Chapter 83 Taught Obedience
Valentina
The water was blissfully hot, curling steam up around me like silk. My hair was clipped up in a lazy twist, my limbs boneless beneath the surface. Head tilted back. Eyes closed. Every muscle slack. My body still hummed with the chaos of the last few hours—but the bath was chasing it out of me inch by inch.
Until a hand slid down my neck.
I startled, breath caught sharp, but the moment I felt the familiar calloused palm sweep over my chest and cup my breast, I knew.
Matteo.
Of course it was him.
And just like that, my entire body betrayed me—sinking back into his touch, welcoming him without hesitation. Like he owned me.
Because he did.
His thumb brushed across my nipple, slow and knowing, watching it harden beneath his hand like a pulled string. I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t move. I didn’t have to.
“You weren’t in bed,” he said, his voice low and indulgent, like I’d left him a present. “I was ready to crawl in beside you. Hold you. Maybe fuck you slow.”
His other hand dipped beneath the water and gripped my thigh, spreading me slightly—just a warning.
“But this…” he murmured, standing. I cracked my eyes open in time to see him strip—shirt first, then belt, pants, boxers. Each movement slow. Intentional.
My mouth went dry.
Seeing him like this—powerfully naked, cock already thickening as his eyes dragged over me—it did something to me. Something dark and wicked and utterly humiliating.
And yet… I didn’t look away.
“Come here,” he said, stepping to the edge of the tub. “Show me that your mouth hasn’t forgotten what it learned on our honeymoon.”
I swallowed hard.
God, the nerve of him. Ordering me around like some obedient little toy, expecting me to drop to my knees and service him on command like I wasn’t still at war with myself. Like I hadn’t spent weeks telling myself he was the enemy.
But my body didn’t care about the war.
My mouth watered. My thighs pressed together beneath the surface. Shame twisted deliciously low in my belly—and something deeper, needier, clawed its way to the surface.
I sat up slowly.
The hunger in his gaze sharpened as I knelt, chest rising above the waterline, nipples tight and wet and shameless. I tilted my head, eyes up at him like a challenge. But I parted my lips anyway.
He groaned.
One hand tangled in my hair, gripping it at the base of my skull—not rough, not gentle. Commanding.
And I let him guide me.
I let him control the pace. Let him use my mouth for his pleasure. And he did, he fucked my mouth like he wanted. Slow. Fast. Deep. He made my eyes water when he would push deep making me gag.
I think he really enjoys when I gag. His cock twitches and jumps in my mouth.
He watched me like a man possessed, breathing hard, eyes narrowed with heat and something else—something close to reverence.
“You feel that?” he rasped. “How perfect your mouth is for me? Fuck…”
My knees ached against the porcelain but I didn’t stop.
Couldn’t.
Every movement made him groan, curse, tip his head back. Every sound from him made my own body ache in return, slick and needy and aching to be touched.
He fisted both hands in my hair now, guiding me how he wanted, eyes blazing as he looked down at me. His muscles flexed, stomach tight, thighs like iron.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
I did.
And whatever he saw in my eyes—the surrender, the fire, the filth—it undid him.
“Fuck, Valentina… I could come right now.”
A jolt shot through me. He was close. Right there. One more stroke, one more breath, and—
But he stopped.
His grip tightened, and he pulled me back just enough to look down at me with that wicked glint that always promised sin and never disappointment.
“Not yet,” he growled, breathing heavy. “I want to be inside you when I come. Mouth second. Pussy first.”
Then he reached into the water, grabbed my hips, and pulled me forward like he was about to claim me right then and there.
He didn’t give me time to think.
Matteo hauled me up out of the tub, water sloshing over the edge as my feet hit the cool tile. Steam curled around us, fogging the mirror as he spun me and pressed me chest-first against it.
“Look at yourself,” he ordered, one hand flattening between my shoulder blades.
The glass was already misted, but I could still see enough—my flushed skin, my wet hair coming loose from the clip, the way my body arched instinctively as I felt him line himself up behind me.
Then he drove into me.
The force of it knocked the air from my lungs, my palms slapping against the mirror as my body took him—deep, hard, unforgiving. I gasped, head tipping back as he filled me completely, his hips snapping forward again before I could even breathe.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “That’s it. Take it.”
Every thrust pushed me higher onto my toes, his hand sliding from my waist up to my throat—not choking, just holding, grounding me there while he fucked me from behind like he owned every inch of me.
I watched my own reflection shatter—eyes blown wide, mouth open, chest heaving as my body responded despite everything I told myself.
Despite the war in my head.
His hand slipped down around the front of me, fingers finding my clit with brutal precision. I cried out, the sound echoing sharp and helpless in the tiled room.
“That’s it,” he growled in my ear. “Cum for me. I can feel how close you are.”
He didn’t slow. Didn’t ease up. He fucked me harder, deeper, every thrust stealing more breath, more control, until the pressure inside me snapped.
I came hard.
My knees buckled, a broken sound tearing from my throat as my body clenched around him, pulsing and shaking while he rode me through it, teeth digging into my shoulder as he swore under his breath.
He pulled out suddenly.
The loss made me whimper.
Before I could turn, he spun me around and pushed me down to my knees on the bath mat, still slick with water.
“Open,” he said.
My body obeyed before my pride could catch up.
He slid himself between my lips again, slower this time, watching me—watching—as I took him back in, tasting myself on him, cheeks hollowing as I worked my mouth the way he liked.
“Just like that,” he murmured. “You learn fast.”
His hand tangled in my hair again, guiding the rhythm, using my mouth the way he had before—controlled, deliberate, relentless.
I felt him tense.
Felt the change.
He held me there as he finished, breath rough, body tight—and when it was over, when he finally let go, I swallowed without thinking.
Without hesitation.
Without regret.
He pulled back, thumb brushing my chin as he looked down at me with dark, satisfied eyes.
“Good girl.”
The words landed heavier than the act itself.
And that terrified me more than anything else.