Page 16 of Matteo (The 4 Seats #1)
Chapter Twelve
Matteo Ricci
I stride out of the bathroom, my mind racing as much as my heart. I'm on a damn mission now—find Eleanor's bag. The leather thing is dumped on the library floor like it's nothing. Spike must've hauled it up here for her. Clever bastard.
I grip the strap and pivot back toward the bathroom, the sound of rushing water hitting me hard.
The door's wide open, like a goddamn invitation.
Or is it? My body tightens, caught between raging lust and a gnawing need for answers.
Can I walk in there and face her naked truth?
My cock's been twitching with anticipation since London, but my chest feels like it's caged in barbed wire.
I don't just want her body—I want her secrets, the ones she bolted with to protect our kid.
Could've done that together, right here in Sydney.
But fuck it, before I can piece it all together, my legs betray me, carrying me toward the steam and the siren call of her skin. "Holy shit!" The words rip from my throat as she whirls around, hands clutching at herself .
"What?" That sharp tongue snaps, eyes wide, defensive.
"Turn back around, Princess," I growl, and she obeys.
My gaze devours the ink sprawling across her back—a fucking masterpiece.
Castle, dragon, the final showdown of some wizard war she's obsessed with—Hogwarts, they call it.
Ten years ago, I etched the dark mark on her, but this.
.. this is something else. Quotes, symbols, tiny stories wrapping around her like armor.
"They are all from the books I love," she says, voice soft but fierce. "Every quote, every symbol is from a book that stole a part of my soul."
"It's beautiful," I admit, voice rough like gravel. I'm not one for fairy tales, but this... this is her soul laid bare.
"Turn around," I command again, and she does, dropping her hands. Her tits are perfect, but I ain't looking at them. It's the raw emotion flooding me, my vision blurring as I see her, really see her, for the first time in a decade.
"Fuck," I whisper, tears traitorous bastards streaking down my face. Never thought I'd be this guy, but here I am, undone by ink and skin and the fucking past that's clawed its way back.
I trace the ink on her skin, my finger skimming over the heart nestled between her breasts.
Quotes and symbols snake along her ribs, a map of stories inked into her flesh, but the words within the heart seize my breath.
“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” Her voice in my head, the echo of the past, fucking haunts me.
"Still got a piece of me, huh?" I mutter, my voice raw with emotion. The need to show her, to prove that we're cut from the same cloth, overwhelms me. Clothes—my armor against the world—fall away like they're nothing. My chest bare, I stand before her, vulnerable yet fierce.
Her gaze drops, a gasp slipping from those lips, and her eyes lock onto my heart. There it is, the exact goddamn quote, etched into my skin under a crown with her name. A permanent mark of what she means to me.
"You remembered..." Her whisper is a feather across my soul.
"Princess, I remember every fucking word you ever said," I growl, my voice thick with unspoken promises.
No more waiting, no more distance. I close the gap, yanking her into my arms, her wet skin against mine ignites a fire no shower can douse.
"You belong here," I say, fingers gripping her chin, tilting her face to mine.
"Right here with me." And then my lips crash down on hers, claiming, consuming, as though I can drink in her very essence.
She melts into me, her tongue tangling with mine, hungry and desperate.
Her arms wind around my neck, pulling me closer, her body a beacon of heat against the chill of my soul.
My hands roam, possessive, owning every curve and dip of her flesh, reacquainting myself with the territory that's always been mine.
"Fuck, Eleanor," I grunt as I scoop her up. Her legs circle my waist, her heat branding me. I carry her out of the steam, our bed a siren call we can't ignore. I lay her down, my hands worshiping every inch of her, teasing nipples until they peak, hard and begging for more.
A gasp, sharp and sweet, escapes her as I trail lower.
My hand finds her, neatly trimmed, the promise of what's to come.
This isn't just lust; it's a fucking reclaiming.
I graze her clit, drawing out a moan that could raise the dead.
Urgent need courses through me, but I fight it back.
Not yet. Not until she's shattering beneath me, screaming my name like a prayer.
"Matteo," she whimpers, and it's all the permission I need to reduce her to the quivering mess I know she loves to be.
