Chapter 27 Matteo
MATTEO
“I don’t like this.”
Sierra stands in the center of my home gym wearing a blue tank top that’s painted onto her generous curves and black leggings that should be illegal. The sleeve of flowers on her arm catches the light as she stretches.
She glances down at herself. “You don’t like my outfit?”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” I force my eyes to her face. “I don’t like looking at you the way an attacker would. Finding the weak points.”
Her smile falters for half a second. The look of someone remembering something they’d rather forget. “Is that really necessary?”
“If I’m going to give you self-defense lessons, yes.”
I close the distance between us. She smells like vanilla and something floral, and I have to remind myself why we’re here. Not for what my body wants. For what she needs.
“I can teach you strikes,” I tell her. “Elbows. Palm heels. But what matters is escape. If someone grabs you, your only goal is to get free and run.”
“And if I can’t run?”
“Then you fight until you can. But you’re not built for prolonged combat, Sierra. You’ll tire. You’ll probably be up against someone bigger.” The words sit wrong in my mouth. Like I’m admitting I might not be there when she needs me. “So you break the hold, you create distance, and you get help.”
She nods, all business now. Good. I need her focused.
“There’s also the most important self-defense technique.”
“Which is?”
“Kick him in the balls.”
Her laugh echoes off the walls, bright and startled. She slaps my chest, and I catch her wrist before she can pull away. Her pulse jumps against my fingers.
Her pupils dilate. Breath catches.
Hunger.
Every damn time she looks at me like that, my cock stirs.
“You keep looking at me like that,” I say, my voice dropping, “and we’re not getting through this lesson.”
“You’re the one who grabbed me.”
“Yeah.” I tighten my grip. “And I’m still holding you. Want to learn how to fix that?”
The playfulness drains from her face. She nods.
“Men grab wrists. It’s instinct, easy control.” I adjust my hold, showing her where my thumb creates the weak point. “Most people pull away. Wrong move. You twist toward the grip, use leverage against the thumb, and you’re gone before he reacts.”
She tries it. Clumsy at first. I walk her through the angle, the sharp rotation, the immediate step back to create distance. By the fifth attempt, she’s getting it. By the tenth, there’s real force behind the break.
“Good. Now the choke hold.”
I move behind her. Show her the choke break. I hate putting my hands around her throat—even without pressure, it feels wrong. Her neck is so small in my grip. Fragile. The thought of anyone else doing this, actually squeezing—
I force the thought down and explain the technique. Arms around the outside of the attacker’s elbows. Drive down on the joints. Break the hold.
She nods, practices the motion. Until I can feel the potential force behind it, enough to actually work if she needed it.
“Last one.” I move behind her again, wrapping my arms around her torso this time, pinning her arms to her sides. A bear hug. “Get out.”
She thrashes. Tries to headbutt me—would’ve connected too, if I wasn’t expecting it. Then she goes still for a second before popping up on her toes, arching her back.
Her ass drives straight into my groin.
I’m already half-hard from having her pressed against me. That move turns me to steel.
“That’s not the technique,” I growl against her ear.
She does it again. Slow and deliberate this time. My arms tighten around her reflexively, pulling her closer instead of letting go.
“Seems effective to me.” Her voice has gone breathy. “Tell me you don’t want to throw me down on this mat right now.”
I groan. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“But what a way to go.” She bites her lower lip, eyes locked on mine.
Fuck it.
I spin her around and take her mouth. She smiles against my lips like she’s won something.
Maybe she has. I don’t care.
I sweep her leg and lower her to the mat, my body covering hers. Her tank top and sports bra get shoved up, and then my mouth is on her breast, tongue circling her nipple until it hardens against my lips.
“Matteo.” She arches into me, fingers digging into my shoulders.
I suck harder. She moans, loud and unashamed, and my cock throbs in response.
Her leggings tear when I yank them off. I’ll buy her more. Right now I need her naked, and I need it five seconds ago.
“Impatient,” she breathes.
“You did this.” I shove my sweatpants down just enough to free myself. “Grinding on me like that. You knew exactly what you were doing.”
“Maybe.” Her eyes are dark. Wanting. “You going to punish me for it?”
Christ.
I grab her leg and put it over my shoulder, opening her up. She’s wet. Glistening. Ready.
“Look at you.” I drag my cock through her folds, watching her squirm. “Already soaked for me.”
“Please.” Her hips lift, trying to take me in. “Stop teasing.”
“You teased me for an hour.”
“Matteo.”
I like her desperate. Like her begging. But I’m too far gone to drag this out.
I thrust inside her in one stroke.
Her head falls back. Lips parting. That little furrow between her brows that means she’s feeling everything.
“So fucking tight.” I hold still for one second, savoring her. “I’m never getting enough of this.”
“Move.” Her nails rake down my arms. “Please move.”
