Page 49 of Matteo (The 4 Seats #1)

Eleanor Wang

T he sun's scorching rays beat down on my skin, a reminder of the relentless march of time.

Fuck me sideways, Niko's eighteen today.

The thought alone sets my heart racing like it's on some shitty carnival ride—one I'm not strapped in for.

His laughter ain't echoing around the house, replaced by this godforsaken silence.

Instead, he's out there, bobbing on the waves, living it up without his dear old mum and dad.

"Here, Princess," Matteo's voice slices through the stillness as he thrusts a margarita into my hand, its cool touch a balm to the heat.

"Thank you." My gaze locks with his—a cheeky glint dance in those dark eyes as we lounge like a pair of sinners surveying our kingdom. The bay stretches out before us, glittering under the afternoon glare.

"You still mad he wouldn't allow you to attend his party?" Matteo's grin is all teeth, knowing full well he's poking the damn bear.

"Yes, I mean seriously, I’m fun!" I jab a finger at my chest, a playful snarl tugging at my lips. "Who wouldn't want me at their bash?"

"Yes, you are fun, Princess," he concedes, that smile never slipping. But then he drops a truth bomb that has me choking on my drink. "Parents at your eighteenth birthday party aren’t the cool thing."

"But what if there are drugs?" I can't help but push the words sour on my tongue.

"I can guarantee there is," he shoots back, casual as a motherfucker.

I swivel to skewer him with a glare that could curdle milk. "Tell me you didn't supply the boat with drugs, Matteo?" My voice is a low growl, the idea setting my blood to boil.

"I was eighteen once, too, you know," he says, trying to play it off like he's done the lad a favor. "They would have come from nowhere if I hadn't supplied them. This way, I controlled what and how much entered the boat," he finishes, proud as a pimp with a new cane.

I shake my head, the taste of betrayal bitter on my tongue.

Even in the twisted confines of our world, Matteo's logic is a warped brand of insanity—his version of keeping control.

But then again, control is what Matteo Ricci breathes, eats, and shits.

It's his gospel, his commandments, his fucking creed.

And as much as I hate to admit it, in this messed-up reality of ours, maybe his fucked-up way is the right way .

I grind my teeth, and the taste of anger is sharp on my tongue. "I don't like my son doing drugs, Matteo." My eyes lock onto his, fierce and unyielding.

"Princess, you might not believe this, but he doesn't." He's calm, constantly fucking calm, like a snake coiled tight, ready to strike.

"I think being on this side of the fence gave him a different view of them," he continues, and I can hear the truth ringing in his voice despite wanting to reject it outright.

"Plus, Angel is on the boat with him. He will reel it all back in if anything gets out of hand. "

"Still can't believe he allowed Angel to go and not me!" The words come out more petulant than I intend, a pout forming against my will.

"That boat is a floating nerd’s dream right now," Matteo chuckles, his laugh like gravel rolling down a mountainside. "I mean, seriously, the kid’s friends are all in his tech class at Uni."

He's not wrong. Niko got into Uni two years early.

Thanks to his tech studies and homeschooling, he is the little genius he is.

There isn't much he can't hack code or rewire.

His mates, a ragtag bunch of nerds, are testament to that.

And yet, here I am, sidelined, my mind chasing circles of worry and motherly concern.

"I have something that will take your mind off it if you want…" The corner of Matteo's mouth quirks up, a smirk that spells trouble and has me on high alert.

"What's that, old man?" I shoot back, trying to keep the edge from my voice.

"Forty isn't old," he retorts, his brows arching in mock offense as he stands, defying his years with the grace of a panther on the prowl. "See, I can still stand without an easy chair."

"Is that how we now gauge age now?" I reply, my tone dry as desert sand.

He strides towards me, his movements sure and fluid.

It's a dance we've done a thousand times, each step leading us deeper into a tango of darkness and desire.

His hand reaches for mine, a silent invitation, and I place my palm in his, feeling the rough callouses against my skin.

With a swift pull, I'm up, barely catching my balance before he sweeps me off them entirely.

"And I can still do this!" he announces triumphantly as he hefts me into his arms, bridal style.

A squeal slips past my lips, involuntary and high-pitched. "Shit, Matteo, warn me next time!" My hands slap against his chest—a solid wall of muscle beneath tailored fabric—and I can't help but laugh, the sound raw and honest. "I nearly popped a poopoo valve!"

