Page 24 of Matteo (The 4 Seats #1)

Spike chortles from the doorway, "That's my cue." He knows when the storm's rolling in.

"Ask, and you shall receive," Matteo murmurs, clearly moved by the request. Fucking sentimentality might just be the death of him .

"Thank you," I whisper, more to the ghosts in the machine than to the man beside me. There's a weight in those two words, a history drenched in blood and love.

"Thank you for what, Princess?" Matteo's voice rumbles as he stands and prowls toward me like a panther eyeing its prey. The distance between us shrinks with each deliberate step he takes, his presence engulfing the room in a tangible aura of power.

"Thank you for not giving up on us," I start, my voice barely above a whisper while defiance courses through my veins, "and for not falling out of love with me.

" My chest tightens, remembering the miles and years that stretched between us, a chasm filled with regrets and what-ifs.

I ran to escape the darkness, only to find it etched deeper within me, away from him.

Matteo's hand, rough from fights and caresses alike, cups my chin firmly, coercing my gaze upward to meet his stormy eyes.

There's an ocean in them, deep and raging with emotions unspoken.

"I know I ran away and didn't want to be found. But the whole time I was gone, I always felt like I was missing a piece of myself, and since I’ve been back, I feel like I’ve found it again. "

"Princess," he growls, his thumb tracing my jawline with possessive intent, "you're mine. Told you that day on your doorstep, I had come to claim what is mine ." His words are a brand against my skin, searing and undeniable. "And I did. Nothing has changed since that day."

With an ease born of a life commanding others, Matteo leans over me, his shadow casting a dark blanket over my seated form. He reaches out and presses a button on the intercom, his other hand never leaving its claim on my face.

"Becky," he barks into the device, and a sultry voice slithers through the speaker like a snake in tall grass.

"What can I do for you, Mr Ricci?" she purrs, her tone dripping with more than a hint of longing.

"Hold all my calls and appointments till I say otherwise. Do not disturb me in my office," his command slices through the air, severing any hope she might have harbored.

"Of course, Mr Ricci," comes the honeyed reply, soaked with disappointment.

"Desperation oozes from that one!" I mutter under my breath, unable to hold back a snarl. The thought of her pining after him, after everything we've been through, ignites a fire in my belly.

"Princess," Matteo says, his voice low and dangerous, turning back to face me fully.

"She can pine all she wants." His eyes lock onto mine, fierce and feral.

"I've never touched my employees, and I never will.

" A promise or a threat, it's hard to tell with him.

But Matteo's gaze doesn't waver, and in that moment, I believe him.

"Plus," he murmurs, his lips curling into a sardonic smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, "they are about to hear why.

" His thumb brushes over my lower lip, a possessive and achingly tender touch.

It's a stark contrast to the ruthless man who commands respect and fear in equal measure—a contradiction that defines Matteo Ricci's complexity.

The silence stretches, charged with unspoken words and memories that cling to us like shadows. At this moment, within these four walls, we're not just a mafia boss and his runaway love. We're two halves of a twisted whole, bound by a past that refuses to let go.

As he leans closer, his breath hot against my skin, I realize that Matteo's claim on me is unwavering no matter how dark or dangerous our world gets. It's a tether that keeps me grounded in the chaos, a constant reminder that he loves me fiercely in his twisted way.

"Never doubted you," I whisper, my voice barely audible. But he hears it; I know he does because there's a softening in his eyes, a rare glimpse of the man behind the monster.

"Good," he rasps, his thumb leaving my lip to trace the line of my jaw. "Because, Princess, you're about to be reminded exactly who you belong to."

"Stand up," Matteo's voice slices through the stillness of his office, a command that brooks no argument. I rise to my feet, my heart hammering in my chest. There's something about the way he commands me, an edge of danger and a promise of pleasure, that makes my body respond without hesitation.

"Sit on the desk." He doesn't wait for me to move; his hand clears the mahogany surface with a swift, careless swipe.

Laptops, papers, and expensive pens crashed to the floor in chaos.

His world, his rules. And I—God help me—I revel in it.

Even momentarily, the thrill of being the center of this powerful man's universe sends a shiver down my spine.

