Chapter 61 Prescription Strength
Valentina
I didn’t move right away. I just sat there, one hand resting on my thigh, the other draped over the curve of my hip, blanket pooled around my waist daring him to come closer.
He didn’t blink.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Matteo said, voice low, warning. “We can dance around it if you want. Keep pretending this thing between us isn’t burning through the walls.”
I crossed her arms. “You think I’m just going to roll over because you tossed out a half-baked medical theory about orgasms curing headaches?”
His expression darkened. Not angry—dangerous.
“Do you need me to remind you who owns that pretty little body?” he asked, rising to his knees in the bed, closing the space between them. “I bought you, Valentina. That finger on your hand says it. That ring on mine proves it.”
He reached for my chin and tilted my face toward him.
“I’ve let you set the pace. I’ve been… gracious,” he said, the word bitten off. “You were new to this. Needed time to adjust. But I’m not a patient man. And I’m sure as hell not celibate.”
I swallowed what felt like the biggest lump in my throat.
He leaned closer, lips brushing my ear now. “Unless you want people thinking you can’t satisfy your husband… maybe you should spread those thighs and let me take care of that headache.”
My breath hitched.
“Because I am aching too, Mrs. Genovese. I’ve been aching for days.”
My body trembled.
“And right now? My patience is paper-thin. So I’m going to give you exactly what you need… and if I do my job right, you’ll forget your name before I’m finished.”
His hand slid higher, slipping beneath my sleep shirt, rough fingers grazing my hip. I didn’t stop him.
He slid the backs of his fingers down between my thighs, slow and deliberate.
“Wet,” he said with quiet satisfaction. “Soaked, in fact. And don’t try to tell me you didn’t actually want this.”
I should’ve argued. Should’ve slapped his hand away and called him out for his arrogance. But I didn’t.
Because I was soaked. And he was the reason.
“Spread your legs for me.” He commanded.
And I’ll be damned if I didn’t just automatically comply. I mean I am supposed to be playing a part, might as well enjoy it while I had it to enjoy.
Sleeping with the enemy has been a move in many playbooks since the beginning of time probably.
And then I was pulled out of my thoughts with the feeling of his tongue on my pussy. “Oh fuck.” I accidentally whispered.
“Oh I plan on it baby, but first you’re going to come for me.
He used two fingers to spread my pussy open to give him full access.
Starting from the bottom he licked the entire length until his tongue made it to my clit and his lips clamped around it.
While his tongue was teasing my clit he slid two fingers inside me. That made me arch my back and push myself harder against his mouth.
The casual pace was driving me insane. I needed more and I needed it now.
I gripped his hair with both hands.
His mouth broke free long enough to say, “That’s it, show me how much you love me devouring you.”
Oh and I do too, I fucking love it.
The moment I felt two fingers slid deep inside me I started grinding his face. He pumps his fingers hard and faster.
“Right there, right there. Don’t fucking stop!” I cried out as the orgasm was inching closer and closer to the surface.
Then he started sucking my clit and that was it, it sent me right over the edge. I came all over his tongue and fingers.
He sat up between my legs and wiped his mouth, grinning in satisfaction. “You’re getting good at that.”
“Good at what?” I say a bit confused.
“Good at riding my face.”
I felt my cheeks heat.
“Matteo,” I whispered, my voice barely mine.
His eyes locked on mine, dark and molten. “Say it louder.”
I wet my lips. “Matteo.”
“Good girl.”
He pushed my sleep shirt up and over my breasts, bunching the fabric beneath my arms like a restraint. Then he kissed me—deep, claiming, like he wanted to devour the breath from my lungs. His hand slid between us, palming the apex of my thighs, fingers teasing and firm.
“Still think it’s not a real cure?” he rasped against my lips.
“I haven’t decided,” I said shakily.
He grinned. “Let’s do a proper study, then.”
I gasped as his fingers slipped inside me again—one, then two—slow and deliberate, curling just right. My hips arched into his touch, chasing friction, chasing something. The tension inside me wound tight, need coiling like a spring about to snap.
And then he pulled his hand away. “Turn over.”
I blinked. “What?”
He grabbed my hips and flipped me with one smooth motion, dragging me up onto my knees as he stayed kneeling behind me. I heard the rip of fabric—his briefs—and then the blunt heat of him pressed against my entrance.
“Matteo—”
“You’re mine, Valentina,” he said, voice like gravel and smoke. “Every inch of you.”
He pushed in. Slow and deep.
I cried out, my hands fisting the sheets as he filled me, stretched me, made me feel every part of him.
And then he moved. Hard, deliberate. No softness and definitely no mercy.
Just the sharp rhythm of flesh meeting flesh, the slap of skin and the hiss of breath, the way he gripped my hips like he’d die before letting me go.
“Say it,” he growled, thrusting deeper.
“Say what?” I moaned.
“That you’re mine.”
I shook my head, breathless, defiant.
He slapped my ass, hard enough to sting. “Try again.”
“I’m yours,” I gasped.
“Louder.”
“I’m yours!”
He groaned like the words fed something dark and starving inside him.
And when I broke—when the orgasm crashed over me like a wave and I collapsed onto my elbows, trembling and spent—he followed, spilling into me with a low, filthy moan that made my toes curl.
We stayed like that for a moment. Breathless. Twined. Wrecked.
Then he pulled out, gently this time, and collapsed beside me, one hand lazily tracing circles on my thigh.
“Headache gone yet?” he asked, smug as hell.
I smacked his chest with a pillow. “You’re an asshole.”
“And you’re glowing.”
I hated that he was right.
And I hated even more that I wanted him to do it again.