19. Azra
Azra
Matteo’s words float me back to reality awfully fast. Don’t mistake me. I’m still airy and tipsy, but you’d have to have a heart of stone not to react to a confession like that.
“What do you mean I’d need to be saved from you more than anyone else?”
He freezes, his cock still fisted.
His expression is unreadable, but something dark flickers behind his eyes.
“You’re a good person, Ruso. You might have a monstrous dick, but that’s the only monstrous thing about you.”
He arches a brow. “Ruso?”
I twist my lips as if I’m not fighting the urge to run my tongue over the slit in his cut penis to gather up the droplet of pre-cum beading there.
“Everyone needs a nickname. You’re not a Matt.
” He gags with me. “And Teo is what your brothers call you when you’re not pissing them off.
” Can you come solely from a laugh? Because I’m on edge just after the quickest chuckle.
“I wanted something different. Something just for me.”
The wave in the lower half of my stomach slowly reforms when his cock twitches as I align our eyes. He’s no longer stroking himself, but that doesn’t detract from the size of his manhood. It hangs heavily between his legs, making my mouth water as well as my pussy.
“Ruso seemed fitting. Do you like it?”
“It could grow on me,” he eventually murmurs.
With his quest for release forgotten, he wordlessly asks me to scoot.
Pouting, I say, “I take back what I said. You truly are a monster. Only a cruel ghoul would expect a girl to sleep with that digging in her ass all night.” I thrust my hand at his crotch.
Matteo laughs with a hearty chuckle that cuts through my tiredness like a blade. “About time you learn what everyone else in this town already knows.”
A gasp escapes me when he flips me over before he molds his body to mine. Now I’m certain I’ll skip heaven and go straight to hell. He’s not hard, but he doesn’t need to be for me to feel every impressive inch he has to offer.
“Azra…” he grinds out through clenched teeth when I rub against him, instantly hardening him. “I’m not a good man, and you’re testing every inch of my patience.”
“That isn’t what I want to test.”
His growl rumbles through my body, settling between my legs. “You won’t be saying that when you realize I’m not whatever the fuck it is you think you see in me.”
His voice is low and dangerous, but I’m too intoxicated to heed its warnings.
“Parts of your life remind me of the worst sides of mine. The violence. The power. People show fear when they speak your name.”
His jaw tightens, but he remains quiet, leaving the floor to me.
“But there are other parts too,” I continue. “Parts that remind me of my brothers and how they protect the women and children trapped in the underworld. How they make it safer for people who have no one else to look after them.”
His sigh whistles through my hair, my words hitting somewhere he doesn’t want touched.
“And tonight,” I add, “you stopped us from…”—my swallow is extremely telling—“even though you clearly didn’t want to.”
He scoots closer, and my breath suspends halfway to my lungs. “I didn’t want to stop. Not at all. But don’t fool yourself, Azra. My intentions with you have never been honorable.”
“Then why did you stop?”
“Because if I started, I wouldn’t have stopped. Ever. I would have dragged you down into the abyss with me.”
His words should scare me. They don’t. I see the truth beneath them—the conflict and the restraint. I see a man fighting himself harder than he fights anyone else.
He’s not warning me because he wants me afraid.
He’s warning me because he’s afraid of himself.
“Azra…” Matteo growls out when I roll to face him.
My limited life experiences prevent me from giving him a profound quote that would warp his perception as much as his murky blue eyes warp my smarts. Instead, I use the skills I’ve learned from him. “Shut up and kiss me back, Ruso.”
Before he can argue that I’m not kissing him, so he can’t kiss me back, I weave my fingers through his hair and slide my tongue across his firm mouth. It softens under my touch in three heart-thrashing seconds, and even faster than that, he duels our tongues together.
My skin flushes when his big, manly hand cups my ass and tugs me closer. “Your panties are drenched.”
“For you. The entire time I was touching myself, I was pretending it was you.”
His hot, moist breath peppers my skin with condensation when he lowers his mouth to my neck. I flatten my ear to the pillow, hopeful his mouth will mark me as well as his ridiculously handsome face stained my underwear.
“Fuck…” he murmurs when my splayed position rubs the crown of his cock against my pussy. “We should stop. We need to stop. Should I stop?”
His body tenses when I disagree. “Please don’t.”
The lace material of my bra feels like too much when he cups my breast and squeezes it.
“You have fantastic tits, micina. Nice and round.”
His mouth slips from my neck to my chest, then to my nipple.
I close my eyes as my body welcomes the tingles his lips circling my nipple through my bra instigate. He curls his tongue around the erect bud before he slowly draws it into his mouth. It feels amazing, but I need more. Want more.
His lips lift against my skin when I rake my fingers over his scalp before I use my healthy grip on his hair to push him lower.
“So impatient, micina. Anyone would swear no one has ever eaten your pussy before.” He blows a hot breath over my clenching slit, then peers up at me. “We both know that isn’t true.”
