9. Matteo
Matteo
Ididn’t sleep. Well, aside from that brief micro-nap I apparently had. It, along with the erotic dream it inspired, has left me feeling more disoriented than rested. It’s understandable. One minute, I was balls-deep inside Azra. The next, she was shaking my shoulder.
I reacted badly. Worse than bad. I snapped at her as if she were to blame for every fucked-up thought circling my head.
Not all of them belong on her shoulders.
Giovanni’s smug, needling taunts about me being “next to fall” and the reminder of how Valentina softened him from a ruthless killer to a family man terrify me that Azra could do the same to me.
The worry won’t quit echoing in my head. He said his taunt with an infuriating grin that made me want to throw something at him, but for some fucked-up reason, it buried itself somewhere I don’t want to examine too closely.
If I dig, shit I’m hesitant to acknowledge might come out. Like how fucking good it felt when I thought Azra had chosen me over Antonio.
Our exchange wasn’t real. It was a dream. A stupid, vivid, treacherous dream. But the barbs it speared into my chest sank so deep that waking up to the reality that her plan is still in motion, that she’s still aiming herself toward a dick turd like Antonio Adami, is a bitter pill to swallow.
I hardly know her, but I don’t hesitate in saying she deserves someone better than him.
Me? No. I’m not worthy either.
But surely I’m a rung or two above an Adami.
I condemn myself to hell. Shit like this will get me killed. I shouldn’t be having the thoughts I am.
I am Matteo fucking Caruso.
Your worst nightmare.
I will not allow a woman to cripple me.
I refuse.
The pillow fort has slumped overnight. It leans to one side, as exhausted from the effort of existing as I am, but still intact enough that I can slip out of bed without disturbing Azra.
I move quietly, careful not to let the mattress creak and not to look at her longer than necessary.
Her dark hair spills across the pillow, and her breathing is slow and even.
The image of her in my bed tightens my chest for reasons I don’t have the patience to unpack.
My head is pounding. Not the pounding Giovanni would joke about. The proper kind that throbs behind my eyes and tilts the world off-center. A long shower will fix it. Or at least dull the pain.
After entering the bathroom, I close the door behind me with a soft click.
The tiles are cold beneath my feet, but the mirror is foggy, as if last night’s dream was real.
I turn on the water and wait for it to heat up.
When it’s semi-respectful, I stand under the spray.
Warmth beats against my shoulders and fills the room with steam, drowning out thoughts I am trying to escape.
For a moment, it works. The water acts as a temporary shield against everything clawing at me. But within minutes, the effects fade. I’m too worked up from my dream last night and the way I acted, like Azra rewarding me her virginity was the greatest gift I’d ever received.
I shut my eyes and tip my head back, drowning my groan in a heavy flow of water.
I’m letting my cock control me, and the woman holding the remote wants nothing to do with me.
Now I’m hard enough to cut glass.
Azra’s mouthiness… Ah. I could come now just recalling how her sarcastic wit only dimmed once I buried my cock down her throat.
She plays a good game, but she’s a shit actor when her head is being led by her libido.
Her lips.
That mouth.
Fuck.
I can’t help but give my cock a handful of pumps. The tension is too much. If I don’t ease the ache, I’ll fucking explode.
This isn’t about Azra or the dream I want to turn into reality. Regaining control of the wheel before I crash is the point. Also, someone can only manipulate you like a puppet if you let them stick their hand up your ass.
I won’t even think about her.
Not even for a second.
That’s a lie.
In just a few strokes, her flawless face and dilated eyes and the image of me pushing a spilled droplet of cum into her mouth feature on repeat.
It’s no hard feat. I can smell her on my skin and taste her perfume in the air.
Then there’s the sight of her pussy and how I collected her saturated panties from the floor of the SUV like I have a compulsion for sniffing soiled undergarments.
I don’t, but if it’s Azra’s panties on the line, I can see it becoming an addiction I’ll never overcome.
