Chapter 122: Don’t Stop

AVERY

I wiped my tears with the back of my hand and stood up. My legs felt unsteady, like the floor was still moving under me. The room smelled like him and sex. My sex. Our sex. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, trying to block it out, but the ache between my thighs was impossible to ignore. Evidence. Proof. I’d let him inside me. Multiple times. I’d begged.

I walked into the tiny attached bathroom on shaking legs. The mirror showed a stranger: mascara-streaked cheeks, swollen lips, bite marks blooming on my neck and collarbone like dark flowers. I looked fucked. Thoroughly, desperately fucked.

I turned on the shower hot as it would go and stepped under the spray without waiting for it to warm. The water scalded my skin. Good. I wanted it to hurt. I scrubbed everywhere between my legs, my breasts, my neck like I could wash him off. Wash last night off. Wash the memory of his mouth, his hands, his cock, his growls.

It didn’t work.

I brushed my teeth with the spare toothbrush he kept in the cup. Mint burned my tongue. I spat. Rinsed. Spat again. My reflection looked back at me, eyes red, face pale, lips bruised. I looked like a woman who’d been ruined and loved every second of it.

I hated that I loved it.

I dressed in yesterday’s clothes, jeans, tank top, cardigan. Everything wrinkled. Everything smelled faintly of him. I didn’t look in the mirror again.

When I stepped back into the bedroom, the tray was still on the nightstand. Scrambled eggs. Toast. Orange juice. Coffee. He’d made breakfast. For me.

I stared at it. My stomach twisted, hunger and nausea fighting. I couldn’t touch it. Couldn’t even look at it.

I walked out.

He was in the kitchen.

Back to me. Shirtless. Sweatpants low on his hips. Washing dishes. The muscles in his back flexed with each movement. I hated how beautiful he was. I hated how much I noticed.

He didn’t turn around right away. He knew I was there. I could tell by the way his shoulders tensed.

I spoke first. Voice hoarse. Raw.

“It was a mistake.”

Matteo shut off the faucet. Slowly. Deliberately. He dried his hands on a dish towel, still not turning.

“Was it?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.” I crossed my arms over my chest like armor. “I was upset. I was drunk on rage. I wasn’t thinking. We shouldn’t have…. ”

He turned then.

Eyes dark. Jaw tight. Hair still messy from sleep, from my fingers in it.

“You begged me,” he said, voice low, controlled. “You said my name like a prayer. You came so hard you cried. Multiple times. Don’t stand there and tell me it was a mistake when your body was screaming yes.”

My cheeks burned. “I was emotional. Confused. I…”

“You wanted me.” He took one step closer. “You’ve wanted me for weeks. You just wouldn’t admit it.”

I shook my head fast. “No. I’m not over Leroy. I can’t,I can’t do this. Not with you. Not with anyone. My father will…”

“Your father,” he cut in, voice dropping dangerously low, “doesn’t get to decide who touches you anymore.”

He took another step.

I backed up instinctively. My back hit the wall.

Matteo kept coming until he was right in front of me close enough I could feel the heat rolling off his bare skin. Close enough I could smell him again. Soap. Sweat. Me.

“You think Charles scares me?” he asked softly. “You think I care if he threatens me? If he tries to hurt me? Let him try.”

His hand lifted, slowly and cupped my jaw. Thumb brushing my bottom lip.

“I want you, Avery. I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you at that creek. I want your anger. Your tears. Your sharp tongue. Your soft little moans when I’m deep inside you. I want all of it.”

My breath hitched. “Matteo…”

“I don’t care if you’re not over Leroy,” he continued, voice rough. “I don’t care if you still love him. I don’t care if it takes months or years for you to let him go. I’ll wait. But I’m not going anywhere. And I’m not letting you run from this because you’re scared.”

Tears burned my eyes again. “You don’t understand. If Charles finds out, if he even suspects, he’ll—”

“He’ll what?” Matteo leaned closer, nose almost touching mine. “Kill me? Threaten my family? Try to ruin me? Let him. I’ve survived worse.”

His thumb pressed harder against my lip, parting it slightly.

“I’m not afraid of your father,” he whispered. “I’m afraid of you walking away and pretending this didn’t happen. Pretending you didn’t come apart screaming my name. Pretending you don’t feel this.”

I trembled.

He loomed over me, tall, broad, overwhelming.

“You can take it slow,” he said. “You can fight it. You can cry. You can scream at me. But don’t lie to me. Don’t lie to yourself. You want this. You want me.”

My hands fisted in his sweatpants at his hips. I didn’t push him away.

I pulled him closer.

Our mouths crashed together, hard, desperate, angry.

He groaned into the kiss, hands sliding into my hair, tilting my head so he could deepen it. Tongue stroking mine. Teeth grazing my lip. I moaned loud and needy, arching into him.

He lifted me like I weighed nothing. My legs wrapped around his waist on instinct. He carried me back to the bedroom, mouth never leaving mine and kicked the door shut.

He dropped me on the bed, gentler this time and crawled over me, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped against my throat. “Say it. And I’ll stop.”

I arched up, hips grinding against his hardness.

“Don’t stop,” I gasped. “Please don’t stop.”

He growled, a deep feral sound and tore my tank top down the middle.

No more words.

Just mouths. Hands. Skin on skin.

He stripped me bare again, slow this time. Kissing every inch he uncovered. Worshiping the marks he’d left last night. Sucking new ones into my breasts, my ribs, my inner thighs.

When he finally pushed inside me, slow, and deep, I cried out his name like a prayer.

He fucked me hard.

Deep.

Languid.

Like he had all the time in the world.

Like he was memorizing me.

“Mine,” he growled against my ear. “Say it.”

“Yours,” I sobbed. “Yours, Matteo yours…”

He made me come twice once on his cock, once on his tongue before he finally let go, spilling inside me with a low, broken groan.

We lay there after—sweaty, tangled, breathing hard.

His arms locked around me like he’d never let go.

I pressed my face to his throat.

“I’m still scared,” I whispered.

“I know,” he murmured, kissing my hair. “But you’re not alone anymore.”

I closed my eyes.

And for the first time in a long time…

I believed him.