Chapter 18
Matteo
Her sharp intake of breath is like music. “You are watching,” she whispers, sounding fucking thrilled at the confirmation.
My cock pulses in my hand, painfully hard from the minute she sent me that link. I’ve been stroking myself leisurely, to the sight of her fucking herself.
Fuck, it’s better than any porn I’ve ever watched. Her perfect tits bounce with every movement, those pierced nipples I can’t stop thinking about hard and begging for attention. My thumb circles the head of my cock, spreading pre-cum.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t be?” I squeeze the base. “Don’t stop on my account. In fact…” I pause, letting the anticipation build. “… move slower. I want to see every inch disappear.”
She whimpers but complies, lifting herself nearly off the dildo before sinking back down with excruciating slowness. The camera captures the way her body stretches to accommodate it, the glistening evidence of her arousal coating the silicone shaft.
“Like this?” she asks, her voice honeyed with false innocence.
“Exactly like that,” I growl, matching my strokes to her rhythm. “Now touch your breasts while you fuck yourself. I want to see you pull on those piercings.”
Her free hand moves to cup her breast, fingers finding the small metal bar through her nipple. When she tugs, her back arches beautifully, a gasp escaping her lips that shoots straight to my cock.
“Matteo,” she breathes, and hearing my name in that desperate tone nearly makes me come right there. “I want to see you too.”
I consider denying her, but the thought of her watching me stroke myself while she performs for me is too tempting to resist. I adjust my phone, angling it down so she can see my hand working my cock.
“There you go, Little Thief,” I groan.
She adjusts her phone, propping it up against something. “Fuck,” she hisses, her rhythm faltering for a moment. “That piercing is so hot. I can still feel it inside me from—”
“From when I was deep inside you and fucked you so hard you cried my name,” I finish for her, remembering that night vividly. “When you came so hard you nearly blacked out.”
She laughs, breathy and wild. “Don’t flatter yourself. But you’re not… completely wrong.”
I grin at her defiance. Even with a dildo buried inside her, she still fights me. It makes me want to break her and keep her whole at the same time.
“Grind down,” I instruct, watching her closely on the tablet. “Make tight circles with your hips. I know you’re close.”
She follows my command, her movements becoming more desperate as she chases her orgasm. Her bottom lip disappears between her teeth, her eyes fluttering closed.
“Eyes open,” I snap. “I want you looking at my cock when you come.”
Her gaze snaps back to her phone for a second, but then she closes her eyes again. “Make me,” she taunts, even as her body betrays her, trembling on the edge of release.
I slow my strokes, voice dropping to a dangerous register.
“If I were there, I’d have my hand around your throat, squeezing just tight enough to make your vision blur while you ride me.
I’d feel every pulse of your cunt as you came, and then I’d flip you over and fuck you until you couldn’t remember your own name. ”
That does it. Her eyes widen, fixed on her phone, and I watch her shatter. Her mouth opens in a scream as her orgasm rips through her, her body convulsing around the silicone intrusion.
“Good girl,” I praise, my own pleasure building as I watch her come apart. “But we’re just getting started. Put your fingers on your clit. Make yourself come again.”
She whimpers, oversensitive but obedient, as her hand slides between her legs. Her fingers find her swollen clit, circling it with practiced skill as she continues to move on the dildo.
“Do you know what I want right now?” she asks, her voice a seductive purr that makes my balls tighten. “What I’m fantasizing about?”
“Tell me,” I demand.
“I want you to come all over me,” she confesses, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I want to feel it hot on my skin, taste it, rub it in like lotion.”
“Fuck,” I groan, fisting my cock harder.
She moans, her pace increasing. “I want to feel it dripping out of my pussy after you’ve fucked me stupid.”
The image she paints nearly sends me over the edge right there. I grip the base of my cock hard, forcing back the orgasm that threatens to explode. “Keep talking like that,” I warn, “and I’ll come before you get to your second orgasm.”
She laughs, the sound dissolving into a moan as her fingers work faster. “Maybe that’s my plan. To make you lose control.”
“Not happening, Little Thief,” I bite out, regaining my composure with effort. “Now fuck that toy harder. I want to see those gorgeous breasts bounce.” She complies, lifting and dropping herself with renewed vigor.
