Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 102833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
I go in search of him and find him in the gym. It must be soundproof because from the outside, I couldn’t hear a thing, but inside, the sound of him laying into the punching bag reverberates throughout the otherwise quiet room.
His shoulders are tense, his neck muscles bunched. His arms repeatedly fly into the punching bag with so much force that I’m shocked he hasn’t put a hole in it or torn the anchor right out of the ceiling.
“Matteo,” I call out, not wanting to startle him.
His eyes meet mine in the mirror, but he doesn’t stop hitting the bag.
So, I step farther inside, coming around so he’s forced to look at me.
“Please,” I whisper, my eyes locking with his, “talk to me.”
“What do you want me to say?” he huffs, continuing to beat on the bag. “I let you out of my sight, and you could’ve been fucking killed!” He emphasizes the last word with a punch to the bag that sends it flying even further. “I was supposed to protect you, and I failed! What the fuck was I thinking, telling you that I might want a baby? I can’t even protect you!” He hits the bag again and again. “I’m a goddamn fuckup!”
My thoughts go back to our conversations regarding his emotional dysregulation.
“I’m either fighting or fucking to keep my emotions in check. Not exactly husband or father material.”
He’s scared and angry and having trouble with his emotions, and because he’s afraid to hurt me, he’s resorted to taking it out on the bag.
“Matteo”—I step closer—“I’m right here.”
“Only because that psycho wanted to send a message. If she’d wanted to kill you, she could have, and it would’ve been my fault. This life—fuck!”
He goes crazy on the bag, not stopping until his entire body is wrapped around it. He’s breathing so hard that I’m worried he’ll pass out from exertion.
His knuckles are an angry red and bleeding, and I know if I don’t stop him from hitting the bag, he might go as far as breaking his hands.
So, I peel his hands and arms off the bag and thread our fingers together. His body is slick with sweat, but I don’t care. I pull him into my arms, wrapping him up in a hug, and he drops to the ground, taking me with him.
“I’m right here.” I brush his sweaty hair away from his eyes. “You don’t need to hurt yourself. I’m right here.”
I straddle his muscular thighs, and his fingers dig into my hips.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” He nuzzles his face into my neck. “That’s why I came in here. I never want to fucking hurt you, Sweetness.”
“And you never will,” I tell him, framing his face in my hands and pulling his head back so our eyes meet. “You said you fight and fuck to control your emotions. Well, I’m here, so fuck me, Matteo.”
He stares at me for several seconds, and my stomach drops when I think he’s going to push me away. But then his mouth crashes against mine in a punishing kiss, and my lady parts clench in desire.
His fingers delve into my hair, fisting the strands as he deepens the kiss. Nipping, sucking, licking, biting. He feasts on my mouth before he tugs my head back and trails open-mouthed kisses along my jawline and up my neck, stopping at the shell of my ear.
“I can’t be gentle,” he murmurs. “I’m too worked up. Are you sure this is what you want, Little Russo?”
A shiver races down my spine at my nickname. He uses it when he wants to remind himself who I am, but I’m not going to let him push me away.
Yes, I’m Lorenzo’s sister.
I’m several years younger than Matteo.
He’s part of this scary world that I shouldn’t want to be a part of.
But I love Matteo, and until he forces me away, I’m going to be right here, by his side.
He must take my lack of response as reluctance because he starts to lift me off him, but before he can, I clamp my thighs around him, refusing to let go.
Maybe I should be more hesitant after what Enrique put me through, but Matteo isn’t him. He isn’t taking me against my will to hurt me. He’s asking my permission, and I’m going to willingly give myself over to him.
“Yes,” I tell him, pulling back to look into his dark blue eyes. “I trust you, Matteo. Do whatever you need to do.”
His lips capture mine once again, and our mouths curl around each other for what feels like minutes, maybe hours, as he pours every ounce of emotion into the kiss.
When he pulls back, his eyes are somehow even darker, like the deepest part of the ocean. They meet mine for a second before he tugs my shirt over my head and then reaches around and unclasps my bra, exposing my breasts to the cool air. My nipples harden in response, and he smirks down at them.