Chapter 15 Stefan #2
"I'm not staying isolated to prove anything. I'm staying isolated because reaching out would mean going back. And I can't do that. Won't do that." I pulled him closer. "This is my choice. My decision. And I'm making it freely."
"Okay." He kissed my forehead. "Okay."
We stood there holding each other while I processed the call. The guilt. The grief. The knowledge that I'd just cut off the last person in my family who might have actually loved me—even if that love came wrapped in weakness and compliance.
It hurt. God, it hurt so much more than I'd expected.
But I still didn't regret it.
***
That night, I needed to feel something other than grief and guilt.
Matteo was in the bedroom, reading through security reports on his laptop. I walked in and closed the door behind me. Locked it.
He looked up. "Stefan?"
I crossed to him. Took the laptop and set it aside. Straddled his lap.
"I need you," I said.
"I'm right here."
"No. I need—" I struggled for words. "I need to feel like I have control over something. Like my body is mine. My choices are mine. I need—"
"Tell me what you need."
"Let me lead." My voice was firm. "Tonight, I'm in control. I decide what happens. How it happens. You just—" I searched his face. "Trust me. Let me have this."
Understanding flickered in his eyes. "Whatever you need."
I kissed him. Hard. Demanding. Poured all the emotion churning in my chest into the physical connection.
Matteo kissed back but let me lead. Let me set the pace. Let me control the intensity.
I pulled back and started unbuttoning his shirt. Slowly. Deliberately. Taking my time with each button while he watched me with dark eyes.
"You're beautiful," he said softly.
"Tonight's not about me being beautiful. It's about me choosing this. Choosing you. On my terms." I pushed his shirt off his shoulders. "My family spent twenty-three years trying to control my body. Who I was with. How I behaved. What I did with myself. Tonight, I'm taking that control back."
"Then take it." His voice was rough. "I'm yours, Stefan. Do whatever you want with me."
The permission made something tight in my chest loosen.
I kissed down his throat. His chest. Learning the sounds he made when I bit his collarbone. When I sucked marks into his skin. When I scraped my teeth over his nipple.
"Stefan—" His breath caught.
"Tell me if you want me to stop."
"Don't stop. Don't ever stop."
I worked my way lower. Unbuckled his belt. Unbuttoned his jeans. Pulled them down along with his boxers until he was completely bare beneath me.
"Bed," I said. "On your back."
He moved immediately. Stretched out on the mattress and watched me with an intensity that made my skin prickle with awareness.
I stripped slowly. Making him watch. Making him wait. Reclaiming my body through every deliberate movement.
When I was naked, I climbed onto the bed and straddled his thighs.
"I'm going to ride you," I said. "And you're going to let me set the pace. Let me take what I need. Can you do that?"
"Yes." His voice was wrecked already. "Anything. Whatever you need."
I prepared myself while he watched. Three fingers stretching myself open. Taking my time. Making this about my pleasure. My choice. My control.
When I was ready, I reached for the supplies on the nightstand. Rolled a condom onto him with deliberate slowness. Watched his breath speed up. Watched his hands clench in the sheets.
"You're killing me," he said.
"Good." I positioned myself above him. "That's the point."
I sank down slowly. Inch by inch. Feeling every moment of fullness. Every sensation of being stretched. Taking him inside me because I chose to. Not because I was expected to. Not because it served some purpose beyond my own desire.
Because I wanted this. Wanted him. On my terms.
When I was fully seated, we both groaned.
"God, Stefan—"
"Don't move." My voice was commanding. "Let me lead. Let me have this."
He nodded. Hands fisted in the sheets. Clearly struggling not to take control. But letting me have it anyway.
I started to move. Slow at first. Rising and falling in a rhythm that built pleasure gradually. Learning how the angle changed sensation. How deep I could take him. What made me gasp and what made me moan.
Matteo watched me with fierce intensity. His eyes never leaving my face. Watching every expression. Every reaction. Letting me know he saw me. Valued me. Wanted me exactly like this—in control, taking what I needed.
