Chapter 3 #2
“Are you ready for my cock?” he asks, his tone deliciously deep.
“Yes,” I squeak, hating that I don’t sound like the badass I feel like after landing a man like him. Even if it’s just for tonight.
I reluctantly unwind my limbs and let him pull away from me, eagerly propping myself up so I can watch him undress.
“Are you clean?” he asks as he sheds his shirt and unbuckles his belt.
“I am,” I confirm, my gaze following the zipper on his pants as he lowers it.
“Me too,” he confirms. “And my eye is up here.” I smile at the amusement in his tone.
“I know.” I continue to stare at the impressive bulge in his pants that he still hasn’t removed. “But I’ve already seen them. They’re a very pretty gray. I’m more curious about your cock,” I quip.
If I’ve surprised him with my brazenness, he doesn’t show it. He slowly continues stripping, taking his time lowering the pants and stepping out of them before kicking off his shoes and removing each sock.
“Seriously?” I huff, arching an eyebrow as I finally look up. “Why are you hiding the goods, Matteo?”
“Are you on the pill?” he asks, slowly lowering his boxer briefs.
I lose the ability to speak as his impressive and very hard cock comes into view. This is a thing of beauty; thick, long, veined in a way that makes my mouth water. And… oh my. The majestic piece of meat is crowned with silver.
This piercing shouldn’t be called a Prince Albert. Not when it’s fit for a king.
A gleaming ring pierces the head, catching the low light and making him look even more dangerous. The metal glints as he strokes himself once, a slow, possessive pull that leaves me panting and has my inner walls tightening with anticipation.
It’s obscene and perfect, the piercing making him look raw and filthy while somehow highlighting just how thick he is. Maybe God isn’t so bad after all since she seems to be answering all my filthy prayers right now.
“Like what you see?” Matteo smirks, hand tightening around his length. The movement makes the metal shift, the flash of it almost hypnotic.
“Yes,” I breathe, my throat suddenly dry. “A lot.”
I can already imagine the way that piercing will drag against me, how it’ll add a sharp edge to every thrust. My body shivers in anticipation, nerves alight with hunger.
Then I suddenly remember his question. “I am on the pill,” I confirm, unable to look away from the bead of pre-cum at his slit. “But I’m not fucking you without a condom.”
With a huff, he turns, and I watch his sculpted ass walk away. I’m not robbed of the view for long, and when he returns, he has multiple condoms in his hand. I sit up straight, the leather of his couch crinkling beneath me as I pull my skin free.
Forcing my gaze higher, I allow myself to take in the full glory of his tattooed torso. The black ink covers his chest, shoulders, and arms in patterns that somehow make him look both more dangerous and more beautiful. A wolf prowls along his ribcage, teeth bared in eternal hunger.
I’ve barely registered the sight when he’s on me again, ripping open the condom packet with his teeth, rolling it on with practiced efficiency. His hands slide under my ass, lifting me, positioning me.
“Look at me,” he commands, and I do. “Watch my face when I sink my cock into your cunt.”
And I do; I lock my eyes on his as he slowly feeds me his cock at an agonizingly slow pace. The stretch is exquisite, almost too much, the piercing creating a delicious friction that makes me cry out.
“Oh…” I moan. “Fuck. Fuck, Matteo… it’s too… fuck.”
He pauses, letting me adjust, his restraint visible in the corded tension of his neck and shoulders. “You okay?” he asks, voice strained.
In answer, I dig my heels into his lower back and pull him deeper. “More,” I demand.
Something like approval twists his features. “Such a good girl,” he praises, beginning to move. “Taking me so well.”
I shouldn’t react to the simple praise, but I do—a flush spreading across my chest, a clench around his length that makes us both groan. He notices, of course he does.
“You like that?” he murmurs, establishing a delightfully punishing rhythm. “Like being my good girl?”
“Yes,” I admit, the word punches out of me as he hits a spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
“Say it,” he commands, fingers digging into my flesh hard enough to leave marks. I want them to. Want evidence tomorrow that this wasn’t a dream.
“I like being your good girl,” I gasp, and he rewards me by reaching between us, thumb finding my clit with unerring accuracy. “Tonight.”
