Chapter 15
Matteo
The car ride back to the safehouse is quiet, but it's a different kind of quiet than before.
Electric. Charged. Isabella sits beside me, her hand resting on the seat between us, so close I can feel the warmth radiating from her skin.
The kiss in my office is still burning between us, raw and desperate and completely fucking addictive.
I want to touch her. Want to pull her across the seat and onto my lap, want to bury my face in her neck and breathe her in until she's the only thing in my lungs. But I force myself to wait. To let the anticipation build until we're both shaking with it.
She's quiet, staring out the window at the trees that blur past in the darkness. But I catch her watching me in the reflection, her green eyes dark with want. The sight makes my cock throb against my zipper.
"You're thinking too much," I say, my voice rough.
"Am I?" She turns to look at me, and the heat in her gaze nearly stops my heart. "What am I thinking about?"
"How much you want me to touch you." I flip my coin between my fingers, the metal warm from my skin. "How much you want me to finish what we started in that office."
Her breath catches, and I see her pulse jump at her throat. "You're awfully confident."
"I'm right." I catch the coin and slip it into my pocket. "And you know it."
The safehouse appears through the trees, all glass and steel and shadows. I pull into the circular drive, but neither of us moves to get out. The air in the car feels thick, heavy with everything we're not saying.
"Isabella." Her name comes out like a prayer, like a promise. "Look at me."
She turns, and I see everything in her eyes. The fear, the want, the desperate need she's been trying to hide. It mirrors everything I'm feeling, everything I've been fighting since the moment I took her.
"I need you to know something," I say, my voice steady despite the chaos in my chest. "What happens next, it's your choice. You say stop, and I stop. You say no, and I walk away. But if you say yes..."
"What happens if I say yes?" Her voice is barely a whisper.
"Then I make you mine. Completely. In every way that matters." I reach out, fingers tracing the line of her jaw. "And I don't let you go. Ever."
She leans into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed. When she opens them again, they're bright with tears and want and something that looks like surrender.
"I thought I'd be more afraid of you," she says softly. "But I'm not."
"Why not?"
"Because you'd never lie to me. That's more than I can say for anyone else in my life."
The words pierce through my carefully kept walls like a blade. She sees me. Really sees me. Not the Rosetti name or the reputation or the carefully constructed mask I wear for everyone else. She sees the man underneath, and she's not running.
Christ, what is this woman doing to me? I've spent my whole life perfecting the art of staying detached, of keeping everyone at arm's length. But with her, all my defenses crumble.
I get out of the car and come around to her side, opening the door like the gentleman my mother raised me to be. She takes my offered hand, and the contact sends electricity up my arm. By the time we reach the front door, we're both breathing hard.
Inside, the safehouse feels different than before.
The summer air is thick and humid, carrying the scent of pine and the distant lake through the open windows.
The soft lighting casts everything in gold, making the space feel intimate instead of cold.
I can hear the chorus of cicadas outside, their song mixing with the gentle night breeze that stirs the curtains.
I pour her a glass of wine, the crystal catching the lamplight, but she doesn't take it.
Just stands there watching me, her navy dress clinging to her curves, her hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders.
The emerald pendant I gave her yesterday catches the light at her throat, a flash of green that matches her eyes.
The sight of her in my space, surrounded by the scent of summer and candlelight, makes my chest tight with something I can't name.
"You scare me in all the wrong ways," she says quietly.
I set down the wine and move toward her, slow and deliberate. "Then tell me not to touch you."
She doesn't.
I reach for her, hands settling on her waist, and she doesn't pull away. Instead, she steps closer, until there's barely an inch between us. I can feel the heat of her body, smell the sweet scent of her skin.
"Isabella." Her name is a growl on my lips. "Tell me what you want."
"I want..." She swallows hard, her hands coming up to rest on my chest. "I want you to make me forget everything except this. Except you."
That's all the permission I need.
I kiss her, slow and deep and thorough, pouring weeks of want and need into the contact. She melts against me, her hands fisting in my shirt, and I can taste the wine on her lips, the desire that's been building between us since the moment I took her.
