26. Contessa
Contessa
The words barely leave my mouth before he’s moving.
Matteo stands so fast the chair scrapes against the tile, and then I’m airborne—one arm under my knees, the other behind my back, my pregnant ass cradled against his chest like I weigh nothing. My arms fly around his neck on instinct.
“What the fuck—”
“You don’t get to drop that on me and stay in the kitchen.” His voice is a growl, low and wrecked, and his eyes are doing that thing. That molten thing that makes my thighs clench. “Bed. Now.”
“I can walk, you know. I’m pregnant, not paralyzed.”
“Don’t care.”
Okay, I guess he’s just talking like a caveman now. He carries me through the house like I’m a fucking prize, and honestly, I don’t even fight it. My cheek is pressed against his shoulder, and I can smell the gym on him. It should not be hot. It is so fucking hot.
He shoulders the bedroom door open and drops me onto the mattress with a gentleness that contradicts everything about him. My shirt rides up, exposing the swell of my belly, and he just stares at it for a second like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
Then his hands are on me.
He pulls the shirt up and over my head in one smooth motion, tossing it somewhere behind him.
My bra follows—the expensive one with the lace that barely contains my tits anymore because pregnancy has turned them into these ridiculous, heavy things that ache if he even looks at them wrong.
His hands cup them immediately, thumbs dragging over my nipples, and I arch into the touch with a whimper.
“Fuck, look at these.” His voice is reverent, almost broken. “So fucking full. Getting bigger every day.”
“Matteo—”
“Shut up.” He says it like a prayer, not an order. His mouth finds my nipple, sucking hard, and I cry out, my fingers fisting in his hair. The sensitivity is insane and he knows it, the bastard. He works me with his tongue, teeth grazing just enough to make me jerk.
He pulls back, breathing hard, and his eyes are dark enough to drown in. “Off. Everything. Now.”
I shimmy out of my leggings and underwear while he strips, and fuck, the man is a goddamn sculpture.
Broad shoulders, the V-cut at his hips, that thick cock already hard and leaking against his stomach.
He climbs onto the bed and leans back against the headboard, spreading his legs, and the look he gives me—
“Come here.”
“Bossy.”
“Always.” He pats his thigh. “Ride me. I want to watch you.”
My pussy clenches at the command, and I crawl toward him, my belly heavy between us. He reaches out, his big hands spanning my stomach, cradling it. His thumbs stroke the skin, and the baby kicks hard right against his palm.
His hands slide up to my breasts, lifting them, testing their weight. “These are going to be even bigger. I can’t wait.”
“Can’t wait for what?” I’m breathless already, and he hasn’t even touched me where it counts.
He squeezes, and a bead of wetness—not milk, not yet, but something—leaks from my nipple. His eyes go feral.
“To suck on these while they leak.” His voice drops to that register that makes my clit throb. “To taste you. I want you to squirt that milk right into my fucking mouth, Contessa. Every drop.”
“Jesus Christ—”
“And then I want it all over my cock.” He’s stroking himself now, slow and deliberate, his eyes locked on my tits. “I want to be dripping with it while I fuck you. Want to feel it slick between us while I fill you up again.”
My thighs are soaked. Literally soaked. I can feel it running down my inner thigh, and I haven’t even gotten on him yet.
“Get on me,” he commands, his voice rough. “Now.”
I swing my leg over his hips, bracing my hands on his chest. His cock is right there, thick and hot against my entrance, and I sink down onto him in one slow, agonizing slide.
We both groan. I’m so wet he just slides in, no resistance, my body opening for him like it was made to take him.
“Fuck,” he hisses, his hands gripping my hips. “Look at you. So fucking wet.”
I start to move, rolling my hips in a slow grind that has him throwing his head back against the headboard.
“Pregnant pussy is different,” he growls, his eyes half-lidded but watching every movement like he’s memorizing it. “Wetter. Fucking dripping all over me.”
I clench around him, and he groans, his fingers digging into my flesh.
“That’s it. Squeeze me. Show me how much you need this dick.”
“You’re such an asshole,” I pant, but I’m grinding harder, chasing the friction.
“Your asshole.” He cups my belly again, holding it steady as I ride him. “Look at this. My baby is in here. My cock in you. You’re fucking full of me, stellina.”
The words send a shockwave through me, and I moan, my rhythm stuttering. He catches it and his hand slides between us, his thumb finding my clit.
“Right there,” he murmurs, circling. “Right fucking there. You’re so close already.”
