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

Matteo

W atching Hazel eat from my fingers is a special kind of torture. Her eyes flutter closed as she takes each piece of lobster, those full pink lips closing around the morsel—and my fingertips. My cock stiffens against my zipper with each small brush of her mouth.

She sits perched on the table, honey waves cascading over her shoulders, catching the light from the overhead fixture.

The harsh kitchen lighting should make her look washed out, but instead it gives her skin a golden glow.

Her cheeks have a flush that wasn't there before—hunger or arousal, I'm not sure which. Maybe both.

I break off another piece of lobster, larger this time. "Open," I command.

Her eyes meet mine, a flash of defiance in those hazel depths before she parts her lips.

I place the meat on her tongue, deliberately letting my fingers linger against the soft wetness of her mouth.

She doesn't pull back. Simply closes her lips around my fingertips for the briefest moment before I withdraw.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath.

"What?" she asks, slightly breathless as she swallows.

"Nothing." I break off another piece, trying to focus on the task rather than how badly I want to replace the lobster with my tongue. "Just making sure you're getting enough to eat."

Her legs remain slightly parted where I'd positioned her on the table, and I'm standing between them, close enough to feel the heat of her body. Her work uniform—that tight black shirt and those form-fitting pants—leaves little to imagination, but my mind fills in the blanks anyway.

"It's delicious," she says, and her tongue darts out to catch a drop of buttery juice on her lower lip.

My cock throbs painfully at the sight. I shift my stance, trying to ease the pressure.

"Don’t you want some?" she asks, noticing I haven't eaten any myself.

"I'm enjoying watching you eat," I admit, my voice rougher than I intended.

Her eyes widen slightly, pupils dilating. She knows exactly what's happening between us. The air feels charged, electric with possibility.

I break off another piece of lobster, this one dripping slightly.

I dip the lobster piece into the aioli I brought with me and hold it up to her lips. "Try this."

She opens her mouth, taking the morsel and my fingertips together. This time, she closes her eyes and makes a small noise in the back of her throat—a moan so soft it's almost inaudible, but it hits me.

Fuck me. I want to be balls deep inside her right fucking now.

The thought is so intense it's almost painful. I want to lay her back on this table, push those tight pants down her legs, and bury myself in her. I want to hear that moan again, louder this time, with my name mixed in.

As she chews I notice a small smear of the garlic aioli on the corner of her mouth. Perfect.

"You have a little..." I gesture to the corner of her mouth.

She raises her hand to wipe it away but I catch her wrist. Her pulse jumps beneath my thumb.

"Let me," I say.

I slide my thumb across the corner of her mouth, collecting the creamy sauce. Then, deliberately, I trace her full bottom lip with my thumb, spreading the aioli in a slow glide across the pink flesh. Her breath catches, her pupils dilating until those hazel eyes are mostly black.

I hold her gaze as I cup her jaw with my free hand, my fingers threading into the silky hair at the nape of her neck. Her skin is warm beneath my palm, soft in a way that makes me want to touch every inch of her.

"Matteo," she whispers, my name a question on her lips.

I don't answer with words. I pull her face toward mine and press my mouth to hers, my tongue sweeping across her bottom lip to taste the sauce I'd just spread there. The garlic aioli is good but she tastes better—sweet and warm and alive.

For a heartbeat, she freezes. Then she melts against me, her hands coming up to grip my shoulders. I deepen the kiss, angling her head exactly how I want it, taking control of her mouth the way I've been imagining since I first saw her behind that bar.

She makes that soft noise again—that barely-there moan that drives me fucking crazy.

I growl in response, my hand tightening in her hair.

I press closer, stepping fully between her thighs where she sits on the table.

Her legs part further to accommodate me and I can feel the heat of her through the layers of our clothes.

Hazel

His mouth crashes against mine and everything in my world narrows to this moment. This man. This kiss.

Matteo tastes like danger and expensive whiskey, his tongue sweeping across mine with confident possession.

My brain short-circuits, unable to form a single coherent thought beyond the electric sensation of his lips on mine.

The rough scrape of his beard against my sensitive skin sends shivers racing through my core.

I should stop this. I should push him away. I should...

