Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Emery
Ican barely breathe. My body’s still twitching and wrecked from the last orgasm. From his mouth, his voice, the way he devoured me.
Now he’s standing over me.
Looking down.
Cock hard, jaw tight, eyes burning, seconds from snapping.
“Get off the table,” he says. It’s a command, not a request. That growl laced into every word that makes my pussy clench all over again.
I get onto my unsteady legs, my thighs slick and shaking, yet still somehow not close to being done.
The way he’s looking at me, he’s about to fuck the rest of his control straight into me. And I know… this is only the beginning.
The second my feet hit the floor, he’s there. Hands on my waist, spinning me with a force that steals the breath from my lungs. He drives me forward until I slam into the wall, cold and sharp against my skin, but there's no time to flinch.
He’s at my back, all heat and muscle, pinning me between him and the cold, unforgiving wall.
One hand fists in my hair, yanking just enough to tilt my head, bare my throat, make me his. The other slides between my legs. His fingers slipping through my slick pussy like he already knows what he’ll find.
He groans, low and filthy, the sound vibrating against my skin.
I’m a mess. Dripping and desperate, my pussy already begging to be split open by his cock. I can’t fucking breathe until he’s inside me.
“I should make you beg for this,” he murmurs, voice a low scrape of danger against the shell of my ear, a threat dressed up as a promise. His lips brush my neck, slow and deliberate, leaving heat in their wake, branding me without teeth.
“I should fuck you slow,” he breathes. “Make you feel every inch. Make you earn it for what you just did to me.” His grip in my hair tightens. His cock grinds against my ass, thick and hard. “And maybe…” He leans in, teeth biting my skin now. “Maybe I fucking will.”
I arch without thinking. My palms flatten against the wall, bracing myself, heart slamming in my chest like it’s trying to break free.
“But I’ve waited long enough, Em.”
One hand grabs my jaw, firm, demanding, forcing me to lookup, right into those dark, furious eyes. Eyes that say he’s about to fuck the life out of me.
“You ready for it?” he snarls. “You want me to fuck you now?”
And God, the way he says it… low, rough, like a dare wrapped in a warning… I already know the answer.
I feel it in my chest, in my spine, in the heat pooling low and fast. Every inch of me is already his. Begging to be claimed.
I can’t speak. I just nod, lip caught between my teeth, chest rising in shallow, broken breaths.
That’s all it takes.
He grabs his thick, aching cock and drags the swollen head along the curve of my ass, smearing precum like his marking me.
His arm locks around my waist, lifting me without effort. He positions me where he wants me, spread, trembling, desperate to be filled.
“Fucking soaked,” he mutters, cock grinding between my legs. “Dripping down your thighs like this pussy’s been waiting for me to fill it.”
He spreads me open, no hesitation, just lines me up, and presses the thick head of his cock right against my entrance.
“Take a breath, sweetheart,” he growls into my ear. “Because I’m not giving you time to adjust.”
And then he dives in.
One brutal thrust.
Balls-deep.
No mercy.
My forehead rests against the wall. My nails scrape down the surface as I stretch around him, stuffed full, pussy clenching hard like I don’t know whether to take more or fall apart.
I scream, like I’ve never screamed before.
His chest presses to my back, breath hot against my neck. “You feel that?” he says. “That’s me splitting you open. Just like you fucking asked for.”
And then he starts to move.
“Fuck,” I choke out.
His mouth is at my ear, breath hot, voice ragged and low. “You feel that?” he barks, cock buried to the hilt. “That stretch? That ache?” He thrusts harder, and I gasp. “That’s how deep I get. Only me. No one else. No one fucking else puts you back together and tears you apart in the same breath.”
Another thrust.
He fucks me with the desperation of a man starved too long, wild, relentless, a fury born of need and memory. My body’s no longer mine. It’s his. And he’s not letting go. Not now. Not ever.
Matteo’s cock drives deep, stretching me past the point of pain, into that place where pleasure turns into something primal. Something that burns. I can’t tell if I’m breathing, falling, or flying.
His grip on my waist is bruising, pinning me to the wall.
“Fuck, you take me so good,” he snarls against my neck, voice ragged, hips slamming into me with brutal force.
The wet, filthy sound of skin on skin echoes through the room, loud, raw, shameless.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he grits, biting down on my shoulder. “You were made for this cock. You were built to fucking take me.”
And the way he drives in again, deeper this time, harder, it’s like he’s trying to put me through the wall.
I cry out as my front slams into the wall with every brutal thrust. He fucks into me hard, ruthless, each drive a claim. A mark. A demand that I never forget this, that I feel him every time I breathe. Every time I fucking move.
