Chapter Forty-Eight
Matteo
I knew the second she cancelled on me that something was wrong.
Daphne Sinclair isn’t the type to back out of plans. She’s stubborn as hell and always following through on whatever she sets her mind to - even when it’s a terrible idea, even when I know she’s only doing it to prove a point.
So when she sent that short, clipped message, I knew something must have happened.
And now that I know what - now that I know exactly what that bastard Chapman has been doing, saying, twisting - I can’t fucking breathe without wanting to put my fist through a wall.
I should be at home, I should be relaxing, but how the fuck am I supposed to do that knowing what she’s been dealing with?
He made her question her instincts. Made her second-guess who she could trust.
Made her think - even for a second - that I was one of them .
That I thought like him .
The thought makes me feel fucking sick .
I should be out there, tracking him down, making sure he never sets foot near her again. But right now, that’s not what matters.
He doesn’t matter.
She does.
She’s still shaken. I can see it in the way she’s carrying herself, the way she tried to play it off like she was fine.
But I know her well enough by now. I see her. And she’s not fine.
So I do the only thing that makes sense. I pick her up, cradle her in my arms like she weighs nothing, and carry her to her bedroom.
I have one job tonight: to take care of her. Everything else - Chapman, The Tribune, the absolute fucking rage simmering in my chest - can wait.
Because right now, she needs me.
She doesn’t say it. She never would. But I see it in the way she lets me carry her, the way she doesn’t argue, doesn’t push me away like she usually does. That fight in her is still there, but right now, she’s letting me take over.
And fuck if I don’t love that.
Her tiny bedroom is dimly lit, her bed unmade, the sheets tangled from whatever restless sleep she tried to get earlier.
It’s a far cry from my sleek, modern home, where everything is polished and pristine.
But I don’t give a shit about that.
This is her space. It smells like her, feels like her.
And right now, I need to be close to her in the place where she feels safest .
I lay her down gently on the mattress, and I don’t hesitate to climb in beside her, stretching my body along hers, needing to feel her against me. I prop myself up on one elbow, my fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns on her thigh.
She’s so small compared to me - all soft curves and warm skin - and I want to wrap myself around her, shield her from all the bullshit she’s been dealing with.
Instead, I settle for showing her with my hands, my lips, my body.
"You're incredible," I murmur.
My voice is rough and strained - thick with everything I want to say but don’t know how.
"I don’t feel very incredible right now."
"Well, you are,” I tell her simply. “And I’ll prove it to you."
I lean in and kiss her, slow and lingering, pouring every unspoken word into the way my lips move against hers. She doesn’t pull away, and she doesn’t argue - she just melts into me, letting me take control, letting me be what she needs tonight.
My hand trails up beneath the hem of her oversized t-shirt, my fingertips grazing over her soft skin. Goosebumps rise in my wake, and I bunch the fabric in my hands, dragging it up over her body. She lifts her arms to let me pull it off completely and I toss it onto the floor, not giving a single fuck where it lands.
All that matters is her .
And fuck , she’s so beautiful.
The glow of the bedside lamp casts soft shadows over her bare skin, highlighting every dip, every curve. My gaze drags over her, drinking her in, and when I finally meet her eyes, she’s already watching me.
Waiting.
Trusting .
She doesn’t even realise how fucking strong she is.
"You're safe with me," I murmur, my voice thick with promise. " Always ."
Her breath hitches, and I feel it - the exact moment the weight of my words sinks in.
Tears sting her eyes, but she doesn’t let them fall.
Instead, she grips my face in both hands and kisses me, hard and deep, like she’s trying to tell me something without saying it out loud.
I feel it.
I feel her .
I press my forehead to hers, my breathing heavy, trying to keep myself in check when all I want to do is wreck her, ruin her, remind her exactly who she is, who she belongs to .
I swallow hard and lower myself, my lips moving from her mouth to her jawline, then down her neck. She arches into me instinctively, her body responding to mine in a way that makes my cock throb.
She wants this.
She wants me .
Even after everything that bastard tried to do, even after every doubt he planted in her mind - she’s here, with me.
Mine.
She shivers beneath my touch, her breath catching as my fingers glide down the length of her thighs. My lips follow, pressing slow, lingering kisses to her hips, her stomach, teasing just enough to feel the way she arches toward me.
"Matteo," she breathes, her voice shaky, full of need.
"I'm here," I murmur, my breath hot against her skin. "Just relax. I've got you - let me show you."
I want to make her feel so good she forgets about everything else.
She’s already so wet, and fuck , it makes me groan against her skin, the sound vibrating against her as I grip her thighs and spread them wider for me.
I could tease her all night. Could spend hours here, learning every little sound she makes, dragging this out until she’s wrecked for me. But not tonight.
Tonight, she needs more.
And so I give it to her.
The first flick of my tongue against her clit makes her whole body jolt, and I love it.
