Page 28 of Ruined By Protection (Feretti Syndicate #5)

Hazel

" I need to rest," I whisper, suddenly aware of how bone-deep tired I am. The panic attack at the store, the fear at the gallery, and now laying my soul bare about Elliott—it's all caught up with me. "I'm exhausted."

I push myself up from the floor, my legs shaky. Matteo rises in one fluid motion, towering over me. His eyes search mine, concern etched across his features.

"Do you want me to stay?" he asks, his voice low and careful. "Or would you rather be alone?"

The thought of being alone in this room makes my lungs knot. After spilling everything about Elliott the shadows seem even darker, more threatening.

"Stay," I say. "Please."

Without thinking I step forward and wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek against his chest. His heartbeat thunders there, strong and steady. His arms come around me, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other spread across my lower back.

I melt into him, drawing strength from his solid warmth. This is different from Elliott's embrace, which always felt like being caged. Matteo holds me like I'm something precious but not fragile.

Then I feel it—the unmistakable hardness pressing against my hip. I pull back slightly, my eyes dropping down before I can stop myself. The evidence of his arousal is impossible to miss.

Heat floods my cheeks as I take a step back.

"Sorry," he says, his voice rough. "That's not something I can control right now."

The honesty he emits launches fluttering in my stomach.

"You could sit in the armchair," I suggest, gesturing to the plush chair by the window.

He shakes his head and moves to the side of the bed, lowering himself to the floor once more. He leans his back against the mattress, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

"I'm good here," he says simply.

I grab PJs from the dresser and retreat to the bathroom. I splash cold water on my face and take several deep breaths.

I change quickly into cotton shorts and a soft t-shirt borrowed from Lucrezia. When I emerge Matteo is still sitting on the floor, scrolling through his phone. He glances up and his eyes narrow as they sweep over my bare legs.

I clear my throat. "I'm going to lie down now."

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You seem nervous, bella. I can leave if I'm making you uncomfortable."

"No," I say too quickly. "I—I need the company. I don't think I could sleep otherwise."

The smirk softens into gentle acceptance. He nods once and returns his attention to his phone, giving me space.

I climb into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin despite the warmth of the room. With Matteo sitting guard on the floor I feel safe for the first time in years.

"Matteo..." I moan his name as his weight pins me to the mattress, his body covering mine like a shield. His skin burns against mine, our bodies slick with sweat as he moves inside me with slow, deliberate thrusts.

His dark eyes never leave mine, intense and possessive. "You're mine now," he whispers, his voice rough with desire. "Say it, bella. Tell me who you belong to."

"You," I gasp as he hits a spot deep inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. "Only you, Matteo."

He groans, burying his face in my neck, his stubble scraping deliciously against my sensitive skin. "That's right," he murmurs. "No one else gets to touch you like this. No one else gets to see you come apart."

His rhythm changes, becomes more urgent, more demanding. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting to feel every inch of him. My fingers dig into the muscles of his back as pleasure builds, coiling tighter and tighter in my core.

"Open your eyes," he commands.

I blink, disoriented as reality crashes in. The weight on my chest isn't Matteo—it's the winter duvet I've clutched to myself in my sleep. My body thrums with unfulfilled desire, my skin flushed and sensitive.

And Matteo...

He's not in bed with me at all. He's still on the floor where he positioned himself, sitting up straight, watching me with an expression that makes heat pool low in my belly.

"Must have been some dream," he says, his voice husky with sleep and some darker emotion. "You were moaning my name."

Mortification floods me. Had been dreaming about him—about us —and apparently making quite the noise.

"I—I don't—" I stammer, unable to form a coherent sentence as I realize my T-shirt is twisted around my waist, exposing my stomach.

Matteo's eyes drop to where the sheet has fallen away, revealing a sensitive part of my body. His jaw flexes and when he speaks again, his voice is unsmoothed gravel.

"You want to know what I think?" he shifts to his knees beside the bed, bringing his face level with mine. "I think you were dreaming about me fucking you."

My breath catches at his crude words but I can't deny it. The evidence is written all over my face, in my flushed cheeks and dilated pupils.

"Tell me I'm wrong," he challenges, his eyes never leaving mine.

I swallow hard, unable to lie. "You're not wrong."

A slow, ravenous smile spreads across his face. He leans closer, his breath warm on my lips.

"Was I good?" he asks, his finger coming up to lift a strand of hair from my face. "In your dream?"

My skin tingles where his fingers touch me. "Yes," I whisper.

His thumb traces my bottom lip, sending shivers down my spine. "Better than that night in Austin?"

The memory of our night together three years ago floods back—his hands on my body, his mouth everywhere, the way he'd made me feel things I'd never felt before or since.

"I don't know," I admit. "It's been a long time."

