Chapter 39 #2
“You can touch me, wife,” he says with his eyes still shut. “If consent is what you need, then you have it. You always have it,” he says, alerting me that he’s still awake.
I swallow dryly, my pulse quickening at his words.
“How do you know that’s what I was thinking about?”
Ever so leisurely, he turns his head my way, his obsidian stare making my skin break out in goosebumps.
“You’re my wife, vita mia. I know every thought in your head before you even think it.”
“No, you don’t,” I chide, “If you did, then you wouldn’t have come to bed with your clothes on.” His throat bobs just as his gaze falls to my lips.
“A mistake I won’t make again,” he retorts, his voice that deep, raspy timber that I love so much. I watch him as he rises from the bed and takes off his T-shirt, flinging it to the floor. “Better?” he asks, falling back beside me.
My gaze falls to his sweats, my brow arching. “I think you forgot something.”
He lets out a chuckle. “You always were bossy when you got horny, baby,” he laughs, pulling down his sweats and then kicking them off the bed. “What about now? Better?” I stare at his boxers and how he refused to take those off, but nod just the same.
“It will have to do,” I mutter, drawing another laugh from deep in his chest.
I like the sound of Matteo laughing. He doesn’t do it often. Then again, I doubt he’s had much in his life to laugh about. I’m not sure what it says about our sex life, considering it’s when he laughs the most. Are my attempts at flirting really that bad?
As I throw another glance over at his face again, I realize that the reason Matteo can chuckle so easily is because he feels safe. He can be himself here with me. He doesn’t need to be that scary Cosa Nostra Don. He can just be Matteo.
My Matteo. My Caro Mio.
Spurred on by that epiphany, I push him onto his back and staddle him before he has time to settle back on the bed.
“This is new,” he jokes, then groans when he feels my palms pressed over his heated flesh.
“Did you or did you not give me your full consent?”
“Apologies, wife. You won’t hear a peep out of me again,” he says, pretending to zip his lips shut and throw the key away.
I pretend to be annoyed by such childish antics, but in all honesty, I like this side of him.
When he’s so relaxed, he becomes playful.
Still, I like another side of him more. The one that moans out my name when he’s at the brink.
That’s the side I want to see come through right now. That’s the one I want to bring to life.
I lick my lips as my eyes and fingers trace over Matteo’s damaged body, over the burn marks and scars that map his past in brutal detail.
His chest is rough beneath my touch, broken by too few stretches of smooth skin between each scar.
Even marked like this, my husband is still the most stunning man I have ever laid eyes on.
“You’re beautiful, Matteo. Do you know that?” I whisper, just as he hisses out when my fingers graze his nipple. “None of this makes you any less beautiful in my eyes.”
“Anna… don’t,” he says in protest, not used to anyone talking to him like this.
“Don’t what, husband? Tell you that you are more than these scars? Remind you that they shouldn’t define you? That they don’t define you to me?”
Matteo’s throat works double time as his eyes remain glued to mine. I offer him a gentle smile before leaning down and pressing my lips to each blemish. Each burn mark and scar.
“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, as his fingers find their way to my hair.
“If it gets to be too much, tell me, okay?” I say, using his words back at him.
He nods, but I can tell there is fear in his eyes. This larger-than-life man looks so vulnerable right now. One wrong move or word, and he’d break.
Ever since he stole me from my family, I thought the purpose of it all was to ruin me. So why does it feel like I’m the one undoing him?
With my eyes on his, I keep kissing him, softly and ever so gently, while my fingers caress his skin. His skin is warm on my lips, his taste masculine and heady on my tongue.
“Fuck… Anna… I can’t,” he curses, his fingers tugging at the strands of my hair.
“It’s okay, Matteo. It’s me. Just me,” I coo softly, as he forces his tense muscles to relax.
With each tender kiss, I remember how he once told me he had only been with eight women. At the time, I thought it strange that a man like him would have so few lovers. Not anymore.
Matteo never wanted to give anyone power over him again. His stepmother, Ginevra, made sure of that. She made it nearly impossible for him to show vulnerability to anyone. To reveal the lost boy still buried inside him. So he kept people at a distance.
None of those women ever saw this side of him. They may have had pieces of him, moments at most, but never this. This is mine. And knowing that, it both empowers me and humbles me.
Matteo trusts that I won’t hurt him. I won’t ridicule or make him feel less than. How could I ever do any of those things when he’s the only person who ever saw the real me? Loved me despite all the darkness that swam inside of my soul. Loved me for who I was and not what others expected me to be.
Feeling like I need to prove to him that he’s put his trust in the right hands, I trail my kisses south until my mouth finds the band to his boxers.
I fall on my heels, and I push them down his legs with deft fingers, his hard cock springing free.
My heart feels as if it were about to jump out of my rib cage at the sight.
I forgot how angry it always looked. How huge and intimidating.
“You…” Matteo forces out on a whisper. “You don’t have to.” I tilt my head to the side and smile sweetly at him.
“I know. But I want to. Are you okay with that?” He nods again, fisting the sheet at his sides.
I throw him another soft smile as I run my hands up his muscular thighs, which are both branded by cigarette burns and other jagged scars.
There is an uglier one that stretches up most of his left leg, all the way to his waist. If my heart wasn’t already beating a mile a minute, I’d cry.
