Chapter Fifteen
Emery
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. Just keeps moving. One heavy, brutal step after another, like there’s only one destination and nothing, is gonna get in the way.
The bedroom door flies open, crashing against the wall, and the second we’re inside, he kicks it shut, hard.
Then I’m flying.
His hands grip my ass, lifting me off him just long enough to throw me down onto the bed.
The mattress jolts beneath me, and before I can suck in a breath, he’s on me. Crawling up my body, covering me completely. His eyes are wild, dark with hunger, his jaw clenched like he’s one second from losing control and fucking me senseless.
"You’ve got no fucking idea," he says, voice low and rough, "how many nights I dreamt about fucking you right here in this bed," he mutters, sliding his palm up my thigh.
Burning a path straight to my core. "Every time I wrapped my hand around my cock, jerking it to the memory of you.
It was you I'd think of. Your mouth, your moans, the way you used to beg me for more. "
My breathing stutters, hips arching instinctively into his touch, desperate for him, for whatever filthy piece of him he’s willing to give.
"I'm not stopping," he mutters against the sweatshirt at my stomach. "Not until you're dripping… shaking… mine in every filthy way." His hands slide up under the sweatshirt and then he stops.
A low, brutal snarl rips from his chest. It’s deep, dark, pure fucking hunger.
His eyes snap up to mine, and there’s nothing soft in them, just need.
"Fuck, Em," he mutters, almost to himself, like the realization just knocked the breath out of him. "You’ve been walking around all goddamn day with nothing on under this sweatshirt?"
I bite my lip, trying to hold it together, but it’s useless. He’s already shoving the fabric higher, exposing inch after inch of bare, trembling skin.
His gaze trails down my body—a prayer etched slow into skin—and then he moves. Drops to his knees between my thighs as if it’s where he’s always belonged.
He grips my thighs, spreads them wide, exposing my soaked, aching pussy.
Then he dives in. Mouth buried deep, devouring me with no warning, no slow lead-up. Just raw, relentless worship.
He licks me as if he’s dying for a fix and I’m the only thing that can save him. I moan, clawing at his hair, frantic, until he grabs my wrist, and slams it onto the bed, and holds it there, forcing me to take every brutal, wet stroke of his tongue.
His tongue fucks into me, slow, deep, obscene, and I’m already unraveling. My mind’s gone, body trembling with every slick stroke.
He groans against my clit when I grind down on his face, the vibration shooting through me, dragging a broken moan straight from my throat.
"Matteo—"
His head snaps up. His eyes, dark, wild, fucking feral.
“No,” he says. “You don’t speak. You don’t fucking move. You take it. Every goddamn thing I give you.”
Then his mouth is on my clit again, hard, hungry, relentless. His hands lock around my hips, holding me down, forcing me to take every savage flick of his tongue like it’s punishment and worship all at once.
“I’m not stopping, baby. Not until you come all over my face, screaming my fucking name so loud everyone will know who owns this pussy.”
His tongue works me open as if he’s claiming territory, slow, controlled strokes at first, savoring every inch.
Then deeper. Rougher. Caught between worshiping me and wrecking me.
And fuck, he’s doing both.
He hooks his arms under my thighs and drags me down, pulling my pussy tight against his face like he’s ready to drown, and fuck, he wants to.
And holy shit, he doesn’t disappoint.
His mouth works every inch of me like I’m the only thing that’s ever mattered. Every flick of his tongue wrings another twitch from my body, another desperate whimper from my throat.
His mouth sucks my clit. It’s slow, controlled, cruel…
drawn out with the kind of focus that says he’s got all night to unravel me, one pulse at a time.
Then his tongue flicks my clit, faster. Rougher.
Filthier. Until my hips are grinding into his face, chasing the pressure, the rhythm, the high I can’t hold back.
The moans rip out of me, and still, he doesn’t stop.
He groans into me, each desperate sound I give feeding him, fueling the hunger he’s barely keeping on a leash.
And then… he spits. Right on my clit. The hot slick of it makes me flinch, makes my thighs twitch around his head. Then his tongue is there, lapping it up slow, shameless, like he’s licking cream off a spoon.
“God, fuck, Matteo,” I pant, my hands clawing the sheets, hips bucking like I can’t stop myself, because I can’t.
“Quiet,” he growls, lifting his head just enough to speak, his mouth soaked in me, lips glistening like he’s been drowning and wants to go under again. “You wanna scream?” he snarls. “You do it when you’re coming all over my face.”