“Matteo—”
“I know.” He’s relentless, his thumb working in tight circles while his other hand holds my belly. “I can feel it. Your sweet pussy is pulsing around me. Soaking my balls.”
And he’s not wrong. I can feel it—the wetness, the obscene slide of it, the way his cock glides in and out of me like I’m made of silk. Every thrust pushes more of it out, and I can feel it running down, coating his balls, probably dripping onto the sheets beneath us.
“God, you’re dripping,” he groans, his eyes dropping to where we’re joined. “Running down my fucking balls. I can feel it sliding between my ass cheeks, Contessa. That’s how wet you are.”
“That’s vivid,” I gasp, but my hips are moving faster, chasing the orgasm building at the base of my spine.
“It’s perfect.” His thumb presses harder. “I fucking love it. Love how your body responds to me. Love how you just open up and gush every time I’m inside you.”
His words are doing things to me—filthy, devastating things—and I can feel myself climbing, climbing, my walls fluttering around him.
“Look at me,” he commands, and I do. His eyes are burning, dark, and possessive. “I want to watch you come on my cock. Want to see your face when you break.”
“Please—”
“Please what?” He slows his thumb, just barely, teasing. “Use your words.”
“Please let me come.” The admission spills out of me, desperate and raw. “Please, Matteo. I need it.”
“Good girl.” The praise hits me like a drug. “Come for me. Now.”
His thumb speeds up, and I shatter. My orgasm crashes through me, violent and consuming. I’m clamping down on his cock in pulses that have him swearing through clenched teeth.
“That’s it,” he growls, his hips bucking up into me. “Take it. Fucking milk me with that tight little cunt.”
I’m shaking, boneless, but he doesn’t stop. He flips us—careful, so careful of my belly—and pins me beneath him, driving into me with deep, punishing strokes that hit something inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
“Not done,” he snarls, his mouth at my ear. “Not even close. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember your own name.”
He pulls out suddenly, and I whimper at the loss, but he’s already flipping me onto my hands and knees, his hand between my shoulder blades pressing me down. The new angle is insane—his cock hitting spots that make my vision blur—and I’m babbling and begging. I’ll be embarrassed about it later.
“Matteo, fuck, right there—”
He slams into me, and my arms give out. I’m face-down, ass-up, and getting absolutely ruined. I’ve never been happier in my life.
His hand grips my hip hard enough to bruise, and I love it. Love the sting, the possession, the way he fucking owns me in this position.
“Look at this ass,” he growls, landing a sharp smack that echoes through the room. My cheek jiggles, and I moan into the pillow, pushing back against him. “Fucking jiggling every time I pound into you. That’s my ass.”
“Yes—yours. Fuck.”
“Say it again.” Another thrust, deep enough to make my toes curl. “Whose ass is this?”
“Yours!” I’m screaming it now, beyond shame, beyond dignity. “Yours, Matteo, all yours—”
“Good girl.” His hand slides around to my belly, holding me steady while his hips snap forward.
I can feel the orgasm building again, that tight coil at the base of my spine winding tighter with every thrust. He’s hitting something inside me that makes my vision white out, and I’m drooling on the pillow, completely fucking gone.
“Matteo—I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come—”
“Not yet.” His free hand snakes under me, fingers finding my clit, and I nearly sob. “I decide when you come. You come when I say.”
“Please—please let me—”
“Beg me.” His voice is wrecked, guttural, like he’s barely holding on. “Beg me to let you come on my cock.”
“Please, please, please—” I’m chanting it, my face mashed into the pillow, my entire body trembling. “Please, Daddy, please let me come. I need it, I need—”
“Now.” His fingers press hard against my clit. “Come for me. Now.”
I can feel him coming also; his grip on my hip going white-knuckled.
“Fuck—Contessa—” He buries himself to the hilt, and I feel him pulse inside me, hot and thick, filling me up. His groan is primal, almost pained, like coming inside me hurts him in the best way possible.
We’re both shaking, breathing ragged. He pulls out slowly, and the sounds of him leaving are loud and filthy.
I start to roll over, to curl into him, but his hand lands on my lower back. Firm. Unyielding.
“Don’t move.”
I freeze. “What?”
“Push it out.”
I blink, my brain still foggy from the orgasm. “Push what out?”
“My cum.” His voice is steady, commanding, like he’s telling me to pass the salt. “Push it out of that pretty little pussy. Right into my mouth.”
My brain short-circuits. “What the fuck?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.” His hands are on my hips, and before I can process what’s happening, he’s flipping himself. I’m still on my hands and knees, but now he’s on his back underneath me, his head positioned perfectly between my thighs.