The way she reacts to me, the way she moves, the way her thighs tremble against my shoulders - I swear, this is better than any goal I’ve ever scored.
Her fingers clutch at the sheets, but I want them tangled in my hair.
I need them on me.
"Holy fuck ," she gasps, and I smirk, loving that I can do this to her.
Her hips lift, chasing my mouth, and I let her, but only for a second.
Then my hands tighten around her thighs, pinning her down, forcing her to take it exactly how I want to give it to her.
She whimpers, and it’s music.
"You’re so wet for me," I murmur, voice thick with satisfaction. "So fucking perfect ."
I slide two fingers inside her, groaning at how easily she takes them, how tight and warm she is around me.
My tongue never stops, circling her clit with precision, my fingers curling and finding that perfect spot that makes her gasp my name.
"Matteo," she cries, and fuck if it doesn’t go straight to my cock.
I pull back just enough to look up at her, my lips glistening, my fingers still buried inside her.
"I love when you say my name like that," I murmur. "Say it again."
She does. Louder, this time.
And it wrecks me.
I need her to come for me, need to feel her fall apart, need to watch it.
So I double down, my mouth, my fingers, my tongue - everything is focused on her, on pulling her over the edge, on making sure she knows who’s doing this to her.
"That’s it," I groan against her. "Give it to me, baby. Let go."
And fuck - she does.
She shatters, her whole body bowing off the bed, her thighs shaking, her hands finally, finally gripping my hair as she cries out my name.
I don’t stop .
Not until I feel every last tremor. Not until I know she’s too sensitive, too overwhelmed to take anymore.
Only then do I pull back, pressing soft kisses to the inside of her thighs, my fingers stroking lazy circles against her skin.
I move up her body slowly, letting my lips explore every inch of her. Her stomach, her ribs, the swell of her breasts - I kiss it all, my own body still thrumming with need.
I knew I was gone for her before. But now?
There’s no coming back.
She’s mine. She’s been mine from the moment she stepped into my life, all fire and stubbornness, pushing back against me like she didn’t know she’d already lost the battle.
But this isn’t about winning. Not with her.
This is about us .
I don’t think she realises how much she’s taken over me, how much space she’s claimed in my head, in my chest. And maybe that’s my fault. Maybe I haven’t made it clear enough.
But I will.
Right now, all I care about is taking care of her.
I don’t rush it. This isn’t about me.
This is about her .
About making her feel good, making her feel safe, making her understand that I’m not going anywhere.
By the time I reach her mouth, she’s still breathless, but she kisses me back like she wants more.
I grin against her lips.
"You're so beautiful like this," I murmur, brushing a stray lock of hair from her damp forehead. "Completely undone. "
She swallows, her eyes still hazy.
"I needed that," she admits, voice soft.
"I know," I smirk.
And then I feel my entire expression relax.
"You're just… incredible ," I whisper, my voice raw, my breathing uneven.
She blinks up at me, eyes still hazy from her orgasm, and I swear I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
And fuck , I want her. I need her.
The ache in my body, the throbbing between my legs, the way every part of me is wound tight with unspent desire - I should be desperate to move, to take what I want, but I don’t.
I hold still.
This isn’t just about fucking. I’m not sure it ever even was.
She cups my face, pulling me into a kiss that makes my pulse stutter.
"Let me make you feel good," she whispers, her hands already tugging at the hem of my shirt.
I sit back just long enough to yank it over my head, letting it fall somewhere onto her messy floor, and when I look back at her, she’s already running her fingers down my torso, exploring.
"Like what you see?"
She rolls her eyes.
"Oh, please. You're so full of yourself."
"Well," I murmur, leaning down so my lips graze hers, "you are staring. "
She laughs, and fuck , I love that sound.
Then her hands slip lower, and whatever witty remark I had dies in my throat as her fingers wrap around my cock.
I groan, head tipping back slightly as she strokes me, slow and teasing, her touch firm but unhurried.
"Fuck," I hiss, my grip tightening on her thigh.
I swear my vision blurs for a second as she keeps going, her thumb swiping over the tip, smearing the wetness already gathered there.
I look down at her, at the way she’s looking at me - like she’s studying every reaction, like she wants to wreck me the way I just did her.
And she is wrecking me.
I brace myself on my forearms, my muscles tense, jaw locked. I have to fight the urge to squeeze my eyes shut and just give in to the way she’s making me feel.
But I can’t. I need to watch her.
I need to see every fucking second of this.
"Dio, Daphne , " I rasp, my voice barely above a growl. "You're going to fucking kill me."
She smirks. Actually smirks at me.
I let her have her fun, let her think she has the upper hand -
Until I don’t.
I can’t take it anymore, and I groan and grip her wrist, stilling her movements before I lose my fucking mind.
Her eyes flick up to mine, wide and questioning.
"Not like this," I say, my voice rough. "I need to be inside you. "
She nods, her fingers loosening around me.
"Okay?" I ask, my voice lower now.
"Perfect," she whispers.