"Touch yourself," he said roughly. "Let me watch you."
I wrapped my hand around myself. Stroked in time with my movements. The dual stimulation was overwhelming. Perfect. Exactly what I needed.
"That's it," Matteo encouraged. "Take your pleasure, Stefan. Use me. Use my body. Whatever you need."
His words pushed me higher. Faster. I moved harder. Chased the sensation building in my core.
"You're so beautiful like this," he said. "So perfect. Taking what you want. Being exactly who you are without apology."
"Matteo—I'm close—"
"Then let go. Come for me. Show me how good this feels."
I changed the angle slightly. Ground down. Hit that perfect spot inside that made stars burst behind my eyelids.
The orgasm slammed through me. I came with his name on my lips, my body clenching around him, pleasure washing away everything except this moment.
Matteo cursed. His hands came to my hips—not controlling, just holding—as he thrust up once, twice, and came hard.
I collapsed against his chest. Both of us breathing hard. Both overwhelmed.
"That was—" Matteo started.
"Mine." My voice was firm. "That was mine. My choice. My control. My decision to let you in."
"Yes." He held me close. "Yours. All of it. Thank you for trusting me with that."
We lay tangled together while our breathing slowed. While the intensity faded into something softer but no less real.
"I needed that," I admitted quietly. "After the call. After cutting off my mother. I needed to feel like I had agency over something. Like my body was mine to give instead of something taken."
"I understand." His hand traced patterns on my back. "And Stefan—you always have agency with me. Always have choice. If you ever need to take control like that again, just tell me. I'll give you whatever you need."
"What if what I need is to let you control everything sometimes? To stop making decisions and just let you lead?"
"Then I'll do that too." He tilted my face up to meet his eyes. "This works both ways. Sometimes you need to reclaim control. Sometimes you need to surrender it. Either way, I'm here. Whatever you need."
The acceptance in his voice made my chest tight.
"I love you," I said.
"I love you too. So much it scares me sometimes."
We stayed like that for a long time. Just holding each other. Processing everything that had happened today. The call from my mother. The guilt and grief. The reclamation of control and agency.
Eventually, we cleaned up and got back into bed. Matteo pulled me close, my back to his chest, his arm around my waist.
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly. "Really okay?"
Was I?
I'd cut off my mother. Burned the last bridge to my old life. Isolated myself from everyone I'd known before Matteo.
But I'd also reclaimed my body. My choices. My right to decide what happened to me and when and how.
"I'm okay," I said. And meant it. "I'm sad. And guilty. And grieving for the relationship I wanted with my mother but never had. But I'm okay. I made the right choice even though it hurts."
"The right choices usually do hurt. At least at first."
"Does it get easier? The grief?"
"I don't know. I cut ties with my father's world when I was young.
Never looked back. But I didn't grieve because there was nothing worth grieving.
" He held me tighter. "You're grieving the mother you wanted.
The family you deserved. That's different.
Harder. But Stefan—you'll survive it. And I'll be here while you do. "
"Promise?"
"Promise."
I closed my eyes and let myself believe him.
Tomorrow I'd probably feel the full weight of what I'd done. Would question whether I'd been too harsh. Would wonder if I should have given my mother another chance.
But tonight, wrapped in Matteo's arms, I felt certain.
I'd made the right choice.
For me. For my safety. For my future.
Even if it meant losing the past completely.
Even if it meant being isolated from everyone who'd known me before.
Even if it hurt like hell.
I'd chosen myself. Chosen my wellbeing. Chosen the life I wanted instead of the life I'd been assigned.
And I'd keep choosing it. Every day. Despite the grief and guilt and loss.
Because the alternative—going back, accepting less, sacrificing myself for their comfort—was worse than any pain I felt now.
"Thank you," I whispered.
"For what?"
"For letting me lead tonight. For giving me control when I needed it. For supporting my choices even when they're hard."
"Always." He pressed a kiss to my shoulder. "I'll always support your choices, Stefan. Even the ones that break your heart. Because they're yours to make."
I fell asleep believing him.