Chapter 95 Waking the Beast
Valentina
Heat.
Low and slow, curling through my chest like smoke. My breath hitched before I even opened my eyes, and my nipples were tight—aching in the cool air. No… not air.
Warmth.
A mouth. Tongue. Fingers.
I gasped, hips arching, and my eyes fluttered open to find Matteo between my breasts, his lips closing over one taut peak while his hand palmed the other. His eyes were already on me, watching.
Dark. Dangerous. Hungry.
“Good morning,” he murmured, voice low and velvet rough. “Couldn’t help myself.”
My head swam, half-caught between the dream I’d been having—him behind me, whispering filthy promises into my neck—and the reality of his tongue swirling over my nipple like it belonged there.
“You—you couldn’t help yourself?” I croaked, dazed.
He smiled against my skin. “You kicked the covers off in your sleep. I came in to check on you. Thought I’d tuck you back in, but the second I grabbed the blanket, you moaned.” His teeth grazed lightly before he soothed the spot with a kiss. “Soft. Sweet. Like a kitten in heat.”
My thighs clenched. “Matteo…”
“Your nipples were already hard,” he went on, lazily switching to the other breast like he had all the time in the world. “Panties soaked. You were dreaming of something very, very good, baby. So I thought I’d make it real for you.”
My pulse was a frantic drum in my throat. “What time is it?”
“Seven.”
“In the morning?”
He chuckled. “You went down hard yesterday. Never woke up again. So yeah—seven A.M. the next day. You slept for close to twenty hours. I let you.”
I blinked, stunned. “Oh my god.”
“Exactly,” he smirked. “You needed it.”
Suddenly, my body caught up with my bladder. I shot upright, clutching the sheet. “I have to pee. Like, right now.”
He laughed and rolled to the side, giving me space. “Go on then, before I make you forget how to walk.”
I bolted, feet smacking the cold floor, and barely made it to the bathroom before the floodgates opened. Holy hell. When I came back a few minutes later, he was still in bed, arms behind his head, looking way too smug.
“Now,” he drawled, “get your pretty little ass back in this bed and let me finish what your dream started.”
I crossed my arms instead. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His brow arched. “Oh, don’t play coy with me, baby. That look on your face says otherwise.”
I started to back away, but he was up before I took another step.
He stalked toward me—slow, assured, predatory. One hand reached out and lifted my oversized shirt until my stomach was bare. Then the other slid beneath my waistband, fingers dipping past the lace.
When they found the heat waiting for him, his smirk turned lethal.
“I do believe,” he said, voice dropping to a purr, “you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
His fingers found me already slick, already open for him, and he lets out a low, broken sound like it’s been clawing its way out of his chest all night.
“I’ve wanted to fuck you so bad,” he says, voice rough, stripped bare. “Ever since I watched you beat the shit out of Luca.”
My breath stutters.
He doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t soften it.
“I had to restrain myself,” he continues, two fingers pushing inside me slowly, deliberately, curling just enough to make my knees weaken. “Had to let you rest. Let your body heal.”
His thumb presses into my clit, just enough pressure to make my head tip back.
“But I can’t wait anymore.”
He watches my face as he moves his fingers, reading every reaction like it’s a language he already knows.
“I need you,” he says, quieter now—but somehow more dangerous. “And I need to bury my cock deep into your tight little cunt.”
The word sends heat flooding through me, sharp and dizzying.
I grab his wrist, not to stop him—but to anchor myself.
His fingers thrust deeper, stretching me just enough to remind me exactly how much of him I can take. How much I want.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You feel perfect.”
The second his fingers slip out of me, I make a sound—half protest, half need.
But he doesn’t give me time to ask.
His hands are suddenly everywhere—on my hips, my waist—turning me, guiding me, forcing me exactly where he wants me with a confidence that makes my pulse spike instead of fear.
“Bend over,” he says, low and rough.
I don’t hesitate.
I plant my palms on the edge of the bed and arch instinctively, my body already opening for him, already braced.
The air barely has time to cool between my thighs before I feel him there—hard, thick, unrelenting.
And then he slams into me in one brutal thrust.
I cry out, sharp and loud, the sound ripped straight from my chest as he fills me completely, stretching me, stealing my breath in the best possible way.
“Fuck—” I gasp.
His hand fists in my hair immediately, yanking me upright just enough to change the angle, to make it deeper, more punishing. My back arches, my chest lifting, the bed creaking beneath my weight.
“Just like that,” he growls behind me. “Take it.”
He doesn’t ease in. Doesn’t give me time to adjust.
He fucks me.
Hard. Deep. Relentless.
Each thrust drives into me like he’s trying to brand the inside of my body with himself, his hips snapping forward, the sound of skin meeting skin obscene and intoxicating.
“You like it rough,” he mutters, breath hot against my ear. “Don’t pretend you don’t.”
Another thrust—hard enough to make my legs tremble.
“You like when I take you,” he continues, fingers tightening in my hair. “When I fuck you like I own you.”
My walls clench around him in answer.
“Yes,” I gasp. “Just—don’t stop.”
That’s all the permission he needs.
His grip shifts—one hand still in my hair, the other sliding down my stomach, between my thighs, finding my clit and rubbing tight circles that make my knees threaten to give out.
“That’s it,” he groans. “You’re soaked. All for me.”
He fucks me harder, faster, the bed rattling with each brutal stroke, his breath uneven now, control fraying.
“You’re unreal,” he growls. “Strong as hell. Ruthless. And you still come apart for me like this.”
My vision blurs.
The pressure builds fast—too fast—my body already wound tight from everything we’ve been holding back.
“I’m close,” I choke.
“Good,” he snaps. “Come for me.”
His fingers move faster, merciless, his cock driving deep again and again until the tension snaps.
I break.
My cry is loud, unfiltered, my body clenching hard around him as I come, shaking, my hands slipping on the sheets as the orgasm tears through me.
“Fuck—yes,” he groans, thrusting through it, losing whatever restraint he had left as he rides me hard, chasing his own release.
The sound he makes when he finally comes—deep, wrecked, primal—tells me he’s just as undone as I am.