Matteo's face dips close, his breath hot against my skin as he licks the tip of my nose—a signature move of his that never fails to disarm me.

"This isn't another one of those, 'I have a present for you upstairs things,' and it just ends up being your dick with a red bow tied around it?

" I challenge, half-hoping it is, half-scared of what else it might be.

"But you love that gift!" He feigns shock, his face a mask of mock innocence that doesn't fool anyone, least of all me.

"Ah, let’s just agree to disagree." My voice is a whisper, our private world shrinking down to the space between us as he carries me, ascending the stairs with predatory ease.

When Matteo sets me down, my gaze locks onto a box— an enigma wrapped in plain cardboard—perched on our bed like a promise. "Well, go on and open it," he urges, his voice laced with mystery.

"Can't hide your old age from me, mate," I tease, watching him rub at his lower back—a telltale sign of the years we've weathered together in this savage, beautiful life.

"Open the box, Princess." His smirk is a dare, an invitation to step once more into the chaos of his love.

I scramble across the bed, fingers itching to tear into the mystery.

The lid comes off, and there it is—a dildo, so blatantly ordinary amidst our extraordinary world.

I look up at him, amusement curving my lips.

"Um, don't we already own enough?" My voice dances between jest and sincerity because, damn it, with Matteo, you can never have too much.

"Yes, we do, but none of them are me." He points to himself, pride swelling in his chest like a badge of honor.

"What do you mean 'you'?" Confusion knits my brows, but intrigue pulls me forward.

"Come here and have a good look." His tone is a velvet threat, and my body responds before my mind catches up.

On hands and knees, I crawl—the predator's prey—and my body hums with anticipation. I reach him, and with deft fingers, I unbuckle his belt and slide down his trousers. Freedom meets his hardening length as it springs from the confines of silk boxers.

"Fuck me," I whisper, thumb brushing the slick tip. His groan fills the room, raw and guttural, as I take him into my mouth, working him with a hand that knows every ridge and vein of his power and might .

"Princess," he growls, the sound vibrating through my skull, "that's it."

His hardness pulses against my tongue, a prelude to the violence of pleasure that always lies in wait with Matteo Ricci—my lover, my tormentor, the mafia king who owns every inch of my being.

I lean back, the weight of the silicone creation heavy in my hand.

I like it against Matteo's now rigid length, a perfect replica down to the last vein.

It's a twisted kind of flattery only he could dream up.

"This way, I can take both your holes at the same time and know it’s only me inside you," his voice is dark chocolate laced with razor blades.

"Prove it." The challenge rolls off my tongue, baiting the beast in him.

"Turn around and shove your face into the doona." Matteo's command is iron-forged and non-negotiable. I comply, spinning around to present myself to him, my ass lifted high, face pressed into the fabric—vulnerability wars with excitement in my veins.

"Good girl," he approves, a low growl sending shivers down my spine. His tongue traces a fiery path from my clit to my ass, each stroke a shockwave that jolts me closer to the edge.

The cold, blunt tip of the dildo presses against me, and I brace for invasion. Inch by inch, he slides it home, stretching, filling every part of my core with a delicious fullness that borders on too much.

"Matteo..." I gasp, my knuckles whitening as they clutch the sheets.

His hands grip my hips, anchoring me to the reality of his control, his ownership.

This man, this mafia king who's carved out a throne in the shadows of society, has now staked an even deeper claim in me. And god help me, I crave more.

"Swallow it, all of it," Matteo growls above me, his voice a dangerous purr that vibrates through my body. I arch against the sheets, desperate for release, as he fills me slowly, deliberately, with that replica of himself. The silk cover muffles my pleas, "Fuck, Matteo, that feels so good."

He's relentless, dragging me to the brink only to leave me teetering there, craving the fall. "Please, Matteo," I beg, my voice laced with need, but he's the puppet master, pulling strings and drawing out the moment until I'm nothing but a quivering mass of anticipation.

Abruptly, the pressure vanishes, and I'm hollow, the absence of the dildo leaving a void that aches to be filled.

I hear the click of the lube bottle, feel the cool liquid kiss my skin, and then his fingers are there, working me open, prepping me for what's to come.

