Chapter 15 Matteo #2
I don’t give her the chance to change her mind. I tighten my hold on her hand and lead us out of the lounge, her heels clicking behind me as if she’s being pulled by a force neither of us knows how to resist. The night air is cold, sharp, irrelevant; I’m too consumed by the woman walking beside me.
A taxi pulls up and the moment we slide inside, our hands stay linked, as if letting go would undo everything we’ve been fighting for weeks.
The silence is thick, electric. I look at her—and she’s already looking at me.
Heat coils low and brutal in my spine.
She wets her lips with a slow, unconscious sweep of her tongue, and the movement hits me like a punch to the chest. Her gaze catches mine, darkening with something she tries—and fails—to hide. The air between us tightens, thick enough that I can almost feel it pressing against my skin.
I lift my hand and trace my thumb along her bottom lip, dragging lightly, savoring the softness, the warmth, the way she stills beneath my touch as if her entire body has been caught in a quiet, dangerous spell.
Her breath trembles out of her, shallow and uneven, her chest rising a little too fast, her pulse fluttering at her throat like it’s trying to give her away.
I’m hanging on by threads. Fragile, fraying threads.
“Bella…” Her name leaves me in a rough whisper, shaped by longing and something deeper, something lethal.
She looks at me like she’s answering a question I haven’t voiced aloud.
And then the last thread snaps.
I pull her into my lap, one hand gripping the curve of her ass, the other sliding up her thigh. Our breaths collide, warm and urgent, before her mouth crashes into mine.
“Matteo…” she moans against my lips, and I’m lost.
Hands tangle. Teeth graze. Her body melts into mine with a kind of hunger that tears every ounce of restraint out by the roots.
When the cab slows, I throw cash at the driver without looking. We stumble out, still kissing, still grabbing at each other like the world’s about to end and we want to burn together.
I don’t care who sees.
In this moment, she belongs to me and I belong to her. No hesitation. No masks. No lines left unbroken.
Our mouths devour each other as we move through the lobby and into the dim utility corridor where no one lingers. I push the door open with my shoulder, pull her inside, and the world narrows to heat and want and the quiet, inexorable truth neither of us can outrun.
“I need you,” she whispers, tearing her lips from mine.
Her eyes are hazy with want, unfocused and wild, but she manages to glance toward the utility closet beside the elevator as if she’s already made her choice and I’m simply expected to follow.
I turn just enough to see the narrow door, then look back at her, taking in the sight that nearly drags a groan out of my chest.
Her hair is mussed from my hands, her lips swollen from my mouth, and her pupils are blown wide with a hunger that borders on feral. She looks at me like the only thought left in her head is take me, like she’s seconds away from coming apart if I don’t touch her again.
“You’re taking too long,” she says, voice low and impatient, before she plants both hands on my chest and shoves me toward the door with a force that nearly knocks me off my footing.
It’s all the invitation I need.
We stumble into the closet, a tangled collision of mouths and hands, and the moment the door slams shut behind us she pushes me again, harder this time, pinning me against the back of it with the sheer intensity of her need.
My back hits the wood with a deep, hollow thud.
Before I can say a word she fists my shirt, drags me down, and crushes her mouth to mine.
The kiss is a mess of heat and teeth and instinct, no rhythm, no hesitation, no thought—just pure, unfiltered want.
Our mouths collide like we’re trying to consume each other, like every second apart has been starving us.
Her kiss is a warning. A challenge. A declaration of exactly how far she’s willing to go.
I answer by gripping her ass with both hands and lifting her clean off the ground, her legs locking around my waist in a single, fluid motion. I walk us backward until her spine hits the opposite wall. The metal shelves rattle, one box clattering to the floor, but neither of us so much as flinches.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, bella,” I murmur against her mouth, my voice dark and ragged with restraint that’s hanging by a thread.
“I’m not scared of you,” she whispers, biting my lower lip hard enough to send heat shooting down my spine. “I should be. But I’m not.”
“Good,” I growl, dragging my mouth down her jaw, over the curve of her neck. “I don’t want you scared. I want you begging. I want you screaming.”
Her head falls back against the concrete wall, giving me more of her, offering herself without even realizing it. My tongue grazes the tender skin beneath her ear, and her whole body jolts in my arms, her nails digging into my shoulders.