Then he’s gone. No hesitation, just dives back in. His tongue flattens and drags through my folds, like he’s imprinting himself with every stroke. I jolt, cry out, but it doesn’t stop him.
Then his fingers slide inside me.
Two.
Thick.
His fingers curl just right, hitting a rhythm that feels carved from muscle memory, every stroke built to break me.
His tongue’s still works me, circling, flicking, teasing. Never letting up and I can’t stop moving. I’m grinding into his face, my body jerking, twitching, owned. I bite down on my lip, trying to stay quiet, but the cries still tear out, raw and messy.
“Oh fuck… fuck, yes,” I gasp, voice breaking, wrecked beyond repair.
He smirks against my pussy, fully aware of the mess he’s making of me. “You’re so fucking wet,” he says, every word dragging heat through my core, setting me alight.
His tongue moves faster with slick, hungry strokes that push me right to the edge. The orgasm builds hard and hot, curling up my spine until my thighs are shaking and I’m gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing keeping me grounded.
He knows. Fuck, he always knows.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Give it to me. Soak my face.”
And I do. I break apart with a cry, my whole body snapping tight, hips rolling helplessly as the pleasure hits hard and deep. But he doesn’t stop. His mouth stays locked to me, tongue working every last pulse, every aftershock, until I’m gasping and twitching under him.
When he finally pulls back, his mouth is wet, chin dripping, eyes locked on mine like he’s nowhere else in the world but here. With me. On me.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then climbs up my body, heat pouring off him in waves. There’s nothing soft in the way he moves, there is only need.
His hand wraps around my jaw, it’s rough but steady, tilting my face until all I see is him.
And then he kisses me. Hard and messy, all tongue and teeth.
He kisses me, mouth still coated in the mess he made of me—slow, filthy, full of intention.
He wants me to taste it. Wants me to know exactly what he just claimed.
“You feel that?” he breathes against my mouth. “That’s you. That’s what you taste like when you come for me.”
His cock grinds against my soaked pussy, thick, dragging right where I’m still aching.
“Fuck,” he mutters, pulling back just long enough to yank my sweatshirt over my head and toss it like it’s nothing. He stares down at me, eyes hot, jaw tight, chest rising fast.
“Look at you,” he says, voice thick with reverence, hunger poured into every syllable. “Laid out for me. Dripping. Shaking. All fucking mine.”
His eyes drag over me like a physical touch, it’s slow and greedy. He takes in my tits, then trails lower, zeroing in on my cunt as if nothing else exists. His breath stutters.
“I’ve wanted us for so fucking long,” he says.
“I’ve dreamed about us, Em." He grabs one thigh and yanks it high around his waist, then the other, spreading me wide open, leaving me exposed, throbbing, completely at his mercy. “Tell me,” he says, grinding his cock against me so hard I gasp. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.” Another grind. Deeper. Rougher. “Tell me you want this cock so far inside you, that you’ll forget your own fucking name.”
I meet his gaze, chest heaving, lips parted. “I want you, Matteo,” I breathe, the words tumbling out like a prayer. “I want your cock. I want you inside me. Right fucking now.”
That’s it.
That’s all it takes.
His eyes darken, something unhinged flashing through them before he tears off me, fingers jerking at his belt like it’s strangling him. The second he gets it undone, his eyes drop, and he sees it. The soaked patch of wetness I left on his pants.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “I should make you lick it off.”
The threat hits, making my pussy clench so tight it aches.
He kicks off his pants, rips that expensive cotton shirt over his head, and fuck me he’s lethal.
All cut muscle and chaos. Scars carved across his skin, battle lines etched deep. Dark ink coils over his chest, snakes down his abs in a perfect, filthy path that ends at his cock.
And fuck, that cock.
Thick.
Hard.
Leaking.
The head slick with pre-cum, flushed and begging for my mouth.
He’s beautiful in the dirtiest way possible. Every inch of him built to ruin me. My lungs forget how to work. All I want is to drop to the floor and choke on him until he’s the only thing I can taste.
He fists his cock and strokes it slowly, putting on a show, knowing damn well I’m already dripping for it. His eyes stay locked between my legs, fixated on my pussy like it’s the prize he’s been hunting for.
He steps closer, pressing the soaked head right against my entrance, dragging it through the mess I’ve made for him, slow, teasing glides that make my thighs tremble.
A crooked smirk cuts across his face as he drags it through my folds again, and again, until I’m squirming beneath him, begging without a single word.