That’s all I need.
I line myself up at her entrance before pushing forwards slowly, carefully.
And fuck - the feeling of her stretching around me is enough to make me want to explode right then and there.
I still, my forehead pressing against hers, breathing hard.
I don’t move. Not yet.
I need to let her adjust, to let her feel me - need to revel in this moment before I lose myself completely.
But then she shifts her hips, and my eyes near enough roll back into my head as she takes me even deeper.
"Matteo, please, ” she whispers, her voice trembling with need. “ Move .”
I happily oblige.
My first thrust is slow and deliberate, and we moan in unison at the sensation.
Her fingers lace with mine above her head, and I press them into the mattress, holding her there, keeping her right where I want her -
And keeping my eyes locked on hers.
She doesn't look away, and neither do I.
My rhythm is steady at first, deep and unhurried, every movement intentional, every slow drag of my hips saying things I don’t know how to put into words yet .
I don’t rush. I savour . I want her to feel every inch of me, want her to know that I’m not just taking her, I’m claiming her.
And not just her body. All of her.
Because this isn’t just sex. It’s something much bigger.
And I know she feels it too.
I see it in the way her breath shudders between parted lips, the way her thighs tremble as they tighten around me, the way her body yields to mine completely. Trusting. Open.
Mine .
I feel it in the way she grips my hands like she needs me to ground her, like she needs me to hold her here in this moment, to anchor her to me so she doesn’t lose herself completely in the pleasure building between us.
"I’ve got you, Daphne," I murmur, my voice hoarse with emotion.
Her eyes flutter shut, her lips parting and her body arching into me as I roll my hips just right, dragging a soft, broken moan from deep within her throat.
I kiss her.
It’s slow and deep, my tongue sweeping against hers, matching the steady, unrelenting pace of my thrusts.
I let go of one of her hands, only so I can touch her - so I can feel her. My palm drifts down her arm, tracing the delicate curve of her collarbone before sliding lower, fingers grazing the softness of her breast.
She gasps against my mouth as I squeeze, rolling my thumb over her nipple, feeling the way her body tightens in response.
"Matteo," she breathes, her voice catching .
I move lower, kissing the column of her throat, feeling the way her pulse thrums wildly beneath my lips.
"You're so beautiful," I whisper against her skin. "So fucking perfect."
Her fingers tighten around mine again, squeezing, and I squeeze back, grounding her, letting her feel me, letting her know I’m here.
She lets out another soft moan, her head tipping back against the pillows as I shift my angle, thrusting deeper, making sure I hit that spot inside her that makes her breath catch and her nails dig into my skin.
She gasps beneath me, her body arching, her legs tightening around my waist.
"I don't want this to end," she breathes, her voice cracking.
I falter, just for a second.
Because I know she’s not talking about the sex.
My chest tightens, something sharp and real settling in my ribcage.
I slow my movements, grinding into her instead, dragging out every second.
"It doesn't have to," I say, my voice thick. "I told you, I’ve got you. I'm here , Daphne. I'm all in."
She blinks up at me, her lips parting, and I see the moment she lets those words sink in.
Then she kisses me, hard and desperate, and I feel everything she can’t say yet.
Her body tightens around me, her moans getting higher, needier, and I know she’s close.
"Matteo," she gasps. "I'm - "
"I know," I growl, my hips snapping harder, faster. "Let go, bella . I've got you."
She shatters beneath me, her body locking, her nails digging into my back as she falls over the edge.
I barely hold on for another second before I follow, my release slamming into me with so much force that my whole body trembles.
I groan against her neck, pressing as deep as I can, letting her take all of me as I empty myself inside her.
I don’t think I’ve ever cum so hard in my life.
My arms tremble as I collapse onto her, both of us gasping for breath, our bodies still tangled, our hearts still racing in sync.
I don’t move right away.
Neither does she.
We just breathe , wrapped up in the aftershocks of what we’ve just shared. Skin damp, limbs heavy -
And the air between us thick with something neither of us dares to name yet.
Eventually, I shift, easing onto my side and pulling her with me. I don’t let her go - not even for a second. I tuck her against my chest, wrapping the blanket around us both, cocooning her in warmth, in me .
I don’t say anything for a long time. I just hold her.
I let my fingers trace slow, absentminded patterns along the bare skin of her back; memorising the feel of her, the way she fits perfectly against me.
She exhales softly, nestling closer, her breath warm against my collarbone, and I feel it then.
That shift .
That quiet, unspoken understanding settling deep in my chest.
This isn’t just sex. This isn’t just some fleeting thing.
It never was.
I press a lingering kiss to the top of her head, my lips against her soft hair.
"You're mine now, Daphne," I murmur, my voice quiet but steady. Unshakable. "And nobody is going to hurt you again."
She doesn’t argue. She doesn’t tease.
Instead, she smiles as she presses herself deeper into me, letting me hold her like she belongs here.
And I know - I know - she’s mine.