Alcohol isn’t to blame for my intoxication anymore. It’s his smirk when he hooks his finger under the damp material of my panties, and he slowly peels them away.
Once he’s slipped them down my thighs, his eyes snap to mine. He doesn’t speak, but his cautious glare speaks volumes. If I want this to stop, he will end it immediately.
I need to feel his mouth on my pussy. It will kill me if he denies me a second time.
“Please…” I stop just short of begging. Matteo has made it obvious that a submissive, demure demeanor does nothing for him. “Fuck me with your mouth.”
He coasts his mouth over my clit before trekking his tongue across the nervy nub.
“Oh… god.” Hand in sheets, I roll my hips upward, mushing my pussy with his face.
His mouth kicks up into a sexy smirk as he kisses me softly and sweetly.
With my free hand, I seize the back of his head and angle it to give him unrestricted access to my pussy, then snap out a demand. “Stop playing and eat me like you mean it.”
His smirk… Someone call the fire chief. I’m burning up.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He spears his tongue inside me, stilling my hands.
I thrust my head back and moan a throaty garble.
I’ve only been eaten out once before, by him, so I can’t handle the expertise with which he unravels me.
He brings me to climax shamefully quick, leaping my heart rate into coronary failure territory.
He doesn’t stop, though.
Over the next few minutes, he licks me, grazes me with his teeth, and bombards me with a ton of praise. He tells me how sweet my pussy tastes, and that I’m a palette he’ll never grow tired of consuming.
Tingles race up my spine when his thumb presses against my opening.
His hands aren’t as big as his cock, but they’re double the width and length of mine.
His thumb alone will remove the purity clause from the marriage contract I’m endeavoring to get off the ground with Antonio, but I can’t remind him of the terms.
I want to feel him inside me.
I’ve dreamed about this.
“Is this a problem?” Matteo asks, watching me.
“No,” I answer without pausing for thought, my mind blank on anything but my next orgasm.
“You sure, micina?”
The fact that he checks swipes away any lingering hesitation.
“I’m sure.”
He scoots up the bed, making me panic that I said or did something wrong. I realize I misunderstood the situation when he unbuttons his shirt, shrugs it off, then tugs off his belt. I was so focused on how flighty his attention made me that I forgot he was fully clothed.
Once he’s down to boxer shorts stretched to within an inch of their life and stained with pre-cum, he nestles his shoulders back between my legs.
Knowing he’s as eager as I am to continue eating me, I spread my legs wider, uncaring that I’m fully exposed to his rapacious gaze.
He licks his lips, his hunger unmissable, before he bucks my hips off the bed with a greedy lick.
He drags his tongue from the base of my pussy to my clit before he circles it with his lips.
The moment my thighs shake with signs of an impending orgasm, Matteo’s eyes flash with pride.
With his attention on my clit, subduing my panic, he stuffs two fingers inside me with only the slightest bit of protest.
“Fuck, micina. You’re so tight.”
As he slowly withdraws his fingers, he swivels his tongue around my clit.
This is actually happening. I’m being fucked. It might be with fingers, but penetration will be undeniable.
“Relax for me. I don’t want to tear you.”
Matteo smiles when my thighs press into the mattress and I unclench my butt cheeks.
“Good girl.” He drinks in the snug fit before he murmurs, “Now watch how well you take me.”
My head is so woozy it’s a struggle to lift, but when I do, a strange mewling sound rolls up my chest. The sight of his fingers, coated with both a smear of blood and the clearness of my arousal, pumping into me is erotically satisfying.
“Do you have any fucking idea what you’re doing to me, micina? How crazy you are making me?”
Not waiting for an answer, he repeatedly stuffs his fingers in and out of me until an orgasm too intense to continue prolonged eye contact washes away the red coloring.
I fall back onto the mattress with a moan, my hands darting out to fist the sheets.
Matteo’s name tears from my throat at the same time an annoying shrill fills my ears.
Believing the alarm on my phone is distracting Matteo, I bat it off the nightstand. It crashes to the floor as ruefully as reality smashes into me. Even with the alarm silenced, Matteo doesn’t continue to go to town on my pussy. He’s not even in the room with me.
“Matteo?” I murmur, suddenly panicked that he read the appointment on my phone screen for exactly what it is.
The alarm was to remind me of a dress fitting today. It’s the last fitting with the bridal boutique supplying my dress for my wedding to Antonio.
When I scoot up the bed, cursing my ill-timing, another sickening fact smacks into me. I’m not naked from the waist down. I’m wearing the panties Matteo slid up my thighs last night before we attended the gala.
“No,” I murmur to myself, certain life couldn’t be this cruel to me twice. “That wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t have been.”
I feel like I orgasmed. My body is thrumming with energy a woman only achieves after a star-producing climax.
Confident in the tingles keeping my clit firm, I slide my hand beneath my panties and insert the tip of my forefinger between the delicate lines. It’s wet, as expected, but when I remove it for a thorough inspection, it’s missing the red smears I expect.
Damnit!