“Matteo—”
“Push.” His breath is hot against my swollen, dripping pussy. “I want every drop. Don’t waste it.”
I’m mortified. I’m aroused. I’m both, simultaneously, and my body is already responding because apparently I have no self-respect. I clench, feeling the cum pool at my entrance, and push.
The first rush hits his tongue, and the sound he makes—this low, guttural groan of satisfaction—sends a shiver through me. His hands grip my thighs, holding me open, and I feel his tongue swipe through the mess, lapping at the cum as it slides out of me.
“Fuck,” he breathes against my flesh.
I’m shaking, my arms trembling, but I keep pushing, feeling more of it spill out. He’s drinking it like he’s fucking starving, his tongue working in long, greedy strokes, and I’m making sounds I didn’t know I was capable of.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice vibrating against my clit. “Give it all to me. Every fucking drop.”
I push harder, and a fresh wave gushes out, and he moans—actually moans—like I’m feeding him the best thing he’s ever tasted. His tongue circles my entrance, pushing inside to get every last bit, and I nearly collapse on top of him.
“Jesus Christ,” I gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair. “You’re insane.”
He pulls back just enough to look up at me, his chin glistening with our combined mess. “And you love it.”
I can’t even argue because he’s right. I fucking love it. Love the depravity, the possession, the way he treats my body like it’s his to worship and consume.
He drags his tongue through the last of it, cleaning me with meticulous care, and then he’s pulling me down, flipping us again so I’m on my back and he’s hovering over me, his eyes dark and satisfied.
“Clean,” he says, like he’s accomplished something heroic. His thumb traces my lower lip. “Every drop. That’s what you taste like on my tongue. That’s what you’ll taste like every time I fuck you.”
“You’re disgusting,” I whisper, but I’m pulling him down for a kiss, tasting myself on his mouth.
He deepens the kiss, his hand cradling my belly, and I can feel the baby moving between us—a gentle flutter, like they’re responding to the energy in the room. To the love.
When we finally break apart, I’m breathless and boneless, my body humming with spent pleasure. Matteo presses his forehead to mine, his breathing slowly returning to normal.
“You told me you love me,” he says quietly, like he’s afraid saying it too loud will make it disappear.
“I did.” I trace the bruise on his jaw, the split in his lip. “And you said it back.”
“I did.” His hand slides down to rest on my belly. “And I meant it.”
I study him—the hard lines of his face, the intensity in his eyes, the way he holds my body like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever touched.
This man, who terrifies half the city, who makes grown men piss themselves, who just ate his own cum out of my pussy like it was a fucking delicacy… this man loves me.
And I love him. God help me, I love him.
“Your dad’s going to call soon,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking circles on my skin.
“I know.” I press closer to him, my head finding that spot between his neck and shoulder that seems made for me. “I’m scared.”
“I know that.” He kisses the top of my head. “But I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
I let out a shaky laugh against his skin. “Terrible investment you made.”
He’s quiet for a second, and I feel his chest rumble with a low chuckle.
“Worst business deal I’ve ever signed.”
I pull back to look at him, my eyebrow raised. “Really?”
“I only got a soon to be billion-dollar company, the woman I love, and my son.” His hand presses flat against my belly, and the baby kicks right into his palm like they’re already taking his side.
“Only?” I’m fighting a smile, and losing. “That’s all you got? Poor baby.”
“I should’ve negotiated harder.” His mouth quirks up at one corner, and even with the split lip, he looks like the most dangerous, beautiful man I’ve ever seen. “Maybe gotten you to sign a clause. Prevent you from being such a brat.”
“You signed everything away the second you put a baby in me, Marino.” I poke his chest. “I own you now.”
I close my eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. The baby kicks once, twice, and Matteo’s hand shifts to follow the movement.
I drift toward sleep, wrapped in his arms, surrounded by his scent. My phone is on the nightstand, and I know it’s going to ring.
But right now, in this moment, with Matteo’s hand on my belly and his heartbeat under my ear, I feel safe. I feel claimed. I feel like maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be okay.
Even if my dad doesn’t call. Even if the world thinks we’re wrong. Even if—
My phone rings.
Matteo’s arms tighten around me. “You want me to answer?”
“No.” I take a deep breath. “I’ll get it.”
I reach for the phone, my hand shaking slightly. The screen reads DAD, and my heart hammers against my ribs.
I answer the call.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, Coco. How’s my grandbaby?”
And that’s how I know everything is going to be okay.
I can have it all, and I deserve it all.