Chapter 65: LXV. Filthy, defiant, starving.

Matteo’s hands don’t stay in one place for long, sliding along my curves like he needs to touch me to believe I’m real. But while they’re possessive and reverent, sometimes he grips me like he’s also punishing himself. For wanting me, for kissing me again, even though some part of him wants to kill me instead.

My words have always cut deeper than Matteo would like. It’s not hard to get under his skin, but I’d say I reach all the way to the bone. Maybe that’s why I can always taste the conflicting emotions on his tongue—why I know the images I planted in his mind are eating him alive from the inside out.

As if his anger comes and goes in waves, Matteo’s grip shifts between firm touches and a caress so gentle it aches with tenderness. The restraint barely fits in his chest; I can feel it pulsing deep within him, pressed against my breasts.

When our lungs start to burn from lack of air, he pulls our lips apart, but only just a little.

“You wanted him?” Matteo brushes our lips in a mocking echo of the kiss he just devoured me with, his voice growing huskier. “You really wanted to suck his cock, Marina?”

My breath catches because he knows what he’s doing. Matteo doesn’t ask questions to hear the answers. He asks to hear me, to taste my reactions, to watch me unravel under the weight of what I want but won’t admit.

“…Then now you’re gonna suck mine until you forget that asshole’s name.”

He opens his pants with one hand, yanking the belt free with a snap that cracks through the air, and the sound makes a shiver run down my spine. Matteo strips with the same fury he fucks with—no patience, no tenderness, like the world is on fire and we’re the only ones left.

“On your knees.” The command is simple, sharp, leaving no room for refusal. One of his hands grips the back of my neck, guiding me closer, while the other works the zipper of his jeans with almost frantic urgency. “Show me what you wanted to do to him.”

The sound of metal sliding is soft, almost drowned out by our ragged breathing in the kitchen.

My legs tremble as I kneel, eyes locked on his, making him pull the waistband down with firm hands and allow the fabric slide over his wide hips, revealing bronzed skin and tattoos that trail down his V-line; two horns I’ve tasted more times than I’d care to admit with my tongue.

My fingers trail down his hips, slipping under the fabric as I ease his jeans and boxers down slowly, torturing him with delicious anticipation.

Matteo’s cock springs free, thick, hard, heavy, pointing straight at my mouth like it knows exactly where it belongs. The skin is hot, veins pulsing along the rigid length, and the swollen head gleams in the kitchen light, already slick with a slow, teasing drop of precum begging to be licked.

I lick my lips slowly, with no shame, no rush, my chin lifted in an almost insolent gesture, though my eyes are molten with raw desire.

“Open that mouth,” he orders, his voice rougher than ever, thick with angry, tortured lust. “Now.”

He pulls me closer with more force, making me let out a hoarse, shameless moan. My tongue comes out, hesitant only for show, and flicks over the tip, slow, so slow, just the top, a feather-light taste, as if I’m sampling something sacred.

But the look I shoot him from beneath my lashes is anything but reverent. It’s filthy, defiant, starving.

Matteo grunts, and his breath stutters at the touch, as his whole body tenses. I know he’s holding on, barely clinging to control, and I want to snap that thread so badly. I want to watch him lose it… I want to feel his fist in my hair and use me in that raw, unhinged way only he knows.

I swirl the tip of my tongue around the head, exploring every ridge, every throb of the thick vein, taking my time, while one hand runs up his thigh, feeling the coiled strength beneath his skin. With the other, I wrap around the base of his cock, feeling the hot, throbbing tension, and begin to stroke with torturous slowness.

“Fuck, you’re such a—bitch,” he mutters, and even with his voice ragged and breathless, there’s a filthy kind of reverence there. “You do this just to watch me lose control, don’t you?”

I smirk, eyes locked on his, and finally open my mouth wider, letting the head slide in. My lips stretch around him, taking in every inch with a slow, teasing rhythm.

Matteo’s hand tightens in my hair, fingers curling like he wants to rip every last defiant thought from my skull. But he doesn’t thrust—not yet. And it’s that yet that makes me moan with my mouth full, the sound vibrating straight down the length of him.

“Fuck, Marina…” He groans, lower now, less rage, more raw need tearing through every word. Like all the hate has been shoved aside, and all that’s left is this brutal, starving hunger he’s carried for me since everything between us blew up.

I move my head with more confidence now, firmer. My mouth sinks halfway down before pulling back slowly, my tongue wrapping around him, sucking, teasing, dragging along the pulsing vein that releases more of his salty lust into my mouth.

My eyes rise and meet his, and that’s when I see it. There’s no longer the storm that burst into this room, wanting to burn everything to the ground. It’s the old look… the devastated, wounded, obsessed one.

The look of a man who knows he hates me but still can’t stop wanting me.

I let my throat open, little by little, relaxing as much as I can while he slides in, all the way to where I can handle, making his breath catch—a sound somewhere between a grunt and a tortured moan… And I feel his whole body tremble.

Matteo’s cock glides hot and heavy, stretching my mouth with steady pressure. My eyelids grow heavy, and my own arousal pulses between my legs, so wet I can feel it dripping down my thighs.

“Fucking hell…” he whispers, his hips moving in an uneven, needy, possessive rhythm. “You’re gonna make me cum in your mouth just from looking at me like that.”

The tip of his cock grazes the back of my throat, making me gag slightly, and Matteo groans loudly at the sound. His hand in my hair forces a quicker, deeper rhythm, watering my eyes, not just from the effort, but from the heat spreading through my body like a fever with no end.

“Fuck, Marina… damn it, you…” Matteo gasps for air, his chest heaving, “You’ve always known how to destroy me with that mouth, haven’t you, you wicked little bitch—”

The words catch in his throat as I give in to the motion, the obscene sounds of my mouth moving on him filling the space, spit sliding from my lips down my chin.

My hand slips instinctively between my legs, finding the button of my jeans, which comes undone too easily under my desperate fingers. I don’t waste a second before slipping my hand inside, searching for the soaked-through underwear that clings to me even beneath the denim.