Chapter 10 Nicola #2
“Already am, Princess,” he murmured, lips brushing my collarbone. “But if you want my fingers inside you, say it.”
I blinked up at him, stunned at the shift in his voice—deeper, darker. Every trace of his usual playful sarcasm was gone, replaced with heat that made my stomach clench.
“Say it,” he said again, mouth ghosting over my breast. “Use that smart mouth for something other than arguing.”
My jaw tightened. Of course he’d push me, even now. But god, he was so close, and my whole body was pulsing, desperate.
“I want your fingers inside me,” I said through gritted teeth.
His grin was slow, filthy. “That’s my girl.”
The praise landed low in my belly like lightning. Before I could react, his fingers slid through my slick folds, teasing, testing.
“Fuck,” he muttered, kissing the swell of my breast. “You’re soaked for me, Princess. All this from one kiss?”
I hated how smug he sounded. I hated that he was right.
He slid a finger in, then another, curling them expertly as his thumb circled my clit with maddening precision. My hips jerked.
“Stay still,” he ordered, and the sharpness in his voice nearly undid me. “You wanted this. Take it.”
I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. His fingers moved faster, deeper, hitting that perfect spot with every thrust.
“Matteo—” I gasped, clawing at his back.
“What do you need?” he asked roughly. “Tell me.”
“You. I need—fuck—you.”
He withdrew his fingers suddenly, and I whimpered at the loss.
But then he was undoing his belt, and my breath hitched.
“Condom?” he asked.
“Mmhm, we…uh, yeah, we should,” I stuttered on the words, trying to make good decisions under this high of pleasure ripping through me.
Matteo hurried himself away to get a condom, then he began ripping off the edge of the foil.
I pulled the condom out, letting my eyes drop to him, watching him and his own want clear before me.
I rolled the condom on with slow movements, letting my eyes drift back up toward him. He let out a strangled groan.
Once the condom was on, he didn’t tease, didn’t stall. He dragged my legs apart and slid into me in one slow, devastating thrust.
My back arched off the bed. “Holy shit—”
He began to move—deep, punishing thrusts that left me gasping. Every stroke was precise, relentless. His mouth was on my jaw, my throat, murmuring filth into my skin like prayer.
“You love it when I take control, don’t you?” he growled.
“God—” I choked out, nails digging into his shoulders. “You’re such an asshole.”
He just smirked. “And you’re dripping for me. You gonna come on my cock like this?”
I was close—too close. He could tell.
He reached down, thumb circling my clit again, merciless.
“That’s it,” he whispered. “Come for me, baby. Be my good girl.”
And I did.
My orgasm slammed into me like a wave, sharp and shattering. I cried out his name, legs trembling, every nerve on fire.
He kept moving, chasing his own release, and with a ragged groan, he buried his face in my neck as he came.
For a moment, we just breathed.
Sweaty. Shaking. Tangled in each other like something inevitable.
He kissed my jaw, gentler now, like he hadn’t just ruined me. “You okay?”
I nodded, dazed. “You’re not nearly as annoying when you’re shutting me up with orgasms.”
He laughed, boyish and breathless. “Don’t tempt me to make it a habit.”
I rolled my eyes, already sore and already wanting more.
I should’ve known better.
We were supposed to be cleaning up. Just rinsing off the sweat, the sex, the mistake. But then Matteo pressed me against the cold tile wall with that now-familiar glint in his eyes—hungry and dangerous and way too pleased with himself—and I knew we were fucked.
Again.
“Just once more,” he said, voice a low rasp in my ear. “Just to get it out of our system.”
I was already breathless, already arching into him.
“This is a terrible idea,” I muttered, palms flattening against the slick tile as the hot water poured over both of us. My skin was flushed, oversensitive, my thighs still trembling from before.
“Yup.” He kissed my neck, then bit gently. “So don’t think.”
His hands were on my waist before I could reply, dragging me back against him. I felt how hard he was again—already. The bastard had stamina like a fucking god. He pressed himself between my thighs, one hand sliding down my front with an obscene kind of confidence.
I hissed, hips bucking back against him.
“I’ve been dreaming of this since that night after the gala,” he said, like we hadn’t just been tangled up ten minutes ago. “This perfect, bossy mouth. These fucking hips.” His fingers slid lower. “This wet pussy.”
“Matteo—”
“It’s all I see when I close my eyes.” His hand clamped over my hip. “Every fucking night, then you wear those damn heels and walk around the paddock like you own the place. So fucking sexy, baby.”
And then he was sliding inside me, slow and deep, like he had all the time in the world to drive me completely insane.
I gasped, forehead hitting the tile.
“Fuck,” I whispered, voice breaking. “You feel—God—even better than before.”
“You feel so good,” he growled, thrusting hard enough to make me cry out. “Like your body knows who you belong to now.”
I would’ve argued if I could form a single coherent thought.
But all I could do was feel. Him. The water. The slippery, filthy sound of our bodies meeting again and again as he fucked me into the wall like he was trying to erase the space between us.
“You keep clenching around me, baby,” he murmured into my ear. “You close like that again, I won’t last.”
“Then don’t—don’t hold back—”
He didn’t.
His rhythm changed, rougher now, each thrust slamming me against the cold tile with a slap. His hand slipped between my legs, fingers finding my clit again and circling in a tortuous pace.
“Come again,” he ordered. “I want to feel you fall apart.”
My knees nearly gave out.
“Say it,” he growled. “Tell me who’s fucking you.”
“You—you are—” I gasped, crying out as the heat coiled in my stomach snapped.
I shattered around him, sobbing his name, and that was all it took.
Matteo groaned deep in his throat, slamming into me once, twice more before he spilled inside me with a ragged curse.
He collapsed forward, both of us barely staying upright under the stream of water.
For a long, breathless second, we didn’t move.
Then he laughed softly, brushing my wet hair from my face.
“Feel better?” he asked, voice smug.
“I hate you.”
“Debatable.”
“Shut up.”
He kissed my temple.