"What do you want, Hazel?" His voice is barely above a whisper but it fills the room.

The question hangs between us, heavy with meaning. My heart leaps and skips. My body still tingles from the dream, aching for his touch. For two years I've been controlled, told what to want, what to wear, what to say. But now, in this moment, I'm being asked what I want.

And I know exactly what that is.

"I want to be fucked," I whisper, the words feeling foreign and thrilling on my tongue.

In an instant Matteo's hand wraps around my throat—not squeezing, just holding, his thumb pressing gently against my pulse point. His eyes glitter, savage and untamed.

"Wrong answer," he says, his voice a dangerous rumble. "You don't want to be fucked. You want me to fuck you."

The correction sends a bolt of heat straight through me. He's right. It's not just anyone I want—it's him.

"Yes," I breathe, arching my spine, lifting into his hand. "I want you to fuck me, Matteo."

Matteo stares at me for a long moment, conflict raging in his eyes. His hand still rests at my throat, his thumb tracing small circles against my skin.

"Fuck it," he growls finally, releasing me and pulling his shirt over his head in one motion.

My breath catches as I take in his bare chest. He's even more beautiful than I remember—all hard muscle and smooth olive skin. A tattoo I don't recall from before marks his right forearm—a detailed compass rose.

He stands to push down his pants and I can't tear my eyes away. Every movement is controlled power, the body of a man who knows exactly what he's capable of. When he's naked he pauses, letting me look my fill.

"Last chance to change your mind," he says, his voice straining with restraint.

I look up at him, drinking in every inch of his powerful body. The moonlight filtering through the curtains casts shadows across his muscled chest, highlighting the defined ridges of his abdomen. My mouth goes dry at the sight.

"I'm not changing my mind," I whisper.

Something primal flashes in his eyes. Then he's on the bed, hovering over me. His hands grip the thin T-shirt I'm wearing and tear it down the middle with a sharp rip that makes me gasp.

His mouth crashes down on mine, hungry and demanding. I open for him instantly, meeting his tongue with mine. He tastes like mint and I drink him in, desperate for more. His hands are everywhere—cupping my breasts, sliding down my sides, gripping my hips.

"These too," he mutters against my mouth, hooking his fingers into my shorts and underwear. With one ferocious tug, the fabric gives way, leaving me completely naked beneath him.

His lips leave mine to trail hot kisses down the side of my neck. He pauses at the pulse point, licking and sucking hard enough to mark me. The slight throb sends pleasure spiraling through me.

"Matteo," I breathe, arching high into him.

"I've thought about this from the moment I saw you again," he confesses against my skin. "Dreamed about tasting you again."

He moves lower, lips closing around my nipple. The wet heat of his mouth makes me cry out, my hands flying to his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands. He sucks and licks, then gives the same attention to my other breast until I'm writhing beneath him.

"Please," I beg, although I'm not even sure what I'm begging for.

Matteo seems to know. He continues his downward path, leaving a trail of hot kisses across my stomach, pausing to dip his tongue into my navel. My muscles contract at the sensation.

"Spread your legs for me, bella," he commands, his voice hoarse with desire.

I comply without hesitation, opening myself to him completely. The cool air teases my heated center for just a moment before Matteo's warm breath replaces it.

"Fucking perfect," he murmurs, his eyes meeting mine as he settles between my thighs. "Just like I remember."

The first touch of his tongue against me makes my ribcage bow off the bed. He knows exactly where to lick, where to suck, how much pressure to apply. It's like he's memorized my body, recalling every spot that makes me tremble.

"Oh God," I gasp as he circles my clit with the tip of his tongue.

"Not God," he says, the vibration of his words against my sensitive flesh making me shudder. "Just me, Hazel. Say my name."

"Matteo," I moan, my fingers tightening in his hair.

He rewards me by sliding a finger inside me, curling it to hit that spot that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. His mouth never stops its exquisite torture, sucking and licking in a rhythm that has me climbing higher and higher.

A second finger joins the first, stretching me deliciously. The dual sensation of his fingers pumping inside me while his tongue works my clit has me teetering on the edge of complete abandon.

My thighs begin to tremble, my breath coming in short gasps. Those dark eyes look at me.

The intensity in his gaze, the skilled movements of his mouth and fingers, the way he makes me feel both safe and wild—it all crashes over me at once. My release draws forth a tsunami of pleasure radiating outward from my core, making me cry out his name as my body shakes with the force of it.

Matteo doesn't let up, drawing out my orgasm until I'm gasping and tugging his hair, the sensation almost too much to bear.

When he finally raises his head, his lips are glistening with evidence of my pleasure, his eyes dark with hunger. The sight of him looking so satisfied with himself, so proud to have made me fall apart, sends another aftershock through me.

"Perfect," he says, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh. "Absolutely fucking perfect."