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)
“Dio,” he groans. “You’re going to ruin me.”
And then he thrusts into me.
A strangled moan rips from my throat, my head snapping back against the counter as he fills me in one swift, overwhelming motion.
My body stretches as my thighs clench around him, and he curses again, his grip on my hips turning bruising.
“Fuck, Daphne,” he breathes, his voice raw and broken. “You feel…” He trails off, exhaling sharply. “So fucking good.”
I can’t speak. Can’t think. Can’t breathe.
All I can do is hold onto him as he moves, rough and relentless, like he can’t get deep enough, close enough.
Each thrust drives me higher, each sharp snap of his hips pulling me closer to the edge. My heels dig into his back as I cling to him, lost in the heat, the urgency, the sheer intensity of it all.
One of Matteo’s hands slides up my hips and arms until he’s tangling it in my hair, wrapping the auburn strands around his hand and wrist and using his grip to angle my head. He pulls me closer so that he can kiss me again, his tongue moving swiftly against mine as his mouth moves passionately.
The kiss is deep and hungry, like he wants to consume me whole. His teeth nip at my lower lip, and I whimper into his mouth, feeling the coil inside me tighten all over again.
His movements turn almost frantic as he uses his hold on my hip and my hair to pull me flush against him with each punishing thrust.
He’s thoroughly pounding into me now - the rhythm of his strong hips relentless - and my body tightens, my nerves sparking like a live wire.
I’m close. So fucking close.
The edge is right there, and I’m teetering on it, ready to fall.
Matteo’s grip on my hair loosens, causing my head to loll slightly to the side against the counter. My lashes flutter open ever so slightly -
And that’s when I catch our reflection in the floor-length mirror.
The sight steals what little breath I have left.
Matteo hovering over me, his suit jacket long gone, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the hard planes of his chest. His dark eyes are locked onto me, filled with something raw and possessive, his jaw tight with restraint as he moves.
And me…
Well. My cheeks are thoroughly flushed, my black dress bunched up around my hips and my legs spread open wide around him. My lips are swollen and parted, my expression utterly wrecked as he practically bounces me on his cock.
The way he’s taking me - sprawled against the marble counter, my heels still on, my legs wrapped around his body like I never want to let go - it’s so obscene, so intoxicating -
And the sight of it tips me over the edge.
A whine erupts from the bottom of my throat as the pleasure detonates inside me, white-hot and all-consuming. My pussy clenches tightly around his cock, milking him for all that he’s worth, and Matteo groans as my ankles dig into his back.
He drops his hand away from my hair so that he can hold onto both of my hips again, and his grip turns bruising as he thrusts impossibly deeper and faster.
He fucks me harder against the counter as I ride out the waves of my orgasm, and with a strangled cry of his own and one last, harsh thrust of his hips, Matteo cums, burying his cock deep inside me as he finds his own release.
For a moment, neither of us move, our chests rising and falling in sync. The only sound in the stall is our ragged breathing along with the distant hum of music from the ballroom.
Eventually, Matteo exhales a rough chuckle, his forehead dropping to my shoulder.
“Well,” he murmurs, his voice thick, still breathless. “Didn’t expect that.”
I let out a shaky laugh, my fingers still gripping loosely to his shoulders.
“Yeah,” I manage, my voice hoarse. “Tell me about it.”
He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, his dark eyes still clouded with heat.
Slowly, a smug grin tugs at his lips.
“Think you’ll still be able to handle yourself, giornalista?”
I narrow my eyes at him, though I know it lacks any real bite.
“Shut up, Rossi.”
His laughter vibrates against my skin as he presses one last, lingering kiss to my lips before finally - finally - pulling away.
Matteo’s hands still rest lightly on my hips as his gaze lingers on my face.
The smug, satisfied expression he’s wearing makes me want to slap him - or kiss him again.
Maybe both.
I swallow hard, and as the waves of my orgasm begin to ease, I suddenly feel very much hyperaware of where we are and what just happened.
I just had sex with Matteo Rossi.
In the bathroom of a charity gala.
Holy shit.
My skin prickles with the creeping, horrifying weight of reality.
Matteo, seemingly unphased, reaches for a stack of paper towels from the dispenser, pulling out a few before glancing at me. His expression shifts slightly, and I wonder whether he can somehow sense my spiraling.