The dance of our bodies, a familiar rhythm, a song only we know the tune to.
And I play her like the virtuoso I am, eliciting cries of pleasure that ring in the air, a symphony of desire that's music to my fucking ears.
"Shit, Princess, I need to close the door," I bark out as realization punches me in the gut.
A kid's in the house now—our fucking kid.
I stalk over and slam the door shut, the click of the lock a sharp note in the heated silence.
When I spin back around, Eleanor's sprawled on the bed like sin waiting to be devoured.
Her legs are parted, her fingers teasing herself, a clear fuck-me-now invitation. My blood roars.
"Who said you could touch what is mine?" The growl rips from my throat, raw and possessive. Mafia boss or not, she's always been the one able to unravel me.
She looks up, eyes glinting with challenge and heat. "Well, hurry up and touch me before I explode," she whimpers, words edged with desperation.
I pounce back onto the bed, swatting her hand away, claiming her flesh as my territory.
My fingers circle her clit, coaxing it into a swollen bead of pleasure.
With my other hand, I slip two digits deep inside her, and she's so damn tight and wet, it's like coming home after a decade in the desert.
"Fuck, Baby," I hiss as her slick heat coats my hand.
I pull out, bringing my fingers to my mouth, tasting her.
Honey-sweet and addictive. "Look how creamy you are.
" And then those fingers are back, plunging into her, stretching her, while I offer her a taste of herself.
"I'm not gonna last more than two mins in that hole," I warn, voice laced with the promise of imminent release. "You're gonna have to cum for me now, Princess."
Her body is a live wire under me, writhing, begging for release. My fingers pump into her, targeting that spot that turns her moans into symphonies. Slow, torturous circles on her clit, each one a whispered promise of ecstasy.
And then her face transforms—a portrait of divine pleasure. Legs quiver, hands grip the doona like it's a lifeline. I feel her tighten around me, muscles clamping down hard. It's like she's trying to keep me there, make me part of her.
"Fuck, yes..." The command is a rumble from deep within me. "Cum all over my hand, Princess."
She detonates, a cascade of pleasure washing over her features. Her scream is pure bliss, music to my ears, the sound of a woman possessed.
"Good girl," I breathe out, feeling the aftershocks tremble through her.
Heat coils in my veins, my need clawing at me with sharpened nails.
I free my throbbing dick, lining myself up with her still-quivering entrance.
Slowly, I sink in, inch by agonizing inch, until I'm consumed by her, enveloped in the warmth and tightness that's haunted every fucking dream for ten goddamn years.
The heat between us is a living thing, fierce and untamed. "Oh, Fuck, Princess, this is gonna be the quickest fuck in history," I groan as I pull back, only to drive into her with all the force of my pent-up desire. "You're so wet and so tight!"
"Fuck, I've missed this sweet cunt." The words tear from me as I set a pace that's nothing short of savage. My world narrows to the slap of skin on skin, the tightening of her around me, the slick heat that welcomes me home.
I'm lost in it—this primal dance. This is my happy place. This is where I belong. Her cries filled the room, raw and unrestrained. "Fuck Matteo!" Eleanor's voice shatters against the walls, and I feel her body clenching, squeezing, pulling another orgasm from deep within her.
Her pleasure triggers my undoing. Her pussy tightens to the point of pain, wringing me dry. I explode with a ferocity, lighting up every dark corner of my soul. "Fuck, Princess, I love you," I rasp out, locking onto her eyes, those depths that have haunted me for years.
"I love you too, Matteo," she gasps, her voice a broken whisper. "I never stopped."
"Never stopped either, Princess," I respond, bending over her, our breaths mingling. My lips crash onto hers, a desperate seal over a vow ten years in the making.
"Get that ass back into the shower," I command once the kiss breaks, a smirk playing on my lips despite the emotional storm inside. Power surges through me again, raw and undeniable. "Let' s go find our son."
I watch as she rises, the sway of her hips a siren call I'll always heed, no matter how deep into darkness my life drags me. In this chaotic world of crime, where power is taken and held by bloodied hands, she's the one constant. The queen to my king. And together, we'll face whatever comes next.