But I can't think of a single reason why I should stop. Not when his hand cradles my jaw so tenderly while his kiss devours me. Not when heat pools between my thighs, my body responding to his touch like he's flipped some hidden switch inside me.

His other hand slides to my waist, fingers digging into my hip as he pulls me closer to the edge of the table.

My legs part instinctively as he presses his body against mine.

The hard bulge of his arousal pushes against my center, and I gasp into his mouth as the delicious pressure suffuses my entire body.

"Fuck," I whisper against his lips, unable to contain the word.

He smiles against my mouth, a predatory curve of his lips that I feel rather than see. "That's the idea, bella."

His lips trail down my neck, teeth grazing my pulse point. My head falls back, giving him better access as pleasure spirals through me. Each nip of his teeth, each stroke of his tongue sends another wave of heat to my center. I'm embarrassingly wet already, my panties damp beneath my work pants.

I slide my hands from his shoulders to his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath his smooth cotton shirt. My fingers curl into the pristine fabric, pulling him even closer. I need more contact, more pressure, more everything.

Matteo groans against my throat, his hands tightening on my waist before yanking my tucked shirt free. "You feel what you do to me?" he says, grinding his hardness against me.

The raw desire in his voice makes me tremble. I've never wanted anyone this badly, this quickly. Something about Matteo bypasses all my usual caution, all my carefully constructed walls.

"Tell me what you want, Hazel," he commands, his voice a rough whisper against my ear. His hand slides under my shirt, calloused fingers tracing the bare skin of my lower back. "Tell me exactly what you need."

His touch burns like a brand, marking me as his. I arch into him, desperate for more contact.

"I want you," I manage to say, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears. It's husky, needy in a way I've never heard myself sound before.

"Be specific," he growls, nipping at my earlobe. "I need to hear you say it."

His hand moves higher under my shirt, fingers tracing the edge of my bra underwire. Every nerve ending in my body feels alive, hyper-aware of his touch, his scent, his heat.

"I want you to fuck me," I whisper, shocking myself with my boldness. But it's true—I've never been more certain of anything. In this moment I need him like I need air.

A sound rumbles from deep in his chest, a groan and a growl at the same time. His eyes, when they meet mine, are nearly black with desire, only a thin ring of brown visible around his huge pupils.

"Say it again," he demands. His thumb brushes across my nipple through the thin fabric of my bra and I gasp at the jolt of pleasure.

"Fuck me, Matteo," I say, louder this time, more confident.

Matteo's hands slide to the hem of my shirt, his eyes locked with mine while he slowly unbuttons it then slides it back off my shoulders. He tosses it aside and reaches behind to unhook my bra. The straps drop down my arms and I resist the urge to cover myself as the garment falls away.

"Beautiful," he whispers, reverence in his voice. His rough palms cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my hardened nipples. I arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping my lips.

His mouth replaces his hands, hot and wet as he sucks one nipple between his lips. The sensation shoots straight to my core and I dagger my fingers through his dark hair, holding him against me.

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

Matteo's hands move to the waistband of my pants, unfastening them while I lift my hips to help him get them off-now.

He hooks his fingers into both pants and underwear, tugging them down my legs in one smooth motion.

I'm completely naked, perched on the edge of a table in the middle of the hotel kitchen.

I should feel exposed, vulnerable. Instead, I feel powerful under his hungry gaze.

Matteo steps back, his eyes roaming over every inch of me. His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he takes me in. The intensity of his stare is almost physical, like a caress across my skin.

His fingers work the buttons of his own shirt, revealing tanned skin and defined muscle beneath. He shrugs it off his broad shoulders, and I can't help but stare.

Matteo's body is a work of art—sculpted chest dusted with dark hair that narrows to a trail disappearing into his pants.

A black cross tattoo marks his left wrist, while an intricate compass design adorns his right forearm.

My eyes trace the lines of a tattoo peeking from his left shoulder blade, though I can't make out the design.

His abs flex as he moves, and I spot Italian script curving along his ribcage.

Scars mark his skin here and there—a thin white line across his collarbone, a puckered mark near his right shoulder.

He unfastens his belt, then his pants and boxer briefs join the growing pile of clothes on the floor.