Page 180 of Vicious Intentions
Spurred on by that epiphany, I push him onto his back and staddle him before he has time to settle back on the bed.
“This is new,” he jokes, then groans when he feels my palms pressed over his heated flesh.
“Did you or did you not give me your full consent?”
“Apologies, wife. You won’t hear a peep out of me again,” he says, pretending to zip his lips shut and throw the key away.
I pretend to be annoyed by such childish antics, but in all honesty, I like this side of him. When he’s so relaxed, he becomes playful. Still, I like another side of him more. The one that moans out my name when he’s at the brink. That’s the side I want to see come through right now. That’s the one I want to bring to life.
I lick my lips as my eyes and fingers trace over Matteo’s damaged body, over the burn marks and scars that map his past in brutal detail. His chest is rough beneath my touch, broken by too few stretches of smooth skin between each scar. Even marked like this, my husband is still the most stunning man I have ever laid eyes on.
“You’re beautiful, Matteo. Do you know that?” I whisper, just as he hisses out when my fingers graze his nipple. “None of this makes you any less beautiful in my eyes.”
“Anna… don’t,” he says in protest, not used to anyone talking to him like this.
“Don’t what, husband? Tell you that you are more than these scars? Remind you that they shouldn’t define you? That they don’t define you to me?”
Matteo’s throat works double time as his eyes remain glued to mine. I offer him a gentle smile before leaning down and pressing my lips to each blemish. Each burn mark and scar.
“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, as his fingers find their way to my hair.
“If it gets to be too much, tell me, okay?” I say, using his words back at him.
He nods, but I can tell there is fear in his eyes. This larger-than-life man looks so vulnerable right now. One wrong move or word, and he’d break.
Ever since he stole me from my family, I thought the purpose of it all was to ruin me. So why does it feel like I’m the one undoing him?
With my eyes on his, I keep kissing him, softly and ever so gently, while my fingers caress his skin. His skin is warm on my lips, his taste masculine and heady on my tongue.
“Fuck… Anna… I can’t,” he curses, his fingers tugging at the strands of my hair.
“It’s okay, Matteo. It’s me. Just me,” I coo softly, as he forces his tense muscles to relax.
With each tender kiss, I remember how he once told me he had only been with eight women. At the time, I thought it strange that a man like him would have so few lovers. Not anymore.
Matteo never wanted to give anyone power over him again. His stepmother, Ginevra, made sure of that. She made it nearly impossible for him to show vulnerability to anyone. To reveal the lost boy still buried inside him. So he kept people at a distance.
None of those women ever saw this side of him. They may have had pieces of him, moments at most, but never this. This is mine. And knowing that, it both empowers me and humbles me.
Matteo trusts that I won’t hurt him. I won’t ridicule or make him feel less than. How could I ever do any of those things when he’s the only person who ever saw the real me? Loved me despite all the darkness that swam inside of my soul. Loved me for who I was and not what others expected me to be.
Feeling like I need to prove to him that he’s put his trust in the right hands, I trail my kisses south until my mouth finds the band to his boxers. I fall on my heels, and I push them down his legs with deft fingers, his hard cock springing free. My heart feels as if it were about to jump out of my rib cage at the sight. I forgot how angry it always looked. How huge and intimidating.
“You…” Matteo forces out on a whisper. “You don’t have to.” I tilt my head to the side and smile sweetly at him.
“I know. But I want to. Are you okay with that?” He nods again, fisting the sheet at his sides.
I throw him another soft smile as I run my hands up his muscular thighs, which are both branded by cigarette burns and other jagged scars. There is an uglier one that stretches up most of his left leg, all the way to his waist. If my heart wasn’t alreadybeating a mile a minute, I’d cry. My eyes hold onto his gaze as I shimmer down, until he can feel my breath on his cock.
“Jesus, fuck,” he growls, forcing himself to stay still.
A coy smile escapes my lips at how desperate for me he already is, and I haven’t even touched him. The old Anna would be a bundle of insecurities right now. I’ve never done this before, so who knows if I’d even be good at it. However, this Anna, the one Matteo set loose on the world, has no such doubts.
My mind drifts to our FaceTime calls, when Matteo gave me little instructions on how he’d like to be touched, so I wrap my hand around his base on instinct, and softly lick him from root to crown before swirling my tongue on his head. I know I’ve done a good job when he begins cursing in Italian, one of his hands releasing the sheet to weave his fingers in my hair. Unlike the rest of his body, his cock is velvety smooth, rich, and warm to the touch. After a quick kiss on his crown, I wrap my lips around his length, hollow my cheeks, and suck him to the back of my throat. Or at least I try to. Matteo is huge, so it’s hard to swallow him all the way. Not that he seems to care. Not with how he continues to curse and praise in Italian.
“Cazzo, ma mi ucciderai, moglie.”Fuck, you’re going to kill me, wife.
“Proprio così.”Just like that.
