Chapter 48
Aoife
The door clicks shut behind us as we enter Matteo’s bedroom.
Matteo doesn’t speak, he just walks straight into the bathroom, and I hear the water turn on. Steam curls around the doorframe seconds later.
“You need a bath,” he says from the doorway, voice low, gentle like silk, but weighted. I stand frozen in the middle of his room, my fingers clenched around the hem of my top. It takes everything in me not to shatter again.
He returns, takes my hand and leads me wordlessly.
He’s being so gentle with me, and it’s making me want to break down even more, because of the love he’s showing me.
I step into the bathroom and see the tub filling, steam billowing up in thick clouds, rose-scented oil already floating on the surface. A towel rests on the edge. A single candle flickers on the basin.
Matteo kneels in front of me. He doesn’t touch me, he just looks up, those storm-dark eyes searching every inch of me. “Let me help.”
And when I nod, he’s careful. Reverent. He lifts the hem of my shirt, inch by inch, revealing the bruises like secrets whispered in the dark. His fingers skim my skin but never linger. Not until I’m bare, and he sees the full damage my own family did to me. Then his jaw tightens.
“I’m going to kill them.” The calm he was holding is replaced by rage.
Something dark flashes in his eyes. He stands and peels off his own clothes without a word, stepping into the bath first before helping me in, letting my body rest against his chest, between his legs. The water laps at our skin. His arms wrap around me slowly, securely.
I finally cry.
Not in gasps or sobs. It’s quieter than that. Just water slipping from my eyes like something my body can’t hold anymore. Matteo doesn’t hush me. Doesn’t speak. His hand strokes my arm, over and over again.
“I thought I’d never make it out,” I whisper.
“You did.”
“I thought they were going to kill me.”
“They didn’t.” I shift in the water until I can see his face. “Why aren’t you asking me to explain it all?”
“Because I saw your face when I found you. That told me everything I needed to know.”
His fingers brush over my shoulder, gently tracing the blooming marks. “I hate that I wasn’t there.”
“You were the only reason I survived it.” I turn back around, my back on his chest, letting him hold me as I cry the memories away.
The silence between us holds everything words can’t. My body is sore, but his touch soothes. My soul feels torn, but his presence keeps it from unraveling completely.
He leans forward and presses his lips to my temple. I nestle closer, my head tucked beneath his chin. “Do you think people like us deserve this kind of love?”
His breath stutters for just a second. “I don’t know what we deserve, but I know I’d burn the world for you. So, if this love is stolen, then I guess I’m a fucking thief.”
I start falling asleep in the water, skin to skin, heartbeats locked like twin clocks in the quiet.
“Let’s get in bed, little lamb.” I slowly open my eyes and sit up in the water. Once he is out of the water, he wraps a towel around him, then holds one for me. I already miss his touch and sink into his body when he wraps the towel around me, then picks me up.
He stands me in front of the bed, and starts drying me, being so gentle I can barely feel his hands on me. Standing back up, he grabs one of his T-shirts and puts it on me like I’m a child who can’t dress herself.
“Get some sleep, little lamb.” I lie down, and he plants a small kiss on my forehead, then puts the covers over me, and I fall asleep in record time.
I feel the slap hit my face hard, and it jolts me. I can’t be here again, I can’t be. Matteo saved me, he came to the church. I was in his arms again. How did they get me back? My father slaps me again; it jolts me again. I open my eyes and look around the unfamiliar room.
Trying to make sense of the shadows, I finally see him. Matteo, shirtless, sitting at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at me.
“You’ve been tossing and turning all night,” he says.
I sit up slowly, the cool air biting at my damp skin. “I didn’t mean to keep you awake.”
“You were crying in your sleep.” His voice is gravel now. “I didn’t know if I should wake you.”
I crawl over to him and wrap my arms around his waist from behind. My cheek rests against his back. His muscles are tight beneath my touch.
“I’m scared,” I say softly.
He turns and draws me into his lap, holding me like I’m the last thing in the world keeping him tethered to sanity.
“Don’t be,” he murmurs into my hair. “They’ll have to come through me first.”
“I know,” I whisper, burying myself in the safety of him.
This isn’t safe in a normal sense. Not peace. It’s fire and rage and shadows, but it’s also home.
Because Matteo Messina is my safe place and wrapped in his arms, finally, I know this is where I belong.
His hand moves up and down my back in long, lazy strokes, warm palm mapping every ridge of my spine, every dip and curve, like he’s memorizing me by touch alone.
My fingers slide into his hair, the dark strands thick and slightly damp at the roots, I tug gently, just enough to tilt his face to mine.
I kiss him softly, lips brushing, warm, tentative.
But he answers with something deeper, hungrier, his tongue finds mine in a slow, claiming sweep that steals my breath and sends heat pooling low in my belly.
This is what I crave from him, not just the fire, but the way he takes me completely, like I’m something precious he refuses to let slip away.
He eases me back so I’m standing between his knees.
His hands settle on my waist, thumbs stroking the bare skin of my stomach under the hem of his T-shirt that I’m wearing.