His touch is both fire and ice as he presses the molded silicone to my back entrance and pushes inside.

"Ooh my God, Fuck, Matteo!" The words escape me in a breathless exhalation as I press back into him, seeking that delicious fullness. My muscles yield to him, welcoming the foreign and familiar intrusion.

Matteo's rough hands chart a path of possession down to where I’m most sensitive. He circles my clit with a practiced touch, sending jolts of pleasure radiating through me while the dildo moves in a maddeningly slow rhythm.

"Please, Matteo," I whine, my voice breaking with desperation. He’s a goddamn tease, a maestro conducting an orchestra of sensations designed to keep me hanging on the edge.

"Not yet, Princess," he denies me again, his voice thick with control. The dildo finds its home deep within me, held fast by his unyielding grip. Then, without warning, his flesh pushes into my core, filling me up in ways that test the limits of my sanity.

"Fuck," escapes me as the raw intensity of being so completely claimed by Matteo shatters every thought. He moves with a precision that ignites every nerve, his dick and the dildo moving in a synchrony that leaves no part of me untouched, unclaimed.

The world narrows down to the point of connection between us, where power and lust collide.

Every thrust is a brand, every moan a surrender to the man who rules with iron fists and a heart that beats in sync with my own.

Here, in the shadows of our dark desires, Matteo Ricci isn't just a name whispered in fear; he's my lover, my tormentor, my everything.

Heat coils tighter at my core, the world narrowing down to the relentless rhythm Matteo sets. My breath comes in sharp gasps, each one a plea for release. Tension builds like a storm within me, pressure mounting with every push and pull of flesh and silicone.

"Matteo," I pant, my voice edged with frantic need. The room fades, swallowed by the dark crescendo of pleasure that threatens to consume me whole.

And then it hits—a cataclysmic wave of sensation that tears through me, raw and all-consuming.

My muscles clamp down hard, squeezing his dick mercilessly as the dildo remains trapped inside me by the vice-like grip of my body.

My vision blurs, stars exploding behind closed eyelids, every cell ignited by the inferno he's stoked within me.

"That’s it, Princess, grip me tight," Matteo growls from above me, his voice a dark melody laced with approval and lust. His hand descends, fingers finding my clit with practiced ease, circling the sensitive nub as my orgasm ebbs away.

He doesn't pause, doesn't relent—instead, he draws back only to slam into me harder, faster.

"Please," I whimper, the word barely a breath, but Matteo hears it as clear as a gunshot. His free hand anchors me to him, holding the dildo in place as if claiming every inch of me for himself. His movements are relentless, a testament to his insatiable hunger, his need to possess me utterly.

"Not yet, Princess," he commands, his hand working me over with increased fervor. I'm climbing again, ascending rapidly toward another peak under his unyielding touch.

"I’m not gonna last," I admit, the words torn from my throat by the sheer force of what he’s doing to me. But he wants me there, on the precipice, because that's where he likes me best—completely at his mercy.

"Now," he orders, a pinch to my clit sending me spiraling into oblivion once more.

Pleasure blinds me, erasing everything but the feel of Matteo inside me, around me, consuming me.

It's a dark abyss, and I fall willingly, lost in the savage ballet of our bodies intertwined amidst the shadows of our twisted love.

"Fuck, Princess, you milk my dick so well," Matteo's voice is a growl of primal satisfaction. His body stiffens, every muscle taut and straining as he spills himself into me. He's a beast claiming his territory, and I am the conquered land, lush and yielding beneath him.

I'm drenched in sweat, and my skin prickles with the intensity of our coupling.

Matteo collapses momentarily over me, his breath hot against my spine.

His lips plant a possessive kiss on my slick back, marking me in ways invisible to the eye but scorched into my very essence.

"Told you it wasn’t a bow on my dick," he chuckles, the sound dark and smug.

Withdrawing from me, he removes the dildo with a lewd pop that echoes obscenely in the silence following our storm. A sharp smack lands on my ass, and it's Matteo's seal of approval, leaving a sting that fades to a throb of yearning for more of his brand of affection.

"Come on, Princess." His tone is lighter now, playful even amidst the darkness that clings to his aura. "Let me run you a bath so you can fall asleep and snore the house down."

The End