My penis uncomfortably swells when I imagine the quantity of her used panties I can gather over the next few days.
The veins supplying my enormous cock throb intensely and painfully. I shouldn’t be leaking pre-cum while contemplating being used and abused in the sick game Azra wants to play with a competitor, but I am.
Who wouldn’t sign up for the chance to learn if her cunt is as delicious as it smells, and as tight as her virgin status implies?
Smart fuckers who know she doesn’t want them.
Pissed at my inner monologue, I tighten my grip around my cock.
While pistoning my hips on repeat, I watch the fat, angry head pierce through my fist. I fuck my hand in rhythm to the frantic buzz of my pulse, groaning while recalling how Azra’s thigh spread open for me instead of clamping shut in the SUV.
She has a gorgeous pink pussy that glistened with wetness even before riding the waves of ecstasy. Her cheeks flushed with heat, and her eyes dilated massively. She was on the cusp of climax… Then she realized my fingers are thicker and longer than some guys’ cocks.
I jerk my dick faster. It feels good, amazing, even, but it’s got nothing compared with the feeling of Azra’s lips circling the crown. Her tongue flattened down the underside of my cock with every suck, eager to gather every drop of pre-cum spilling from the slit.
It was the best blowjob I’ve ever received, and I’ve been with women who perform oral sex professionally.
Stop looking at me that way. I don’t pay. Never have. But even high-end hookers have needs.
They come to me when they need them taken care of.
Well, they did.
That’s off the table for now. Possibly ever.
My last two words make me strangle my cock, but since I’m a sick fuck who savors a bit of pain, the spasms bring me close to finishing.
With steam curling around me, I pump my cock on repeat. Sweat dots my brow as every muscle in my body pulls taut.
I’m right there, on the cusp of spilling my load on the glossy tiles, when the bathroom door slams open.
Azra races into the steam-filled room as if she’s being chased, moving so fast she more skids across the tiles than glides.
With a sigh, she lowers the toilet lid and then plops onto the seat.
Mid-stream, she freezes, her entire body going rigid, before her eyes slowly lift.
Her mouth falls open as her eyes drink in my fisted dick and pre-cum-stained head. My balls are heavy with need, swinging between my splayed thighs, and my cock doesn’t understand limits when her O mouth inspires a flood of wicked thoughts.
She stares straight at me through the fogged shower glass, her expression a perfect blend of shock and intrigue.
This is when I should go still.
I don’t.
I jerk my hips upward, fucking my hand more than letting my hand do all the work.
Azra blinks once. Twice. A third time. Then her expression twists. She’s not embarrassed that she walked in on me yanking on my dick or flustered with need. Her expression shows pure, unfiltered disgust.
Her disdain hits like a slap, and I use the sting of her nonexistent touch to push me over the line. With my eye contact uninterrupted, thick white beads of cum shoot from the slit in my cock, smearing the glass wall separating us.
My strokes slow to the rhythm of the vein thudding in Azra’s neck as I milk my cock of every drop of my release, my chest heaving.
As my cum slides down the glass, Azra wipes, then flushes the toilet. The water temperature spikes instantly, scalding me. When I jerk back with a hiss, she snickers while moving to the vanity to wash her hands, maintaining eye contact like I’m the one who barged in on her.
She dries her hands with my towel, the motion brisk and irritating, then leaves without a word, the lock clicking into place behind her.
As I stand frozen, my skin still burning from the sudden heat, my cock reacts as if it didn’t achieve release mere seconds ago. The room feels too quiet and too empty now, but the echo of her disgust lingering in the air like a challenge gives me my biggest hard-on to date.
“Ben fatto, Azra. Ben fatto, cazzo,” I murmur to myself.
Her complete lack of interest—and absolute refusal to react the way anyone else would after walking in on a man masturbating—sends an electric jolt through me. It’s exciting and fresh and jumps my pulse in a manner I don’t like but also secretly crave.