Chapter 7 Stefan #2
Matteo stood with me still wrapped around him. Carried me to the bed like I weighed nothing. Laid me down and covered my body with his.
We shed clothes between kisses. My new shirt hit the floor. The jeans he'd bought me joined it. His shirt. His jeans. Until we were skin against skin and I could feel every hard plane of his body pressed against mine.
I'd had sex before. A girlfriend in college that my father had approved of because her family had the right connections.
The night at the auction when the banker had bought me and I'd done what was expected because that's what Giuseppe's sons did—performed for the family's benefit even when it was distasteful and uncomfortable and utterly devoid of pleasure.
But nothing that mattered. Nothing that felt like this.
Matteo used his mouth and hands with devastating precision. Kissed down my chest. Sucked marks into my collarbones. Bit gently at my hip bone. His hand wrapped around me and I cried out at the sensation.
"Beautiful," he murmured against my skin. "Fucking beautiful when you fall apart."
He took his time. Made me tremble. Made me beg. Used his mouth in ways that made me forget my own name. When he pushed one finger inside me, I arched off the bed.
"Matteo—please—I need—"
"I know what you need." He added a second finger. Crooked them. Found the spot that made stars burst behind my eyelids. "But I'm going to make sure you're ready. Make sure this doesn't hurt."
"I don't care if it hurts—"
"I do." He kissed me. Soft. Almost gentle. "I care about you, Stefan. More than I should. So I'm doing this right."
He prepared me thoroughly. Three fingers. Stretching and scissoring until I was loose and desperate and so empty I thought I might die from wanting.
Then he was there. Pressing inside. So much bigger than his fingers. Intense and overwhelming and everything I needed.
I cried out. Gripped his shoulders. He stopped immediately.
"Too much?" His voice was strained. "Stefan, tell me—"
"Don't stop." I pulled him closer. "Don't you dare stop."
He pushed deeper. Slowly. Watching my face. Reading every micro-expression until he was fully seated inside me.
We stayed like that. Breathing hard. Adjusting. Learning how we fit together.
Then Matteo started to move.
Slow at first. Long deep strokes that lit up every nerve ending.
I wrapped my legs around his waist and met him thrust for thrust. We found a rhythm together—frantic at first, desperate, then slower as we learned each other's bodies.
What made him groan. What made me gasp. Where to touch and kiss and bite.
"Look at me," he commanded. "Keep your eyes open. I want to see you."
I did. Locked my gaze with his dark eyes and let him see everything. The pleasure. The vulnerability. The fact that this mattered more than it should.
"Stefan—fuck—you feel so good—"
"Harder," I gasped. "Please, Matteo, I need—"
He gave me what I needed. Harder. Deeper. His hand wrapped around me again, stroking in time with his thrusts. The dual stimulation was too much. I felt myself spiraling.
"That's it," he growled. "Come for me. Let me see you."
I shattered. Came so hard I saw white. My body clenched around him and I heard him curse. Felt him drive deep and still. Felt the warmth as he came inside me.
We collapsed together. Both breathing hard. Both trembling. Both trying to process what just happened.
After a moment, Matteo pulled out carefully and rolled to the side. Pulled me against his chest. His arm wrapped around me possessively.
I lay there in his arms and tried to make sense of this.
I'd just slept with my captor. My family's enemy. A man who could kill me without breaking a sweat.
And it was the best sex of my life.
Not because of the physical pleasure—though that had been incredible. But because Matteo had looked at me like I mattered. Had taken time to make sure I was ready. Had asked for my consent even when he could have just taken what he wanted.
Had made me feel chosen instead of used.
"You're thinking too much," Matteo said. His voice was rough but satisfied.
"I just had sex with the man who kidnapped me. I think I'm allowed to overthink it."
"Regrets?"
I considered lying. Considered saying yes and putting distance between us. Protecting whatever dignity I had left.
"No," I admitted. "No regrets. Which probably means I'm losing my mind."
"Or maybe you're finally being honest about what you want." His hand traced patterns on my back. "You've spent your whole life doing what other people tell you. Being what they need you to be. Maybe this is the first time you've done something just because you wanted to."
He was right.
I'd chosen this. Not because Giuseppe ordered it. Not because it served some family purpose. Not because I was playing a role or maintaining an image.
Just because I wanted Matteo. Wanted this. Wanted to feel something real instead of performing emotions I didn't feel.
"What happens now?" I asked.
"I don't know." Matteo pulled me closer. "But we'll figure it out. Together."
I closed my eyes and let myself believe him.
Just for tonight, I'd stop thinking about Giuseppe and the FBI investigation and the fact that Matteo's partners probably wanted him to kill me or trade me or do anything except keep me locked in this room.
Just for tonight, I'd let myself have this.
Tomorrow I could worry about consequences. About what it meant that I'd fallen for my captor. About whether this was real or just Stockholm syndrome or some combination of both that I couldn't untangle.
But tonight, I was exactly where I wanted to be.
In Matteo DeLuca's arms. Safe and wanted and chosen.