“Come for me then,” he says, voice rough and demanding. “Show me how good you are.”
The orgasm crashes over me unexpectedly, tearing a scream from my throat that he captures with his mouth. My body convulses around him, wave after wave of pleasure that has me clawing at his shoulders.
He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow—just rides out my climax and keeps going, chasing his own release with powerful thrusts that nudge the couch across the polished floor.
Just when I think I can’t take anymore, he pulls out completely. Before I can protest, he flips me over and has me kneeling on the couch with my tits pressed against the back of it. The cold leather feels good against my heated skin.
“Fuck, your ass is a thing of beauty,” he growls, hand tracing down my crack, spreading the globes.
“The most beautiful sight you’ll ever see,” I quip in a breathy tone.
Then he’s pushing back inside my drenched pussy, the new angle making me see white. His hand tangles in my hair, pulling hard enough to make me arch my back at a precise angle that has him hitting places I didn’t know could feel this good.
“Matteo,” I moan, the name a prayer and a curse.
“That’s it,” he encourages, his rhythm becoming more erratic as he approaches his peak. “Say my name again. Let me hear how much you love this.”
“Matteo!” This time it’s a cry, torn from somewhere deep inside me as another orgasm builds, impossible but inevitable.
“Such a good fucking girl,” he groans, and then he’s coming, his body shuddering against mine, inside mine, his release triggering another climax that has me sobbing with the intensity.
We stay like that for several heartbeats, connected, panting. Then he carefully withdraws, disposes of the condom, and lifts me into his arms. I’m boneless, floating in a post-orgasmic haze as he carries me to what must be his bedroom.
The night doesn’t end there. We recover, explore, discover. He takes me on his massive bed, the sheets cool against my overheated skin. I ride him, watching his face contort with pleasure as I control the pace.
We break only for water, for breath, before coming together again and again, each time learning more about what makes the other shatter.
It’s nearly dawn when we collapse, sweaty and spent, my body bearing the delicious ache of thorough use. Matteo’s arm drapes possessively over my waist, his breathing slowing toward sleep.
“Stay here,” he murmurs against my shoulder, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to the skin. “I’m going to shower and then I’ll feed you before round five.”
I laugh, stretching like a satisfied cat as he rises from the bed. His body is a masterpiece even in exhaustion—all lean muscle and ink, with marks from my nails and teeth joining his collection of scars. I watch him disappear into the ensuite bathroom, hear the shower start.
Only when I’m sure he’s occupied do I slip from the bed, my legs still trembling slightly. The bedroom is like what little I’ve gleaned from the rest of the penthouse—expensive but impersonal.
No photos. No mementos. Just quality furniture and tasteful art that could belong to anyone with money.
I move around the space, curious fingers trailing over surfaces. His nightstand is almost empty save for a sleek lamp, a glass of water, and then I see it. A silver lighter much like the one I saw him play with earlier.
Either he has multiples, or he stashed this one in here when he went to get condoms. Which is very likely since I was entirely too drunk on my intense orgasm to notice much.
I pick it up, turning the lighter over in my palm. It’s heavy, clearly expensive, with a wolf engraved on one side—teeth bared in a snarl that matches the tattoo on his ribs. It’s so pretty and shiny.
Without hesitation, I close my hand around it. I can’t help the thrill I get from stealing from my conquests. It’s almost like a twisted version of Cinderella. Instead of leaving anything behind, I take something with me.
Though I’ll admit, if I was waiting for Prince Charming to find me this way, my romantic life is nothing but a big disappointment. No one ever chases me down and calls me out on my theft. If they ever notice, they let it go.
Maybe that’s why the list of people I’ve called back is so small. I’m the kind of person who needs to be stopped, to be… challenged. If not, I’ll continue making up my own rules for whatever twisted game I’m playing.
I find my torn dress, briefly consider the impossibility of wearing it home, then spot his closet. I help myself to a black button-down shirt that falls to mid-thigh on me—decent enough for the ride I’ll call from the lobby.
The shower is still running as I quietly slip my shoes back on and grab my things. Then I push the button for the elevator, nervously tapping the edge of my shoe against the floor while I wait for it to arrive.