.” He stares into my eyes as he gathers a stray strand of hair from my face. “I keep my promises.”
I can’t fight this. I can’t fight my attraction to him. Not when he is like this, caring, gentle, and not the monster who executed a man in his living room. I relax my arms where I’ve been straining against the rope he’s made of my camisole, and as if he senses my complete capitulation, he drops a kiss to my inner arm.
He lifts on his elbow, and I want to reach for him, cup his face, drive my fingers into his thick dark hair, trace the lines of his tattoo and kiss him back, but I’m tied up.
“You don’t get to touch me, understand?” he says, the command clear in his voice.
“I can’t, even if—” His hand clasps down on my mouth, quieting me.
“Even if you could, you don’t, understand?” he says, peering into my eyes.
I nod, confused. He lifts his hand and I bite my lip as he starts to slide his knuckles down my chest, still peering into my eyes, into my soul. I close my eyes, not ready for what I’ll reveal, and sink into the high that is Matteo Scalera.
He caresses my skin for such a long time that I’m completely weak with desire when he finally cups a breast and sucks a nipple into his mouth. The sensation is new, warm, a sudden sweet shock that travels right to my sex, making me jerk my hips up, my body seeking friction.
“Soon, kitten,” he murmurs as he drops his hand to my pelvis, resting it on my mound to still my hips. The weight is divine and when he starts to circle his palm with just the right amount of pressure, I know it’s a matter of minutes, seconds maybe before I crash into orgasm.
He trails his lips between my breasts, taking the other nipple in his mouth, seeming only invested in my pleasure. My pleasure which is slowly building, futile to resist even if I didn’t want to come at this man’s hand.
Matteo shifts and gets onto his knees, and I startle at the size of him, at how unfazed and confident he is with being naked. But then, his type is allowed to show off. He’s ripped, all lean muscle, six pack and the dark dragon tattoo with two spots of shiny scar tissue catching the lamplight. Bullet wounds… as eyes of the dragons. I search his body for more but get distracted by that V that leads my gaze to his shaved focal point.
I want that. I’ve never craved cock before, not like this. I want to touch him, taste him, grip him and watch him as I ride my hand up and down its impressive length.
I flex and release my fingers, fisting my hands in anguish that I can’t reach out for him. He is oblivious as he doesn’t even look at my face, focused on tracing the line of my shorts before he dips his fingers under the elastic and mutters, “These need to go.”
He tugs at them, and I raise my hips so he can slide them down, panties in tow. He balls the fabric up, presses it to his nose and breathes deeply. “No wonder you’re driving me fucking insane. How wet are you, kitten?”
The visual of him with the soft lamplight on his body, holding my panties to his nose, is almost too much.
“Turning the Sahara into the Amazon, sir,” I want to tease, but wouldn’t dare.
His hands on my inner thighs kill any answer as he settles between my legs. My impulse is to close up, but he is spreading me open, and I know I’m not ready for this. Everything has been new tonight, but this… this might be too much. I strain against his hold, wanting to clam up as much as I want to see and feel what he plans to do next.
“Matteo,” I protest, but he doesn’t care or listen. His hold is firm, his mouth on my skin, pressing kisses to my inner thigh, his nose trailing the sensitive skin between my leg and pussy. When he finally licks along the length of my sex, to the side, off center, I jerk my hands, straining against my bonds, my hips quivering in response.
“What am I going to do with you,” he whispers as he smooths his lips over my mound, placing a soft kiss in the center, then teasing the tip of my slit with his tongue. “Are you always wet like this or is this for me?”
I shudder at his words, at the reality that this is all him, but I refuse to give him that satisfaction. I feel him smirk with the heat of his breath as he makes his way down the other side, licking, torturing me by avoiding my clit. I’m digging my fingers into the soft fabric of the cami, working it, struggling to free myself and stop him from doing more.
My body has other plans. My pelvis presses up, seeking more from his lips, his tongue, the rough scratch of his stubble even more arousing against my delicate skin.
His hand slides down my inner thigh and pushes my lips wide open, and then he dips his head to circle his tongue around my entrance. I gasp, suddenly desperate to get away from the intensity of his delicate, deliberate assault. My thighs quiver but he is holding me open, pinning me down, refusing to grant me any reprieve. He groans as he shifts gears and grips my butt, and then laps at me, his tongue gliding over my clit and back. I arch into his mouth, release building up from deep inside of me.
I tug once more and my one hand slips free, then the other.
“Matteo, please.” I can’t help it. I can’t stop myself. I can’t think of anything else but to reach for him and rake my fingers into his hair, wanting to connect with him. He sucks my clit and the release I’ve been denying myself ever since he captured me rips and shatters through me in a thousand shards of pleasure. I cry out his name and he doesn’t stop, he keeps at it until I’ve ridden out the wave, my hips trembling, my legs quivering against his hold with the intensity of my release. Without a doubt there’ll be bruises.
My fingers caress his hair, conveying what I can’t in words. It’s only when he looks up, dark shadows over his face, that I pull away. He grips my hands, keeping them away from his body as he sits up.
“You don’t listen, do you? You’re a little rebel and it’s going to get you hurt or worse.” He wipes at his mouth, and my legs finally slump together in exhaustion. “I should fucking spank you for not listening.”