Page 7 of Ruined By Protection (Feretti Syndicate #5)

Matteo

I pull away from Hazel, still trying to catch my breath. My legs feel unsteady as I step back, taking in the sight before me. She's sprawled on the table, hair wild around her flushed face, her body glistening with sweat. The table beneath her is soaked, evidence of what just happened between us.

Fuck. That was unexpected.

As I take my condom off, I can't stop the satisfied grin spreading across my face. The confusion on her face when she squirted tells me everything I need to know—this is new territory for her. The thought that I'm the first to make her body respond that way sends a possessive thrill through me.

"You okay?" I ask, pulling on my pants.

Hazel sits up slowly, wincing slightly. "I think so. That was... intense."

I watch as she slides off the table, her legs trembling beneath her. She nearly stumbles, and I reach out to steady her with one hand while fastening my belt with the other.

"Careful there, bella." I can't help the smugness in my voice. "Your legs working alright?"

She shoots me a look, half embarrassment and half something else—pride, maybe. "I've just never... that's never happened before."

"I figured." I pull my shirt on, not bothering with the buttons yet. "First time squirting?"

Her cheeks flush deeper as she nods, reaching for her panties and attempting to balance on one foot to put them on. She wobbles again and I step closer, placing a steadying hand on her hip.

"Oh my god," she says suddenly, looking at the mess on the table and floor. "I need to clean this up. We can't leave it like this."

I take a moment to appreciate the view as she bends to retrieve her bra—the perfect curve of her ass, the red marks from my fingers on her hips. My cock twitches with renewed interest despite having just come.

"Don't worry about it," I tell her, picking up her shirt from where I tossed it. "Peter will handle the cleanup."

"But that's—" she sputters, gesturing at the wet table. "That's embarrassing! I can't let him see that!"

I step behind her, pressing my chest to her back as I hand her the shirt over her shoulder. My lips brush her ear as I speak.

"What Peter doesn't know is that he'll be cleaning up the sweetest juice in the entire universe."

She turns her head, our faces inches apart. Those hazel eyes widen, pupils still bloated from pleasure. Something passes between us—a current of electricity that hasn't diminished one bit.

I need to have her again. Soon.

"Let me help you," I say, taking the pants from her hands.

I gather the fabric and hold it open for her to step into. She does. My fingers trail along her skin as I pull the zipper up, deliberately slow.

"There," I say. "Though it seems a shame to cover you up when I'm just going to take it all off again in a few minutes."

Her breath catches. "What do you mean?"

I cup her face in my hand, my thumb tracing her bottom lip. "I mean I'm not nearly done with you yet, Hazel. That was just the beginning."

"But—"

"I'm going to take you back to my room," I tell her, my voice dropping lower. "And I'm going to make you squirt again. And again. All night long."

Her pupils dilate further, her lips parting slightly. "Matteo..."

"I want to hear you scream my name until your voice gives out," I continue, pulling her closer. "I want to taste every inch of you."

She swallows hard, her hands coming to rest on my chest. "The kitchen?—"

"Will be fine," I finish for her. "Trust me."

I step back, buttoning my shirt quickly before grabbing my jacket. I take her hand, leading her toward the door. Before we leave I pull out my wallet and leave a stack of bills on the counter—far more than necessary for the lobster and the cleanup.

In the empty hallway I pull her to me again, unable to resist tasting her lips once more. She melts against me, her body soft and pliant.

When I break the kiss I see my desire mirrored in her eyes—she wants this as much as I do. Without warning, I bend and scoop her into my arms. She lets out a surprised squeak, her arms automatically wrapping around my neck.

"What are you doing?" she asks, laughing.

"Taking what's mine," I answer simply, carrying her toward the elevator.

Her weight is nothing in my arms as I stride through the hotel's back corridor. She feels right there, her head tucked against my shoulder, her scent filling my senses.

"I can walk, you know," she protests weakly.

"Maybe," I concede with a smirk. "But your legs were shaking pretty hard back there. And besides—" I press the elevator call button with my elbow "—I like having you in my arms."

We get inside and she is still heavy-breathing.

I watch the doors close with Hazel cradled in my arms. The moment we're alone I set her down, pressing her against the mirrored wall. Her eyes are wide, lips parted, chest still rising and falling rapidly.

"What floor?" she asks breathlessly.

I reach past her to press the button for the presidential suite, my body caging hers against the wall. "Top floor."

Before she can respond, my mouth is on hers again, hungry and demanding. My hands find her hips, pulling her against me so she can feel how hard I am again already.

The elevator begins its ascent but I have other plans. Without breaking the kiss, I reach over and hit the emergency stop button. The elevator jolts to a halt and a small alarm bell chimes once before falling silent.

Hazel pulls back, surprise flashing across her face. "What are you?—"

"I can't wait," I growl, dropping to my knees in front of her. "Need to taste you right now."

Her eyes stretch as I pull down the zipper of her pants, tugging them down her legs. She steps out of them without protest, her breathing quickening.

"Matteo, we're in an elevator," she whispers, glancing nervously at the camera in the corner.

I smirk up at her. "Don't worry about that. Security knows better than to check when I stop the elevator."

I stand again, lifting her effortlessly. She gasps, wrapping her legs around my waist instinctively. I carry her to the corner of the elevator, positioning her so her back is supported by the walls meeting at a right angle.

