Page 29 of Ruined By Protection (Feretti Syndicate #5)

Matteo

I hover above Hazel, drinking in the sight of her—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, chest rising and falling with quick breaths. Her hair fans out across the pillow like spilled honey, and her eyes, those incredible hazel eyes are molten with desire.

"You're so beautiful it fucking hurts," I murmur before capturing her lips with mine.

She moans into my mouth, her hands sliding up my chest to my shoulders.

The sensation of her soft palms against my skin ignites something primal in me.

I've had countless women since that night in Austin, but none of them left this burning need in my blood.

None of them tasted like this—like something essential I've been missing.

Suddenly Hazel's hands press against my shoulders, and she shifts beneath me. Before I can question it, she's pushing me onto my back and climbing on top of me.

"My turn," she whispers, straddling my hips.

I let my hands rest on her thighs, giving her the control she's asking for. After what that bastard put her through—controlling every aspect of her life—the least I can do is let her take what she wants from me.

"Take whatever you need, bella mia," I tell her, my voice raking with desire.

The moonlight streaming through the window bathes her naked body in silver, highlighting every curve, every dip, every perfect inch of her.

Her breasts sway gently as she moves, nipples hard and begging for my touch.

The marks of that bastard's abuse are still visible on her skin—fading bruises that make rage simmer beneath my desire—but in this moment she looks powerful. Fierce. Free.

She leans forward, her hair falling around us like a curtain as she kisses me deeply. I cup her face, letting her set the pace, though it's killing me not to flip her over and bury myself inside her.

"Condom," she whispers against my lips.

I reach to where my pants lie discarded, fishing my wallet from the pocket. I always carry protection.

I retrieve the foil packet and tear it open. Hazel watches, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, as I roll the condom down my length. Her eyes stretch slightly and I remember how tight she felt that night.

She positions herself above me, one hand on my chest for balance, the other reaching between us to guide me to her entrance.

Her eyes bolt onto mine as she begins to lower herself onto me. The sensation is exquisite torture—hot, tight, perfect. I watch her face as she takes me inch by inch, her lips parting in a silent gasp, her eyes rolling back slightly as I fill her completely.

"Fuck," I groan when she's fully seated, my fingers digging into the soft flesh at her hips.

She stays still for a moment, adjusting to the feeling of me inside her. I force myself to remain motionless, letting her set the pace, though every instinct in my body yearns to thrust up into her welcoming heat.

When she begins to move it's with a slow, deliberate roll of her hips. Her hands find purchase on my chest as she rises up slightly before sinking back down, taking me deeper each time.

She increases her pace, riding me with growing urgency. Her breasts bounce with each thrust and I can't resist reaching up to cup them, thumbs brushing over her nipples.

She throws her head back, a low moan escaping her throat as she moves faster, harder. There's a desperation in her now, like she's chasing something vital. Her nails dig into my chest, no doubt they'll leave crescent marks that I'll wear proudly.

"Matteo," she gasps, her inner muscles clenching around me as she rides me like it's the last thing she'll ever do.

I thrust up to meet her, matching her frantic pace. Our bodies slam together, the sound of skin slapping skin fills the room alongside our mingled moans. Sweat glistens on her skin, making her glow in the dim light.

"That's it," I growl, feeling her begin to tighten around me. "Come for me again, Hazel. Let me feel you."

Her movements become erratic, her breathing ragged. I slide a hand between us, my thumb finding her clit and circling it with firm pressure. The effect is immediate—she cries out, her body tensing as swells of pleasure crash through her.

The sight of her coming apart above me, combined with the exquisite pressure of her inner walls pulsing around me, shoves me over the edge and I empty myself inside her.

I lie in bed with Hazel curled against my arm, her breathing steady and warm on my skin. The room feels suspended in time - just us, tangled in sheets, the rest of the world locked outside. My fingers draw lazy circles on her shoulder while my mind tumbles with questions.

The silence between us stretches, comfortable but loaded with everything unsaid. I can't hold it in anymore.

"Why did you leave that morning?"

Hazel laughs, a soft sound that vibrates against my chest. "What reason would there have been to stay? You were leaving town that day anyway." She shifts slightly, looking up at me. "We had sex. You told me you only do one-night stands. That's what it was."

"I never said I didn't want to see you in the morning." My tone is harsh. "At least for a goodbye?"

She stares at me, those hazel eyes searching mine. "Why? Would it have mattered?"