"Upstairs," I breathe against her mouth. "I want you in my bed."
She nods, and I take her hand, leading her up the stairs to the master bedroom. The space is dark except for the moonlight streaming through the windows, but I don't turn on the lights. Don't want anything to break the spell between us.
I turn to face her, my hands moving to the zipper of her dress. The metal is warm from her skin, and I can feel her pulse racing beneath my fingertips. "You're sure?"
"Yes." The word comes out breathless, desperate. "Yes, Matteo. Please."
The trust in her voice, the way she's surrendering to me completely, it breaks something open in my chest. I've had women before, countless women, but none of them ever looked at me the way Isabella does. Like I'm worth the risk.
I pull the zipper down slowly, my knuckles brushing against her spine.
The navy dress whispers to the floor, pooling around her feet in a circle of structured fabric.
She shivers, and I can feel her pulse racing under my touch.
The room is warm with summer heat, but goosebumps rise on her arms anyway.
The dress pools at her feet, leaving her in nothing but the green lace lingerie I bought her. The sight stops my heart. She's golden in the lamplight, her skin flushed pink, every curve perfect and mine to worship.
"Fuck," I breathe, my eyes drinking in every inch of her. "You're perfect. So fucking perfect."
I trace the edge of the lace with my fingertip, watching her skin flush pink with desire. She's trembling, but not with fear. With want. With need. With the same desperate hunger that's been eating me alive since I took her.
The smoothness of the lace contrasts with the heat of her skin underneath. I can feel her heartbeat through her ribs, can smell the subtle perfume that drives me crazy mixed with the scent of her arousal.
"Your turn," she whispers, her hands moving to the buttons of my shirt.
I let her undress me, her fingers careful and reverent as she pushes the fabric off my shoulders. When she traces the scar on my chest, the one she bandaged just days ago, I have to bite back a groan.
"You've been through hell," she says softly.
"Still am." The words come out rough, honest.
She leans closer, pressing a kiss to the scar. "Then don't go through it alone."
The gentleness in her voice, the acceptance, it breaks something open in my chest. I've never had anyone look at me the way she does. Like I'm worth saving. Like I'm worth loving.
I lift her onto the bed, the sheets cool against our overheated skin.
She's spread out beneath me like a feast, all golden skin and green lace and eyes that burn with desire.
The moonlight through the windows paints silver patterns across her body, and I lean down, kissing her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts above the lace.
The room smells like her perfume and the night air drifting through the windows. I can taste salt on her skin, feel the rapid flutter of her pulse beneath my lips.
"God, the things I want to do to you," I murmur against her skin. "The ways I want to make you mine."
"Tell me," she breathes, her back arching as I kiss lower. "Tell me what you want."
"I want to worship every inch of you," I say, my voice rough with need. "Want to make you come so hard you forget your own name. Want to mark you, claim you, make sure you never forget who you belong to."
She moans, her hands tangling in my hair as I kiss down her body. I take my time, memorizing the taste of her skin, the sounds she makes, the way she responds to my touch. When I reach the edge of her panties, I look up at her, my eyes dark with promise.
"Mine," I growl, and she doesn’t say anything, just nods frantically.
I strip the lace away and spread her thighs wider, drinking in the sight of her. "Look at you," I growl, my voice rough with hunger. "So wet for me already. This pretty little pussy is dripping, and I haven't even touched you yet."
She whimpers, her hips lifting toward me, and I hold her down with firm hands on her thighs.
"Tell me what you want," I demand, my breath hot against her skin. "Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you."
"I want your mouth," she gasps, her cheeks flushing pink. "I want you to taste me."
"Fuck yes." I lean down, dragging my tongue through her wetness in one long, slow stroke. She cries out, her back arching off the bed. "You taste like heaven, baby. I could eat this sweet pussy for hours."
I devour her like a man starving, my tongue working her clit while I slide two fingers deep inside her. She's so tight, so hot, clenching around me like she never wants to let me go.
"God, Matteo," she pants, her hands fisting in my hair. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
"Never," I growl against her. "I'm going to make you come on my tongue, then I'm going to fuck you until you can't remember your own name."