My eyes hold onto his gaze as I shimmer down, until he can feel my breath on his cock.
“Jesus, fuck,” he growls, forcing himself to stay still.
A coy smile escapes my lips at how desperate for me he already is, and I haven’t even touched him.
The old Anna would be a bundle of insecurities right now.
I’ve never done this before, so who knows if I’d even be good at it.
However, this Anna, the one Matteo set loose on the world, has no such doubts.
My mind drifts to our FaceTime calls, when Matteo gave me little instructions on how he’d like to be touched, so I wrap my hand around his base on instinct, and softly lick him from root to crown before swirling my tongue on his head.
I know I’ve done a good job when he begins cursing in Italian, one of his hands releasing the sheet to weave his fingers in my hair.
Unlike the rest of his body, his cock is velvety smooth, rich, and warm to the touch.
After a quick kiss on his crown, I wrap my lips around his length, hollow my cheeks, and suck him to the back of my throat.
Or at least I try to. Matteo is huge, so it’s hard to swallow him all the way.
Not that he seems to care. Not with how he continues to curse and praise in Italian.
“Cazzo, ma mi ucciderai, moglie.” Fuck, you’re going to kill me, wife.
“Proprio così.” Just like that.
“Dio, sei così bella in ginocchio per me, tesoro.” God, you’re so beautiful on your knees for me, sweetheart.
“Se dovessi morire, ti prego, fa’ che sia così.” If I have to die, please let it be like this.
I’m not sure he realizes that I understand every word he’s saying. Or maybe he does, because his words of praise begin to take effect on me, too.
While I continue to lavish his cock with attention and care, my core clenches with need, my desire for him starting to drip down my inner thighs. I don’t even question why I’m so turned on right now. Why I feel like I’m about to combust.
Matteo’s pleasure has always coaxed mine to life. Even with a phone screen between us, it had always been this way. Is it any wonder why all of me feels as if it were about to burst into flames? Especially when he takes charge and begins to thrust himself deeper into my mouth.
Sensing Matteo is close to tipping over the edge, I relax my throat and swallow him until I feel his crown hit my tonsils.
The animalistic sounds he makes only drive me to do it again, and again, until the taste of his essence coats my tongue.
I moan out at the forbidden taste, needing more of it, only for him to rise up, grab me by the hips and fling me to his side.
“I said stop!” He growls, his eyes looking like a storm about to engulf me whole.
He said stop!? When? Was he talking? I can’t remember.
“The first time I come inside you will not be with your mouth,” he growls, his intense gaze pinning me to the spot.
Before I can say anything in return, his mouth drops on mine, claiming it and inhaling the very breath out of my lungs.
I melt into the mattress, my hands in his hair as his body hovers over mine.
After snapping my panties off me by the hips, Matteo grabs my leg and swings it onto his waist, my other leg mimicking the move without even being told.
I let out a loud wail when Matteo begins to rub his hard cock over my wet slit, his crown hitting my clit with torturous precision.
His tongue wrestles with mine as our bodies ignite into a fever-pitched dream.
I need him inside me more than I ever needed anything, but I’m too close to coming undone to utter a word.
“Come for me, wife. Let me see how pretty you break apart for me.”
Matteo’s words are all the incentive I need to do just that, as I fall off what feels like the highest skyscraper known to man.
I’m falling, falling, knowing he is right there to catch me.
My soul is ripped out of my body in a loud scream, white light blurring my vision.
I’m still flying high, the aftershocks rippling through my body when he groans out my name, his eyelids squinting in agony as he comes on top of me.
We’re both still heaving when Matteo sits back on his heel, staring at the slick heat running down my stomach.
My heart is still trying to simmer down when I watch him use his index finger to write his name on my flat stomach.
His black gaze burns into mine when he thrusts two fingers into my pussy, my back arching at how wonderful the intrusion feels.
I feel my core clench around his fingers as he leans down, grabs my nape, and presses his temple to mine.
“Let’s make something clear, wife. I will not be cheated on.” My eyes widen in alarm.
“I—”
“When I tell you to come, I mean I want all of it. Every last ounce of your pleasure,” he demands, pounding into me with a maddening tempo.
Matteo’s eyes are on mine as he coaxes every little bit of my orgasm, discontent with leaving any of it behind.
When my body begins to writhe maddingly, beads of sweat coating my brow and my knees feeling like they are about to buckle, Matteo inserts another finger.
This time, when my orgasm hits me, it feels like I’ve just been swallowed up by a tidal wave.
I’m drowning under the intensity of it all, as Matteo’s fingers and intense stare rearrange my very brain chemistry. I’m not sure how long he kept me under. All I know is that it’s his kiss that brings me back to life. My body feels more than sated. It’s light as a feather.
“Much better,” he coos, pressing a kiss to my temple and bringing me into an embrace.
My heavy head nestles in the crook of his neck, sleep ready to welcome me with open arms. But just as I’m about to surrender to my slumber, a million questions pop into my head.
How can I ever go home after this?
How can I ever go back to who I was after Matteo?
How can I ever be expected to leave him when I feel more like myself in his arms than I have ever felt on my own?
How will I ever be able to survive without him?
Exhaustion gives way to sleep once the answer to all these questions becomes clear.
I won’t survive.
There’s no surviving with… or without Matteo.