Epilogue
Four Years Later
Sofia
The room is a living and breathing entity of chaos, a hive of activity. There is music blasting, people laughing, and conversations overlapping in a jumble of voices. It’s all so loud I can barely hear my own thoughts.
What I can feel, however, are my nerves.
I've worked too hard to be this terrified, but I can't help it.
This is my first solo runway show where the world gets to see the designs I've been working on for years. There are famous fashion editors from magazines and online publications who are going to write pieces on this show, along with some popular celebrities and other industry people in the audience. They’re all here to watch my show, and its success partly depends on them.
The thought of someone hating it has my palms sweating and my stomach rolling with anxiety. The noise in the room only works to amplify my nerves. I run a hand through my hair, begging for peace.
Silence.
I just need a moment of quiet to think and calm my nerves.
As if hearing my silent plea, the room settles with a hush, and the pulsating music cuts off, dying mid-note.
Conversations cease and a profound stillness follows.
It's so abrupt that it stops me in my tracks, my heart leaping into my throat.
I slowly turn, trying to understand what caused the silence.
Then I see him.
And my breath hitches. The world seems to narrow, and just like that, the room, the noise, the nerves, everything else just melts away. And it's just him and me.
He's tall, a silhouette against the light, dressed in his signature black. His features had to be the gods themselves—so chiseled and breathtakingly handsome. His presence is magnetic, drawing the attention of every woman in the room, but his eyes stay on me.
When he starts walking toward me, the people in the room rush out of his way, parting like the Red Sea for him.
He doesn’t say a word but, instead, grabs my wrist and then pulls me out of the room.
All the protests I make fall on deaf ears as my husband drags me down the hall and opens a door to the left, pushing me inside.
I should probably be annoyed that he’s pulled me away from work before I can check on the last-minute details for the seventeenth time, but I find relief in the blessed silence the dressing room he’s brought me to provides.
"What are you doing?" I ask with a sigh, my eyes widening when Matteo drops to his knees in front of me. “Matteo–”
"Gia texted me, told me that you were nervous and that you needed me," he says, running his hands up my legs and pushing up my skirt. “You do need me, don’t you?”
"God yes," I sigh, placing a hand on his shoulders to stop him when he leans forward. "Remind me to scold my sister for siccing you on me like this. Jesus, Matteo, I always need you. It's just that now is not the right time. The show starts in less than thirty minutes–”
“I only need ten.”
“Matteo–”
"You're nervous,” he rasps, taking my wrists and pulling my hands off his shoulders. “I’ll take care of it for you.”
“But–”
"I want you," he leans forward, brushing his lips over my thigh, his warm breath against my skin. "Let me have you, tesoro mio."
Christ, there is something hot about seeing a man as strong as he is on his knees, those dark eyes filled with passion that melts my resolve. No, I can never resist him, and when his hand slides under my skirt and yanks down my underwear, forcing a shudder down my spine, I realize I need this—him.
I always do.
“Someone could walk in.” It’s a halfhearted protest at best. "It's a little risky, Matteo. I think… oh!" My back hits the wall when I feel his thumb rubbing over my folds, parting them and grazing my clit. I moan, arching into his touch despite myself.
“There you are,” he rasps, leaning in to kiss my inner thigh.
My breath comes in rapid gasps as his lips move up my thigh, caressing and nipping at my sensitive skin.
Lust shoots through my stomach, and I feel my pussy flood with moisture.
I ache with need for him to cool the fire building in my core, an ache so strong it leaves my knees weak.
“Fuck me, your little pussy is soaked and ready for me, baby. You’re making a mess.” His eyes meet mine over my heaving breasts, and I spot a dangerous glint flash through those dark eyes. “You need me to clean it up for you before the show, don’t you?”
“Matteo, I…”
“I’ll get you all nice and clean after,” he rumbles, leaning forward and brushing his nose over me, groaning deeply. “I can’t have my wife walk out in front of all those cameras with her pussy all wet and dripping.” He flashes me a grin before leaning forward.
My breath catches in my throat when he laps up my arousal with his tongue. I slap a hand on my mouth to stop a moan, but it does me no good as the beautiful man sinks into me and rips the air right out of my lungs.
God.
I can’t breathe. My hand flies around to find something to grasp onto as his mouth closes around my clit in hot suction.
