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"I'll never stop," he whispered, that hand abandoning my throat finally in favor of cupping my cheek and turning my head so he could look at me. "Tell me you understand."
"Please, stop," I begged, clenching my eyes shut, so I didn't have to look into the piercing blue of his eyes. Even his eyes told lies.
Even his eyes deceived.
"Look at me," he commanded, and my eyes snapped open of their own accord. "You will be my wife." My body acted on its own, fighting in his grasp until his length slid free and I stumbled forward into the glass. "You will be the mother of my children." He stalked toward me, gathering me up in his arms even as I slapped at him like a cornered animal. He spun until my ass hit his desk, and he shoved everything onto the floor as he pushed me onto my back. Forcing my legs wide, he plunged inside me again and my back arched in pleasure despite the panic flooding through me. When I moved to rise, his hand went back to my throat, pinning me to the desk with pressure that threatened instead of hurt.
This was not the Matteo I could fight. It wasn't the Matteo I could plead with.
This was the criminal who took what he wanted without remorse. His face came into my space, staring at me and our breaths mingled. He shoved one knee high, keeping it positioned with his hand on the back of my thigh.
And then he fucked me.
Brutally.
Until I sobbed beneath him, and I would have sworn I would feel him imprinted inside me for the rest of my life. "Teo, please," I whimpered.
His lips crashed to mine, ending my halfhearted protest. Even as I feared the man staring back at me as he ravaged me, an orgasm built between my thighs. I tried to reach for it, wanted it to wash away the taste of pain Matteo gave as he slid in and out of my tender pussy.
He pulled his mouth away, glaring down at me. He pressed his thumb to my clit, but didn't move it, just tormented me with the promise of what could be. "Tell me," he growled.
"Tell you what?" I whimpered. "Teo, please."
"Tell me you're mine."
"I'm yours!" I shrieked, willing to admit just about anything in that moment.
"Tell me you love me." I froze, staring up at him in horror. "Tell me, Cara mia." His face softened, something in the beast receding as he stared in the face of my panic. "Tell me," he pressed.
"I love you," I cried, tears falling from my eyes to tickle my ears. "I never stopped," I admitted and hated myself for it. His thumb made a single circle around my clit, and I erupted beneath him to the sound of his arrogance.
"I know," he murmured, and after a few more slow, languid thrusts he flooded me with his heat.
Even after we both caught our breath, Matteo made no move to separate from me, pressing his chest against mine and cradling me.
It was like he knew my foundation had been rocked.
That he'd changed my world with three little words.
I just hoped they weren't lies.
Twenty-Five
Ivory
The smells from the kitchen made even my nose tingle with excitement.
The Ragu Napoletano was something I'd made occasionally, but never for a true Italian like Matteo.
Arms wrapped around my waist, Matteo's face nuzzling into the crook of my neck. "That smells delicious," he murmured, nipping at my skin softly. "But not as good as you."
I swatted him away playfully. "Get out!" I giggled when the scruff on his face tickled my jaw. "I mean it! You'll make me overcook the Strozzapretti."
"So make more." He shrugged, his shoulders jostling me as if he truly didn't care.
"Are you insane? No. Be gone, you slut."
"Your slut," he smirked, and one of his hands took mine in his. He turned me to face him, staring down at me intently in a way that scared me.