“This dress,” I breathe against her throat, inhaling the scent of silk and sweat and Beatrice, “is a fucking masterpiece on you. I wanted to rip out the eyes of every man who dared look at you tonight.”
A sound slips out of her then—soft, involuntary, damning.
She wants this. She wants me. No matter how hard she fights it.
Her hands scramble for my jacket, pushing it down my arms in a frantic rush, her nails scraping along the muscles of my shoulders through the fabric.
I let it fall to the ground without a care.
My hands slide to the hem of her dress, dragging it up, bunching the silk high around her waist, exposing the heat I’ve been fighting the urge to claim since the moment she walked into that bar.
There’s nothing tentative left in me.
No teasing. No hesitation. No asking for permission I already have.
My hand slips between her thighs.
All I find is heat—blistering, desperate, unmistakably mine.
Wet, golden heat.
“No panties,” I whisper darkly, my breath scorching against her throat. “Jesus Christ, Beatrice.”
She writhes, mouth open in a silent gasp as my fingers slide through her slick folds. I can feel the pulsing of her swollen lips against my fingers as I move against her.
“Have you ever imagined my fingers fucking you like this?”
She shakes her head. Lies.
I sink two fingers into her without warning. I curl them ever so slightly to give her added friction. Her hips jerk.
“Have you ever thought of me like this, Beatrice?” Her response is a moan as I move in and out of her.
“Use your words, baby.” Another moan.
“Say it.”
Her nails dig into the back of my neck. “Yes.”
Fucking hell. “I knew it,” I snarl, my voice breaking with restraint. “You want me every bit as badly as I want you.”
She doesn’t answer. She whimpers.
And that sound undoes something inside me. All of the restraint, the distance, the weeks of pretending I could let her go—gone.
I drag my hand out of her, palm soaked, and lift it to her mouth. She stares, eyes dark and dazed.
“Suck.” She obeys.
Her lips wrap around my fingers, tongue swirling, eyes locked on mine as if daring me to break first. My god, this woman.
I yank my hand away and spin her again, this time pressing her front-first against the wall, her cheek flattening to the cool surface.
Her dress is still hiked around her hips, ass exposed, glistening from where I touched her.
I grip my belt, yank it loose with one vicious pull, and fumble with my zipper.
This is not how I imagined I would take her. But here we are.
“You belong to me, bella,” I growl into her ear, biting gently at her earlobe. “You understand me?”
Her breath catches. “Then take me.”
I line myself up, the head of my cock nudging against her soaked entrance. I want to do this with a little more finesse, a little more sensuality—but I’m too starved for her.
I thrust in—fast, deep, unforgiving.
Beatrice gasps like the air’s been punched out of her lungs, her body arching hard against the wall. Her palms splay against the concrete, legs shaking as I fill her completely in one brutal stroke.
She’s tight. So fucking tight.
“Holy shit,” she chokes, voice cracking.
I don’t give her time to adjust. Instinct takes over; every trace of gentleness leaves me.
I grip her hips and start moving—fast, punishing strokes that make the shelves beside us tremble with every impact.
My hips slam against the curve of her ass, my fingers digging into the soft flesh like I’m branding her.
Mine.
The sound of it—flesh on flesh, her breathless moans, my guttural groans—fills the small space like music. The room is thick with sweat, sex, and something darker.
I lean over her, chest to her back, mouth against her ear. “You feel that?”
She tries to speak but only manages a half-formed cry when I slam into her again, harder.
“That’s what you’ve been running from,” I hiss. “You think you can hide from this? From us? We are inevitable, baby. In. E. Vi. Ta. Ble.”
Her answer is a broken moan as she pushes back into me. Her walls clench—slick, greedy—pulling me deeper. My control frays by the second. I wrap her hair around my fist and yank her head back, her mouth falling open in a gasp.
“I know exactly what you are to me… and I’m not letting it go.”
She doesn’t speak. Her eyes flutter shut, her body trembling against mine.
I pull out suddenly and spin her again, slamming her back to the wall so I can see her face—red lips parted, pupils blown wide, hair wild around her shoulders.
I grab one thigh and yank it up over my hip, holding her open. With a single thrust I’m back inside her—deeper this time. Her head knocks against the wall as she cries out.
I kiss her… hard. No softness. Just teeth, tongue, and greedy fire. My hand wraps around her throat again, pinning her in place while I fuck her against the wall like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.