Page 170 of Vicious Intentions
Matteo’s gaze drags over me, slow and intent, as if he didn’t know where he should focus his attention first. Thankfully, his mouth latches onto my discarded nipple, lavishing it with the same care and adoration as its counterpart.
My core clenches when he pulls the nightgown down just low enough so he can bite into my flesh. He goes from nipping on it to using his tongue, then grazing and biting it with his teeth, until all of me has been reduced to a ball of need.
“Is this okay?” he asks again, quieter this time, more in control, his hands replacing his mouth, exploring me with equal focus.
“Mm,” I nod, biting my lower lip as sensation builds, my head tipping back as his touch grows more intense.
“So fucking perfect. I knew you would be,” he murmurs to himself, watching the way my skin flushes under his touch.
I brace my hands against the desk behind me as he continues, his hands and mouth roaming everywhere they are allowed, leaving heat in their wake. Yet, something is still missing.
The pressure inside me increases to an agonizing tempo, tight and restless, like something waiting to break free. For some reason, Matteo is taking his time. Almost as if enjoying seeing me on the edge of sanity.
“Matteo?” I call softly, drawing his eyes back to mine.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I need you.”
“How?” he asks, the glint in his eye giving him away.
Matteo is waiting for me to take the initiative. He won’t give me what I want unless I ask him… no, tell him to.
“Make me come… husband.”
“Fuck,” he breathes, straightening as his hand slides to grab my nape, his focus sharpening instantly.
“Say that again.” I swallow, my pulse racing.
“I want you to make me come, husband. Please.”
Matteo’s expression darkens, something raw flashing in his eyes before he pulls me into another heated kiss, as if he needed it just to survive. I meet him just as fiercely, my nails clutching at his shirt just to keep me tethered.
“Look at me,” he murmurs against my lips, his midnight eyes pinning me in place.
This time, there’s no hesitation when his hand slides into my inner thigh, his fingers lightly brushing me over my panties.
“Mm,” I whimper, my eyelids becoming heavy with the exquisite sensation, my skin feeling as if it were set on fire.
Shamelessly, I lift off the desk a little higher, eagerly rubbing myself on his fingers, needing the friction more than my next breath. But when I risk a glance downward, to see what Matteo’s doing, he catches my chin in his grip and tilts it up.
“Eyes on me, wife. Eyes always on me,” he growls.
I must be a very sick individual because I feel my panties drenched with desire, drawn out by his command.
My front teeth bite into my bottom lip, silencing the wail that threatens to break from me when he rips my panties off me at the side as if they were made of paper. I swallow hard when his fingers run up and down my wet slit, but it’s the intensity in his starless eyes—fixed on mine as he toys with me—that is my undoing.
I feel like a live wire, energy coiled tight beneath my skin. All it will take is a spark, and I will cease to exist. If this is how I die, I’m not sure there is a sweeter way to meet one’s end.
“That’s it, wife. You’re so fucking close already,” he curses, his own eyes dropping for a split second before they are on me again.
When his thumb flicks against my sensitive clit, I shatter into a million pieces all over his desk. It’s as if I were struck by lightning, and Matteo refuses to put out the flames he ignited. If anything, he only seems intent on fanning the embers back to life.
I’m still gasping for air when I feel pressure inside of me. A hollowness being filled with what feels like one of his digits. It’s strange and welcomed all in the same breath. A fullness I never realized I had been lacking. I hiss out both in pain and ecstasy when there’s another tight pinch.
“Too much?” he rasps, beads of sweat dotting his forehead. I shake my head, holding onto his shoulders for dear life. “Are you sure?”
“Don’t… don’t stop,” I pant, feeling my body molding itself to his fingers.