When he looks up at me, that small, crooked smile curves his lips.
His finger traces a slow line downward, slipping between my thighs to rub lightly over my folds.
The touch is feather-soft, barely there, but it’s enough to make my breath hitch.
Pleasure sparks, lazy and bright, building in quiet waves.
I bite my lower lip and reach for the hem of the shirt. I pull it over my head in one motion, cool air kisses my skin, tightening my nipples to aching points.
“Beautiful,” Matteo murmurs, voice low and rough with something that feels like reverence. “You know that, don’t you?” His eyes never leave mine. “I’m never going to stop loving you.”
My heart stumbles. “And I’ll always love you.”
He takes my hand, presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the center of my palm, warm lips, the faint scrape of stubble, the steady thump of his pulse under my fingers.
Then he stands, towering over me in that way that always makes me feel small and safe at the same time.
His smile spreads, soft and devastating, before he kisses me again, long, deep, tongues sliding together in lazy exploration until my knees feel unsteady and the room tilts.
I break away just enough to trail soft kisses across his cheek, his jaw, down the column of his throat.
His skin tastes faintly of salt and him.
While my lips wander, his hands move and his boxers slide down.
I feel the hard, hot length of him press against my stomach, velvet over steel, pulsing with his heartbeat. A quiet whimper escapes me.
He kisses me again, deeper still, and I part my thighs instinctively, aching for his touch.
But instead, he scoops me up and I wrap my legs around his waist, laughing softly against his mouth at the sudden shift.
The sound dissolves into a gasp as he lowers me to the bed, the mattress dipping under our combined weight.
He follows me down without hesitation, settling between my thighs.
I hook my legs around him again, heels pressing into the small of his back.
The broad head of him nudges my entrance and the moment he pushes in, slow and careful, I moan.
He’s so big, stretching me inch by careful inch, filling me until there’s nothing left but him.
“Aoife,” he breathes, voice frayed and reverent. “I love you.”
He kisses me softly as he moves, long, languid strokes, nothing like the frantic rhythm we sometimes chase.
This time it’s tender, deliberate. Every glide drags against every sensitive place inside me, every withdrawal leaves me aching for the next slow push.
I squeeze around him, wanting to keep him there forever.
“I’m going slow,” he whispers against my lips. “I want to feel every part of you… remember every inch of how you feel around me.” His hands settle on my waist, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin just above my hips as he sinks deeper still. “Fuck… you’re so tight, so perfect.”
He looks down at me then, eyes dark and shining with something raw and unguarded, love, fierce and quiet and absolute. In that moment I believe he would set the world on fire for me, and the thought makes my chest ache in the best way.
“It will always be you,” I whisper, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails leaving faint crescents.
My back arches off the bed as he thrusts deeper; he lowers his head and takes one nipple into his mouth, slow suck, gentle pull, then the soft scrape of teeth. Pleasure spikes sharp and sweet; my hand flies to his hair, holding him there as I moan his name.
He lifts himself onto his forearms, bracing above me. The angle changes and my moans grow louder, breathier. The pressure coils tighter, brighter, until it snaps.
“Oh God—Matteo—” The words quiver out in broken gasps as my walls flutter and spasm around him, pleasure crashing through me in bright, shuddering waves. His name spills from my lips like a prayer.
“You look so beautiful when you come,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. He thrusts harder once, twice. “One more time, little lamb. Give me one more.”
He keeps moving until the bed creaks softly beneath us. Then he stills, pulls out slowly. I whimper at the loss, and he laughs low, the sound vibrating against my skin.
He slides back into me in one smooth, bare thrust. The sensation is overwhelming, hot, nothing between us. I almost cry out into his mouth, he swallows the sound, groaning against my lips.
“Aoife… so good… so fucking perfect… all mine…”
The rhythm builds again, deeper, harder, skin slapping softly, breaths mingling. Pleasure coils tighter, brighter. I can feel every pulse, every throb of him inside me.
“Oh, Matteo—” My voice cracks.
“That’s it,” he rasps against my ear. “Come for me, little lamb.”
The orgasm hits like a wave, fiercer, longer, my body shaking, clenching around him in rhythmic pulses. I cry out his name, nails scoring his back.
“Fuck—” Matteo’s control fractures. He grips my hips, thrusts faster, harder, chasing his own release. “Fuck—” He buries himself deep, pulsing inside me, hot and endless. He keeps moving through it drawing out every tremor until we’re both trembling.
He collapses over me, careful not to crush me, lips finding my neck in soft, reverent kisses. I wrap my arms around him, fingers threading back into his hair, holding him close. His mouth travels to my jaw, then my lips, gentle now, lingering.
“I love you, little lamb,” he whispers against my skin.
I smile, my heart so full it aches. “I love you, my wolf.”
We stay like that, tangled, breathless, hearts beating in messy sync, his warmth seeping into me, the faint scent of us mingling with rain and lamplight.
No rush to move.
No need to speak.
Just this, him inside me still, softening slowly, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back, the quiet certainty that whatever comes next, we face it together.
And right now, that’s everything.