Chapter 103 The First Time I Didn’t Want to Leave
Valentina
Dinner stretched long into the evening, threaded with soft laughter and warm bread. The girls gathered like fireflies around Estella and Sheryl’s table—buzzing, bright, healing. Matteo sat close, his knee brushing mine beneath the table, his hand a steady presence on my thigh whenever silence lingered too long.
I watched him in a different light now. The man who killed my family… and might have saved my soul.
I had come here to end him.
Now all I could think about was how to live beside him.
Because I wasn’t falling anymore. I had fallen. I loved him—deeply, stupidly, fully. It terrified me. It grounded me. It was the first thing that ever felt like mine.
We didn’t talk much on the drive back. We didn’t need to. Our hands stayed laced on the console, fingers brushing as headlights blurred past. When we finally pulled through the gates and up the long drive, he parked, cut the engine, and glanced over.
“You good?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Are you?”
His hand lifted, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear. “Getting there.”
Inside, the house was dim and quiet, the scent of fresh laundry and his cologne still clinging to the air. I stepped out of my shoes and he watched me with a half-smile, loosening his tie.
“I need to check in with Rosco,” he murmured. “Make a few rounds at the clubs. But first, let me get you ready for bed.”
I turned slowly. “Ready for bed, huh?”
He nodded, stepping toward the dresser to grab one of his T-shirts for me. “Yeah. I’ll tuck you in.”
But I didn’t take the shirt. I didn’t move toward the bathroom. Instead, I walked toward him, slowly. Deliberately. Peeling off my sweater one inch at a time until it slipped off my arms and hit the floor.
His gaze sharpened.
“Val…”
I stopped between his legs and his hands went straight to my hips like they always did, fingers digging into my curves like he couldn’t help it.
I cupped his face and tilted it up. “Don’t go tonight.”
He tried to say something—I didn’t let him. My mouth claimed his, hungry and soft, lips parting to taste him. He groaned against me, hands sliding up to my waist as I kissed him deeper. His fingers fumbled with the button of my pants, managing to pop it open without breaking our kiss.
I stepped back slowly, dragging the denim down my hips, letting them pool at my feet.
He stood in a rush, stripping himself down with none of my grace, none of my teasing—just raw, needy efficiency. And god, it made my thighs clench.
I placed a palm on his chest. “Lay down.”
His brows lifted slightly, surprised.
“Now,” I whispered.
He obeyed.
The sight of Matteo Genovese—naked, sprawled out, watching me with blown pupils and reverence—was the most dangerous thing I’d ever seen.
I crawled onto the bed and straddled his waist, bending down to press kisses along his chest. His breath caught as I moved lower, my tongue tracing the line of muscle down his stomach, my hair dragging across his skin.
When I reached his cock, already hard and twitching, I looked up and smiled.
“You said you were gonna tuck me in?” I asked sweetly.
He swore under his breath.
I wrapped my hand around the base and took him into my mouth, slow and sensual. His hips twitched as he groaned, hands gripping the sheets—but when they slid into my hair and tried to guide me, I pulled off with a soft pop.
“Uh uh,” I said, wagging a finger. “Just lay back and take it.”
His jaw clenched, and he forced himself to obey. I returned to my task, letting my tongue swirl around the head before I slid down again, hollowing my cheeks and setting a pace that made him curse every thirty seconds. I teased him, edged him, pulling off just when he started to lose control.
When I was good and ready—when his fists were clenched and his face was tight with restraint—I crawled up his body again. I reached behind me, unclasped my bra, and let it fall.
His hands came up like he’d been dying to touch me, palms cupping me with reverence.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he whispered.
I leaned down and kissed him again, and when I pulled back, I shimmied out of my panties and held his gaze as I lined myself up over him.
Slowly—achingly slowly—I sank down onto him.
He groaned like I’d just given him air after drowning.
I started to move, hips circling, my hands on his chest for balance. His eyes locked on mine, stormy and worshipful, and every time I rocked forward, I felt his breath catch. I rode him slow, taking my time, learning every part of him and letting him feel every inch of me.
It wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t a performance.
It was the first time I truly let him in.
When I came, it ripped through me like thunder—violent and beautiful. I collapsed over him, panting, but before I could fully recover, his arms wrapped around me and flipped me onto my back.
He stayed buried deep and kissed me like he meant it.
And then he moved.
He made love to me slow, steady, deep—like he wanted to memorize the feel of my body. Like this moment was something sacred. When he finally came, it was with a hoarse whisper of my name and a trembling of his entire body against mine.
After, he stayed close, resting his forehead against mine. Our bodies still tangled, still connected.
“I said it that night,” he murmured.
I blinked. “What?”
“When we took care of Luca. I told you I loved you. I didn’t mean to say it then… but I meant it. I mean it now. Every time I look at you.”
A tear slipped from the corner of my eye.
And then I said the thing I swore I never would.
The thing I couldn’t hold back anymore.
“I love you, too.”