Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 135364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
I release one of my hands from her hair in order to reach down, brushing a few loose strands away from her flushed face, and for a second, I almost let her keep going. I almost let her finish what she started, let myself come down the back of her throat just to see what she’d do with it.
But I don’t.
Because as good as this is, as fucking perfect as she looks right now, I want more.
I need more.
At the very last second, I grit my teeth and tighten my grip in her hair, pulling her off me with a wet pop.
She gasps slightly, blinking up at me, her lips slick and swollen, her breathing uneven.
I smirk down at her, shaking my head.
"Get up here."
My voice is rough, raw, leaving no room for argument.
She rises slowly, but I don’t let her get too far. The second she’s level with me, I yank her against my body, my mouth crashing onto hers in a kiss that’s all teeth and heat.
"Still hate me?" I murmur against her lips, my voice teasing, but there's a challenge there too.
She exhales a shaky breath, but instead of answering, she drags her nails down my stomach, pushing my hoodie up as she goes.
I chuckle, low and rough, the sound vibrating between us.
"Attenta, bella," I taunt as my hoodie drops to the floor behind us. Be careful. "You're starting to look like you actually want me."
Her breath stutters slightly, but she squares her shoulders, tilting her chin up defiantly.
"You wish."
Dio, she’s fucking perfect.
"I don’t have to wish.”
I slide my hand down, pressing my fingers firmly between her legs, rubbing slow, firm circles against her through the denim.
She gasps, and I grin.
"I can feel it."
Her head tips back against the lockers, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps, and fuck, I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.
I drag my lips down the column of her throat, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to her skin as my fingers keep moving.
Even through the fabric, I can feel her getting wet beneath my touch, and I just about manage to hold back from ripping her jeans down her legs and getting a real taste of her.
"You’re such an asshole," she whispers breathlessly against my mouth.
"And you love it," I rasp, nipping at her jaw.
Her hands move frantically over my chest, pushing my shirt up.
"Matteo," she breathes, barely audible.
"Say it again," I murmur, my voice thick with amusement as my fingers press harder against her.
She shudders, a barely-restrained sound catching in the back of her throat, and fuck, I want to hear more. I want to hear her fall apart.
I slide my hand higher, curling my fingers beneath the waistband of her jeans, teasing the soft, warm skin there.
She sucks in a breath, her hips shifting instinctively against me, chasing more friction.
"You want me to stop?" I murmur against her skin, deliberately slowing my movements. "Just say the word, bella."
Silence.
She should stop me, but she won’t.
And I know it.
I feel the way she grips my shoulders, the way her legs shift apart just slightly, the way her breathing goes completely uneven beneath my touch, and I lean in closer, pressing my lips against the shell of her ear.
"You’re mine now, giornalista," I whisper.
And this time, she doesn’t argue.
I move without thinking. My hands flex against the soft skin beneath her blouse, gripping and savouring, and then I shift, guiding her back until her thighs hit the edge of the wooden bench.
She barely has time to react before I press forwards, urging her down. My body follows hers, caging her in as she sinks onto the surface beneath me.
The overhead lights cast sharp, angular shadows across her face, highlighting the way her green eyes are blown wide, the way her lips part slightly, the way her chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths.
I should be smug.
She’s laid out beneath me, breathless, pulse racing, aching for me.
But I’m not smug.
I feel like I’m barely keeping myself together.
My hands brace on either side of her head as I hover over her, my arms tensed with restraint. I’m fighting the urge to just take her - to claim every inch of her the way I’ve been wanting to since the first moment she stormed into my life and made it impossible to think about anything else.
"Tell me to stop," I murmur, my voice low, uneven.
She parts her lips. No words come out.
Just like that night at the gala, just like when I had her in my hands, raw and wanting and completely fucking mine.
I knew she didn’t want me to stop then.
And she doesn’t want me to stop now.
"That’s what I thought."
And then I kiss her.
I don’t ease into it. I can’t. The moment my mouth meets hers, it’s a collision, a force of gravity pulling us together, too strong to fight.