I perch on the edge, the excellent wood pressing against the backs of my thighs. The room feels charged, the heavy silence punctuated by our breathing. Outside, the city murmurs, a distant soundtrack to our tension.

"Spread those legs, and let me look at what is mine.

" His growl reverberates deep in my core, and I obey, spreading myself open for his hungry gaze.

I've left myself bare beneath the skirt, a little secret, a tease just for him.

A smirk curls his lips as he drops to his knees, his eyes darkening with lust and possession. "Fuck me, I forgot you like to tease."

The first lick is a streak of fire from my ass to my clit, igniting every nerve ending. My fingers find his hair, gripping tight as a lifeline as a moan tears from my throat. "I wanna hear you scream," he breathes against my wetness, "show everyone who you belong to."

I can only nod, dumbstruck, as he devours me with a voraciousness that leaves no room for doubt.

Matteo plays my body like his personal instrument, his fingers and tongue a symphony of sin.

Each stroke sends waves crashing through me, building higher and higher until I'm teetering on the edge of oblivion.

The pressure of his pinky circling my back entrance adds another layer to the sensation, a delicious taboo that has me writhing under his touch. Pleasure coils tight, a serpent ready to strike, and I'm lost in the dark depths of his world, where only power and raw desire reign.

"Fuck yes," I gasp out, and Matteo's little finger breaches me again, a forbidden thrill that has my body singing. But then, cruelly, he withdraws, leaving an aching void where his touch once scorched. My head lifts in protest, eyes locking onto his smoldering gaze, a whimper bubbling from my lips.

"Don't worry, I'm not done with you yet.

" His words are a dark promise as his hand finds my breasts, squeezing them until pleasure borders on pain.

I'm aching for release, but he’s fixated on the prize beneath my skirt.

With a swift yank, my skirt bunches around my waist, my bare ass now perched on the cold edge of his desk.

His tongue is merciless, lapping at me with a hunger that borders on savage.

"Please, Matteo," spills from me, though I can’t articulate the craving that gnaws at my core.

He doesn't need my words. His fingers plunge back into me, slick with his saliva, while that devious pinky pushes deeper into my rear, stretching me to the limits of ecstasy.

"Fuck, that feels good," I groan, the coarse words barely recognizable as my own. Matteo's onslaught is relentless—fingers pumping, tongue flicking—and when another finger joins the first, invading that most private place, it's the spark to my powder keg.

I reach up, mauling at my breasts as he pinches my clit between his teeth.

It's too much. I shatter, orgasm ripping through me like a hurricane, my cum gushing forth in a torrential release.

Matteo's mouth clamps over me, drinking down my essence with a voraciousness that mirrors the parched earth's welcoming rain.

As my world steadies from its cataclysmic quake, Matteo rises above me, power emanating from him like heat from the sun.

One hand grips my face, prying my mouth open before dripping my release back onto my tongue.

Then his lips crash against mine, our tastes melding in a depraved kiss that brands me to my soul.

"God, Baby, that was freakin' amazing," he breathes against my lips once we part, his voice rough like gravel, laced with a madness unique to him.

He spins me like I'm nothing but a doll, an object in his powerful hands.

The cool wood of the desk presses into my stomach as I'm bent over it, ass presented to him like an offering.

"Princess, I'm gonna fuck your ass now, and you're gonna cum all over me and my desk so I can smell you in here for days," Matteo growls, his voice a dark promise that sends shivers down my spine.

His firm grip aligns him with my dripping cunt, and he thrusts inside, claiming me with a possessive urgency that leaves no room for doubt—I am his. He uses me to coat his cock with my slickness before pulling out, leaving a void that's immediately filled with anticipation.

"Fuck me, please," spills from my lips just as he pushes into my ass, stretching, filling me completely. I push back against him, embracing the delicious burn, "Oh God, Matteo."

"That's it, push back onto me like the whore I know you are," he snarls, sinking deeper until there's no more of him left to take. His hands, those instruments of both pleasure and pain, grab my hips, branding me with their heat.

The room is thick with the scent of sex; every breath is laced with lust. Matteo sets a brutal rhythm, each thrust a stroke of mastery.