The question slams me square in the chest. Why did it matter? Why has it bothered me for three years that she slipped away without a word? Why did I keep that memory of her locked away when I've forgotten countless other women?

I open my mouth, then close it. The words don't come.

"That's what I thought," she says, not unkindly.

"No, it's not that." I run a hand through my hair, frustrated with myself. "I just... fuck, I don't know."

And that's the truth. I don't know why it mattered. I don't know why I remembered her when I shouldn't have. I don't know why finding her again feels significant when it should just be convenient sex with someone I've already had.

I've never been good with words that matter. I can negotiate business deals, threaten enemies, charm information out of people - but this? Explaining something I don't understand myself?

"I just wanted to see your face again," I finally admit. "In the daylight."

I watch Hazel's expression change, a mixture of curiosity and something else I can't quite read.

"Why don't you just have relationships like all normal people do?" she asks, her fingers tracing an idle pattern on my chest. "Instead of all these one-night stands?"

The question catches me off guard and a genuine laugh escapes me. A real laugh that feels strange coming from my throat.

"Normal people?" I repeat, shifting to look at her directly. "Hazel, do you really think I'm a normal guy?"

She studies me for a moment, those unique eyes taking in every detail of my face. "No," she finally says. "You're not normal. But that doesn't answer my question."

I exhale slowly, considering how much to tell her. I've never explained this to anyone before.

"In my line of work relationships are a liability," I say, my voice low. "Any person close to me becomes a potential target, a weakness someone can exploit. A girlfriend? That's just a hostage waiting to happen."

I pause, remembering Lucrezia's kidnapping and the hell the family went through.

"I've seen what happens when enemies take the people you care about.

I won't put someone through that risk." I run my thumb along her jawline.

"And even if I could keep them safe, what kind of life would that be?

Constantly looking over your shoulder, never knowing if today's the day someone decides to get to me through you. "

I shift my gaze to the ceiling. "Besides, I'm not built for the normal shit. The anniversaries, the meeting the parents, the compromising. I work for Damiano. I'm on call 24/7. My life isn't mine to share."

The admission feels heavier than I expected, like I've revealed more than I intended.

"So I keep it simple. One night, maybe two. Everyone knows the rules going in. Nobody gets hurt." I look back at her. "Nobody is disappointed when I have to leave in the middle of dinner because Damiano calls. Nobody has to lie to their friends about what I really do."

I watch the emotions play across Hazel's face as she processes everything I've just said. There's understanding there, as well as an unreadable emotion she’s working through—something that makes my chest loop in knots.

"That's sad," she finally says, her voice soft. "And horrible."

The words ram harder than they should. I've never thought of my life choices as sad before. Necessary, practical, smart—but not sad.

"It's just reality," I counter.

She shakes her head slightly, hair spilling across the pillow. "No, it's a choice. A choice you've made because of your reality but still a choice."

I clench my jaw, not liking how easily she cuts through my bullshit. Most people don't challenge me like this—they either want something from me or they're too afraid to push back.

"It's more complicated now anyway," she continues, her fingers still tracing patterns on my chest. "Between us, I mean."

"How so?" I ask, though I already know the answer.

"I'm technically still married to a man who's actively hunting me down. I'm staying in your boss's house. You're my security detail." She gives a small, humorless laugh. "Not exactly the setup for anything simple."

"True."

"Besides," she adds, her voice taking on a forced casualness that doesn't quite ring true, "I don't want anything else either. A relationship is the last thing I need right now."

A cold boulder settles in my stomach at her words. They're perfectly reasonable—logical even.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. She's right. Of course she's fucking right. This thing between us can't be anything more than what it is—temporary relief, physical comfort in the middle of a storm.

"So we're on the same page," I say, the words feeling shallow as they leave my mouth.

"Completely." She smiles but it doesn't reach her eyes.

The silence that follows feels heavier than before. I should feel relieved. This is exactly what I want—sex without complications, no expectations, no promises I can't keep. So why does it feel like I've lost something I never had?

I stare at the ceiling, watching shadows dance across it from the moonlight filtering through the curtains. There's a weight on my chest that has nothing to do with Hazel's head resting there.

She shifts slightly, her breath warm against my skin. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing important," I lie. "We should get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

She makes a small sound of agreement, settling herself closer against me. Within minutes her breathing evens out as sleep claims her.

I remain awake, my mind racing with thoughts I don't want to examine too closely. Thoughts about what it might be like to wake up to her every morning. About how she fits against me like she was made to be there. About what Elliott Montgomery's face will look like when I finally find him.