I grab his hair, gripping tight as he suckles the sensitive nub in a soft pull before increasing the pressure.
I cling to his hair, my legs tightening around his shoulders as I roll my hips against his sinful mouth.
It’s crude, the way he runs his tongue between my folds. And dirty and obscene and perfect.
I’m sobbing when he slides his finger into me and the wet sound of his thick finger meeting my wet flesh fills the room.
Christ, four years and I never thought I would still want him as much as I did that first night.
And I do. Quite desperately. Perhaps even more than I did when he had me in this very position in my wedding dress.
Leaving my body a trembling mess, even four years later.
“Close,” I whimper, yanking at his hair and bucking against that hot mouth. “Oh God, Matteo!” My stomach clenches hard and I cry out as pleasure explodes through me, rocking me to my core. He licks me through the orgasm, holding me in place as shudders rack through my body.
There is a wild grin on his face when he pulls back, eyes black and dangerous as he climbs to his feet. I watch with hooded eyes as he unzips his pants and takes out his cock, then I'm spun around to face the wall.
“You’re so goddamned hot!” he breathes into my neck, sending goosebumps licking up my skin.
I brace my hand against the wall as he runs his palm over my ass, squeezing and releasing, his breath growing raffed as he presses his hardness between my cheeks.
I moan when his free hand slides up my body and squeezes my breast through my blouse.
“How can I still want you so much after all this time? So desperately?”
"I feel the same way."
“You don’t understand, tesoro mio,” he growls, biting my earlobe between his teeth.
I bite down a whimper when he pinches my sensitive nipple between his fingers before rubbing it with his thumb to ease the sting.
"It rips at me. My need for you rips at me from the inside out. I’ve never wanted anyone or anything as much as I want you, Sofia! ”
“Then show me!” I say, moving my hips against his stiff cock, making my core pulse with need. “Show me just how much you need me!”
He grunts into my ear as he presses the tip of his cock against my entrance, palming my left breast before slamming in, deep and so fucking hard it sends me onto my toes.
I slap a hand over my mouth before a scream escapes and alerts everyone in the building.
He releases my breast to grip my hip with one hand and grabs my hair with the other, then he starts thrusting into me like an animal, his breath hot and heavy against my neck.
I bite hard into my hand to stop the cries that threaten to escape with every thrust that sends me rubbing my breasts against the wall, the friction driving me to madness.
I’m sobbing, choking and gasping for air. It's too much and yet not enough. I want everything, all of him.
“Mine,” he growls into my ear as he slams into me, the force of his thrusts feral. It’s filthy and wrong but so right. My legs start to shake as heat storms through my stomach. I’m trembling when his right-hand slides between my legs, stroking my clit as his cock parts my wet folds.
His free hand cups my mouth seconds before a scream rips from my throat.
Pleasure racks through me so violently my knees buckle.
He drives his cock through my pulsing sex, strumming my clit through the climax until I can’t breathe.
He slams into me four more times before he bellows into my neck, his cock jerking inside of me and flooding me with his seed.
“Oh God,” I pant, dropping my head against the wall as white stars shoot at the corners of my eyes, the storm of pleasure cooling to a calm wave. Matteo kisses my shoulder and neck as he thrusts lazily into me, burying more of him inside of me. “I think that was more than ten minutes.”
He laughs, kissing my neck before pulling out. He turns me around to look at him, and I nearly laugh as his perfect hair is mussed up. The serious expression on his face stops me, though. "You've worked your ass off for today to happen. You will do great out there. I know it."
His absolute trust sends my heart warming up. More than that, his presence does. “Thanks for being here. I know you are busy–”
“I’m never too busy for you, Mrs. Rossi,” he interrupts, brushing his lips over mine with the sweetest of kisses. “You’re my priority. You and our little Leo will always be my number one priority. Always.”
I nod, finally calm.
We clean up and straighten our clothes, and I even manage to get to the changing room with five minutes to spare.
All the chaos and noise don’t seem to bother me this time as I run through everything one final time.
When the curtains open to reveal not just an audience of fashion critics but my family as well, my heart swells.
And when the models exit and I step into the spotlight to be greeted by applause, I take it all in. The impressed looks on the audience’s faces, the wailing of my son as he tries to leap from his father’s arms and jump on stage, and the proud look on my Matteo’s face.
Everything is perfect.
~The End