The wet sounds of her arousal carry through the phone, mixing with her increasingly desperate moans. Her fingers never stop their relentless circles on her clit, and I can tell she’s close again by the way her thighs begin to shake.
“Come for me,” I growl, fucking my hand faster. “Now.”
Her second orgasm hits her like a freight train, her whole body going rigid before she begins to convulse, a string of creative profanity spilling from her lips that would make a sailor blush.
She’s fucking magnificent. Fucking mine.
“One more,” I insist, even as she’s still coming down from the second. “Play with those beautifully decorated nipples while you bounce on that toy. I want to see you come completely undone.”
“I can’t,” she gasps, even as her hands move to comply. “It’s too much.”
“You can,” I assure her, my voice brooking no argument. “And you will.”
Her fingers twist her nipples, pulling on the piercings as she resumes her movement on the dildo. The combination of pain and pleasure transforms her expression into something transcendent. Her mouth falls open, eyes glazed.
“That’s it,” I encourage, my own orgasm building at the base of my spine. “Let go for me, Raven.”
The use of her name—not Little Thief—seems to push her over the edge. Her third orgasm crashes through her with an intensity that has her crying out my name, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks as her body convulses uncontrollably.
Watching and hearing her coming triggers my own release. I come with a guttural groan, spurts of hot cum shooting over my hand and stomach in thick ropes, more than usual from the extended buildup.
Some land on the tablet screen, partially obscuring my view of her, which only makes the moment hotter somehow.
For several minutes, the only sounds are our labored breathing as we both come down from the high. She collapses forward onto the bed, the dildo slipping free as she curls onto her side. Despite her exhaustion, there’s a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I tell her, the words escaping before I can stop them.
Her eyes widen slightly at the unexpected compliment. “You’re not so bad yourself, psycho.”
I chuckle, reaching for tissues to clean the mess I’ve made. “Get some sleep, Raven. I’ll bring breakfast in the morning.”
“Is that a warning or a threat?” she mumbles, already sounding half-asleep.
“A promise,” I answer honestly, a smile tugging at my lips. “Sweet dreams, Little Thief.”
I end the call before she can respond, my gaze lingering on the tablet screen where she’s already drifting off, hair splayed across her pillow. Something tightens in my chest at the sight.
Tomorrow, breakfast. For now, I have other business to attend to. And I’m pissed as hell I had to turn down playing with Raven all night long for this.
I watch her sleeping form on the tablet for a moment longer before wiping it clean. The mess on my stomach is cooling rapidly, but I don’t mind. There’s something satisfying about the evidence of what we just shared.
Proof of what she does to me even through a screen.
I clean myself with careful precision, tissue after tissue until my skin is dry and spotless again. Time to switch gears. The night is still young, and I have an appointment with someone who’s been waiting far too long for my attention.
Rising, I move to my bathroom, discarding the soiled tissues in the toilet and flushing away the evidence. The marble countertop is cool beneath my palms as I lean forward, studying my reflection in the mirror.
The prosthetic eye stares back at me, a perfect match for my real one in color but lacking the life, the spark. For what I’m about to do, I prefer the eyepatch.
My fingers work with practiced efficiency, removing the prosthetic and placing it in its case. The socket beneath is a map of old pain, scarred tissue that never quite healed right. I clean it carefully before covering it with the patch.
After changing my clothes, I grab my beloved lighter. Once I’m sure I have everything, I get into the elevator that quickly takes me from my penthouse to the private garage beneath the building.
My car waits in its reserved spot, a sleek black thing that doesn’t draw attention but carries enough power under the hood to outrun trouble if necessary. Not that I ever run.
Cleveland blurs past the windows as I drive, the city lights reflecting off rain-slicked streets. This is the other side of who I am—the collector, the enforcer, the man whose name makes grown men weep.
The industrial district emerges from the darkness, a graveyard of forgotten buildings and broken dreams. My headlights cut through the night, illuminating the crumbling facades of warehouses long abandoned.
I navigate through streets that don’t appear on most maps, finally pulling up to a nondescript structure that looks like any other from the outside. The difference is what waits inside.
The metal door scrapes against concrete as I push it open, revealing a hallway lit only by fluorescent tubes that hum and flicker like dying insects.