There’s no thought left. No air. Just the stretch, the relentless force of him filling me so deep. It’s perfect.
“Matteo…” I gasp.
He growls behind me, low and feral, grabbing my thigh and hauling it higher. And then, fuck, he angles deeper.
I shatter with a moan, head dropping back onto his shoulder as he fucks me harder and harder with every thrust. It’s rough and controlled. Every thrust landing right on that spot that makes my whole body seize up. Every snap of his hips sends stars exploding behind my eyes.
And still, he’s not letting up.
Not when I’m gasping. Not when I’m clenching around him. Not when I’m whispering his name like a prayer I’ll never recover from.
Because Matteo doesn’t just fuck. He claims. And he’s claiming every inch of me right now.
“I told you I’d ruin you,” he says, voice all grit and fire. “And look at you. Fucking begging for more.”
My body’s already shaking again. Pressure coiling fast and brutal in my core along with the scream trapped in my throat.
I’m close. Too close and he knows it.
He sinks his teeth into my shoulder, biting down hard enough to make me cry out. His hips slam into me, relentless, filthy… each brutal drag of his cock pushing me right to the edge.
“You gonna come again, Em?” he growls, reaching in between my legs, fingers finding my clit.
He rubs rough and perfect, with just enough pressure to make my knees buckle.
“You gonna come all over my cock like a good little slut?”
I try to speak. Try to say something but all that comes out is a whimper. Because I am ready to come like a good little slut and nothing can stop it.
My body breaks as I shatter around him, hard, crying out as the orgasm tears through me like it’s trying to split me open from the inside.
I clamp down on his cock, pulsing tight, desperate, my legs trembling, too weak to hold me steady.
My vision whites out. The world vanishes, only him remains.
Matteo, buried deep, relentless, fucking me through every crashing wave, carving himself into me with every thrust, branding his name into my bones.
And still he keeps fucking into me.
His growls turn filthy as he chases his own release. His thrusts turn rougher, faster, more desperate. His breath is ragged, his skin slick with sweat, muscles tight as a bowstring.
“Fuck… Emery,” he chokes, voice wrecked.
Then he slams into me one final time, buried to the hilt, so fucking deep and he breaks.
He comes with a guttural sound torn straight from his chest, years of restraint breaking in one brutal moment. His whole body shudders, cock twitching deep as he empties himself, hands locked around my hips in a bruising grip, terrified I’ll disappear mid-fuck.
We stay like that, completely wrecked. I can still feel him inside me, every twitch, every pulse.
My body doesn’t know how to let him go. I’m shaking, breath shattered, skin slick with sweat and sex.
Branded. Ruined in the best fucking way.
And I’d take it all over again just to feel him lose control for me.
The only sound is our breathing, rough and uneven, hearts pounding out of rhythm, like neither of us has quite come back to earth yet.
The silence stretches. His body still pressed to mine, the room dim and still, the air warm with everything we just gave each other.
And yet, there it is. That feeling I swore I’d buried.
It hits soft at first, like breath against skin.
Then deeper.
Heavier.
That ache I’ve carried for him. The love I tried so hard to forget. The kind that hurts more than it heals.
I thought I walked away from it. Told myself it was the only way to protect what was left of me.
Told myself he was too far gone, too walled off, too broken for me to reach anymore.
His father had won. Molded him into exactly what he wanted.
This cold person, he could control. Lost and untouchable to me anymore.
But here I am, his body still inside mine, his breath ghosting against my neck and that feeling is back. That quiet, steady pulse of something I never stopped feeling. God, I loved him. I still fucking do. Even when I swore I’d moved on.
He moves, just barely. One hand drags slowly up my side, over my ribs, over the curve of my waist, until his palm rests flat over my stomach. Not possessive. Not rough. But just there.
His mouth finds my shoulder. Not with hunger. Not with heat. With something else. Something softer.
He presses his lips there, slow and warm as if he’s holding a memory between us, afraid it’ll slip away if he breathes too hard.
His breath ghosts across my skin, and then his lips find me again.
It’s softer this time. A tiny kiss lands on my shoulder, full of hesitation, as if he’s not ready to let go.
And for a second, just one quiet second, it feels like love. The kind that never needed words. The kind that never really left. Just a kiss that lands deeper than any thrust ever could.
And I feel it.
Not dominance.
Not control.
But recognition.
He remembers. What we were. What we lost. And maybe, for one fleeting second, what we still are.
And standing there, chest aching, heart wide open in the arms of the only man I ever truly loved. I realize the scariest part isn’t that I still feel it. It’s that he feels it too, even if he’ll never say it out loud.