My moans crescendo with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh.

I want them to hear—the whole goddamn office—his dominance over me, the echo of our primal dance.

"Harder," I beg, desperate, and Matteo complies. He fucks me with a ferocity that borders on violence, and it's glorious. Power reverberates through his frame and into mine. "You like that, like feeling my dick in your ass? Scream so they can all hear you out here, claiming your man."

I'm teetering on the edge, so fucking close. His words are the final nudge, and I detonate, pleasure obliterating everything else. I gush, a wet, filthy testament to the intensity between us. It coats my thighs, drips onto Matteo's floor, marking his territory in the most carnal way possible.

"Fuck, yes!" I cry out, not caring who hears or what they think.

This is our world, our rules. We are the king and queen, and I want everyone to know it.

My body shudders with aftershocks, and I revel in the thought of his office reeking of our sin.

I'm already fantasizing about grinding my release into the carpet, a permanent reminder of our liaison.

"Good girl," Matteo grunts behind me, satisfaction evident in his strained voice.

I slam back against Matteo, taking him deep, feeling him pulse.

The room's spinning, but I anchor myself on the solid heat of him buried in me.

"Shit Princess, that's it," he growls, voice strained—a raw sound that signifies the end.

His grip on my hips is bruising, sure to leave a mark.

He empties into me with a guttural groan, and his body shudders with release.

"God, Baby, that was freakin' amazing," he pants as he collapses onto my sweat-drenched back, the weight of him pressing me into the desk. His breath is hot on my neck, his heart hammering against my spine.

The world outside our lust-fueled bubble intrudes with the sharp rap of knuckles on wood. "Boss, Enzo just arrived at the desk downstairs," Spike's voice cuts through the post-orgasmic haze. Urgent, laced with the unspoken tension of the streets.

"Motherfucker." The curse slides from Matteo's lips, a dark promise all its own. He withdraws, leaving a hollow ache where he'd just been. "Okay, give me five."

I straighten up, feeling his cum start to trickle down my thigh. "Princess, there is a bathroom behind that door just there, go clean up. You're about to meet the man who sits in the second seat."

I catch the grimace that twists his lips, the warning clear in the tight set of his jaw. Enzo. Lunatic doesn't begin to cover it. I've heard stories—blood-soaked tales whispered with reverence and fear. But I'm no stranger to monsters; after all, I'm with one right now.

"Got it," I reply, my voice steady despite the tremors still coursing through my legs. Matteo holds my gaze for a moment longer, his eyes smoldering coals in the dim light, then nods sharply. He's slipping back into his role—the Don, the man who commands respect through terror.

I slide off the desk, my movements languid and unsteady, and make my way to the bathroom. Matteo watches me go, the intensity in his gaze a tangible force. I'm his queen in this chess game of power, and by God, I'll wear that crown—even if it's lined with thorns.

I stride into the bathroom, a mix of Matteo's heat and mine seeping from me. I've got five minutes to go from debauched to decent. No small feat.

The mirror shows a flushed face, eyes still dark with lust, hair a mess of tangles. Fuck, I look thoroughly used. A smirk tugs at my lips. I do love the afterglow of sin.

Cold water from the tap, I splash it on my face, scrubbing away the sheen of sex. Water runs in rivulets down my arms, mingling with ink—a story etched onto my skin for all to see .

"Get it together, Eleanor," I mutter to my reflection, a pep talk as I hike up my skirt and sit on the toilet. The sensation is crude as I push out Matteo's essence, a stark reminder of his claim. He marks territory like a goddamn beast.

Hands wash again, harsh and quick. Can't have traces of him when shaking hands with the devil's right-hand man. I pat dry, fix my hair, apply lipstick like armor. Red, the color of warning signs and blood oaths.

There's no room for weakness in this game. Matteo’s got his kinks; I’ve got mine. Power plays are my aphrodisiac, and I'm about to walk into a viper's nest of them.

"Mobster politics 101," I scoff at the irony, checking myself once more. Looking good as new—or as close to it as one can get after being royally fucked on a mafia boss's desk.