I move.
Hard. Fast. The sounds fill the gym—her moans, skin slapping skin, my own ragged breathing. She feels too good. I’m already close, and that’s not acceptable.
“Touch yourself,” I grit out. “I want to feel you come.”
She doesn’t hesitate. Her hand slides between us, fingers circling her clit while I fuck her. The sight of it nearly ends me.
“That’s it.” My voice is wrecked. “Good girl. Make yourself come on my cock.”
“I’m close.” Her walls flutter around me. “Matteo, I’m—”
“Let go.” I drive deeper. “Come for me, Sierra.”
She shatters. Crying out my name, back arching off the mat, pussy clenching so tight I see stars.
I last maybe three more strokes.
I bury myself deep and come with a groan that echoes off the walls. Pleasure tears through me, blanking out everything except her. This. Us.
We stay like that as the aftershocks fade. Her nails trace slow paths down my back as our breathing slows.
“Best self-defense lesson ever,” she murmurs.
I huff out a laugh. “You’re a terrible student.”
“You’re a worse teacher. I learned nothing about escaping a bear hug.”
“You escaped, didn’t you?”
She grins up at me.
“Go change,” I tell her, pulling out and helping her stand. “Put on jeans.”
She holds up her ruined leggings with a raised eyebrow.
“I’ll buy you more.”
“You’re very destructive.”
“Only with things I want to get into.”
She laughs, shaking her head as she heads for the stairs. “Why jeans?”
“I have a surprise. Just do it.”
She grumbles about me being bossy as she heads upstairs. I clean up, change, and head to the garage. Check everything one more time. Make sure it’s ready.
When Sierra appears in the doorway, I step aside so she can see.
The red Harley sits next to my bike. Polished and waiting.
She goes still in the doorway, eyes locked on the bike.
“It’s yours,” I say.
“You bought this for me?” Her voice comes out strange. Almost hushed.
I nod. “Sportster. Good for your height.”
Her smile is the biggest I’ve ever seen. She walks to the bike like it might disappear if she moves too fast, runs her fingers over the gas tank, the seat. It’s not new, but it’s solid. I replaced the tires myself. New seat. Checked every inch of the engine.
“She’s ready to ride if you want your first lesson now.”
Sierra doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just stands there with her hand on the bike, and I watch something move across her face. Wonder, maybe. Or the look of someone who isn’t used to people paying attention.
Then she turns and throws herself at me, arms wrapping tight around my neck.
“Thank you.” Her voice is muffled against my shoulder. “I can’t—thank you.”
I hold her. Let myself feel it. The warmth of her pressed against me. The way she trembles.
There’s a lot I’m starting to realize I’d do for her.
“Here.” I hand her the white jacket when she finally lets go. “Padded at the elbows, shoulders, chest, back. You wear it every time you ride.”
She takes it, nearly dropping the thing from the weight. “It’s heavy.”
“It’ll keep you safe.” I hold her eyes until she gets that I’m serious. “Promise me.”
“I promise.” She studies the jacket, then looks up with challenge in her eyes. “You don’t wear one.”
“I’m fine.”
“You should. And a helmet.”
I almost make a crack about her becoming a nagging wife, but the truth is, it’s nice. Having someone who gives a damn if I come home in one piece.
“I’ll think about it.”
She seems satisfied.
For the next hour, I walk her through everything.
How to move the bike herself—I don’t help, because she needs to know she can do it alone.
The throttle, the clutch, the brake. She already drives manual, so shifting makes sense.
I explain the gear lever, the way to lean into turns instead of yanking the bars.
But there’s only so much talking you can do.
I help her with the helmet and watch her mount the bike for the first time. She’s practically vibrating, all that sunshine energy focused on the machine between her thighs.
She starts the engine, puts it in first, turns the throttle—
And immediately lays it down.
I can’t help the chuckle that escapes as I help her stand it back up.
“Happens all the time. Easy on the throttle. You’ll find your balance.”
She does better the second attempt. Loses it trying to leave the driveway. Third time, she makes it farther before yanking the handlebars on a turn instead of leaning into it.
But she learns. Fast.
By the time we call it, she’s ridden around the block alone.
The smile on her face when she pulls back into the garage is huge. Pure joy. Unguarded. Like for one moment, she forgot to be afraid of anything.
“I love it.” She kills the engine and swings off, taking my hand. Her fingers squeeze mine. “Thank you. For everything.”
“You already thanked me.”
“Not just for the bike.” Her voice softens. “The lessons. The protection. Teaching me to ride instead of telling me it’s too dangerous.” She squeezes my hand. “I know you said violence is all you’re good for. You were wrong.”
No one’s ever said anything like that to me. I pull her in and kiss her because I don’t have words that measure up.
When I pull back, she’s watching me with those big brown eyes. And I know.
I’m not letting her go.