"Hold onto the handrails," I command.

She obeys, gripping them tightly as I position her onto my shoulders, her thighs framing my face. The position gives me perfect access to her core, still wet and swollen from before.

"Fuck," I murmur against her inner thigh, breathing in her scent. "You smell so good."

I feel her thighs tremble on my stubbled cheeks as I trace my tongue along her sensitive skin, deliberately avoiding where she wants me most. Her hands tighten on the rails, knuckles white with tension.

"Matteo," she whimpers, trying to shift her hips closer to my mouth.

I chuckle against her skin. "Patience, baby girl."

When I finally run my tongue along her center, she lets out a broken moan that echoes in the confined space. The taste of her explodes across my tongue—sweet and tangy and addictive.

I groan, lapping at her eagerly. "So fucking sweet."

Her hips buck against my face as I circle her clit with my tongue. I grip her thighs tighter, holding her steady as I devour her. My cock strains painfully against my pants but I ignore it, focused entirely on her pleasure.

"Oh god," she gasps, her head falling back against the mirrored wall. "That feels?—"

I slide two fingers inside her, curling them upward to find that spot that made her come undone in the kitchen. Her walls clench around my fingers immediately, telling me I've found it.

I work my fingers in and out while sucking her clit between my lips. Her moans grow louder, less controlled. I can feel her thighs starting to shake against my shoulders.

Her back arches away from the wall as her orgasm builds. I increase the pressure of my fingers, massaging that spot inside her relentlessly while my tongue flicks rapidly over her clit.

"Matteo!" she cries out, her body tensing. "I'm going to—oh god?—"

She comes with a scream, her release flooding my mouth and chin. I groan against her, drinking her in as she pulses around my fingers. The sweet tang of her arousal coats my tongue as I continue licking her through the aftershocks.

When her body finally stops trembling I carefully lower her, supporting her weight as her feet touch the floor. Her legs are unsteady and she leans heavily against me, breathing hard.

I bring my fingers to my mouth, making sure she's watching as I lick them clean. Her eyes darken at the sight of my voraciousness.

"You taste like heaven," I tell her, my voice thick with need.

I press my fingers, still wet with her arousal, against her lips. "Taste yourself on me."

She hesitates only for a second before opening her mouth, allowing my fingers to slip inside. Her tongue swirls around them, cleaning them thoroughly. The sight of her sucking my fingers, tasting herself, nearly makes me come in my pants.

A soft moan escapes her as I withdraw my fingers. I reach over and press the button to restart the elevator, watching her face as she analyses what just happened.

"That was..." she trails off, unable to find the words.

I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, my thumb tracing her flushed cheek. "We're just getting started, Hazel."

The elevator hums back to life, continuing its journey upward. I bend down to retrieve her pants, helping her step back into them.

Hazel

I slip out of bed, careful not to wake him. My body aches in the most delicious way as I pad across the plush carpet toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. Moonlight spills through the glass, casting the presidential suite in silver shadows.

This place is bigger than my entire apartment. The living area alone could fit my bedroom three times over. Leather furniture, crystal decanters on the bar cart, and artwork that probably costs more than I'll make in a year. Everything screams money and power.

I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly feeling small and out of place. Just a bartender working all hours to make ends meet.

Turning back to the bed, I watch Matteo sleep.

He looks different like this—softer somehow.

The dangerous edge that envelops him when he's awake has melted away.

His dark lashes rest against his cheeks, his full lips slightly parted.

The sheets pool at his waist, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest and the tattoos marking his skin.

My fingers touch my lips, still swollen from his kisses. I've never experienced anything like what happened between us tonight. Not just the physical pleasure—though God knows that was unlike anything I've ever felt—but the intensity of the connection.

I've always chosen safe men. Predictable men. Men who wouldn't challenge me or hurt me. Men I could walk away from when things got complicated.

Matteo is none of those things.

My body responds to him in ways I didn't know were possible. He touched places inside me no one has ever reached—and I don't just mean physically. That terrifies me more than anything.

I press my thighs together, feeling the pleasant soreness between them. Three times since we got to the suite, and each time more intense than the last. My cheeks heat, remembering the things he whispered in my ear, the way he made me beg.

But tomorrow he'll be gone. Back to his real life, whatever that is. I'm not naive enough to believe I'm anything more than a one-night stand to a man like him.

I touch the wildflower tattoo on my wrist, tracing the delicate lines with my finger. What am I still doing here?

Matteo

I wake to sunlight streaming through the windows I forgot to curtain last night. My body feels relaxed, satisfied in a way I haven't experienced in years. I reach across the bed, seeking Hazel's warmth, but my hand finds only cool sheets.

"Hazel?" I call, pushing up onto my elbows.

The space beside me is empty. I scan the room, noticing the absence of her clothes that were scattered across the floor last night. The door to the bathroom stands open, lights off.

"Hazel?" I call louder, throwing back the sheets and getting out of bed.

No answer.

I check the bathroom anyway, finding it empty. The living area of the suite is equally deserted, no sign of her anywhere. A knot forms in my stomach as I walk back to the bed, running a hand through my hair.

That's when I spot it—a small folded piece of paper on her pillow. I snatch it up, unfolding the hotel stationery to find her neat handwriting:

Matteo,

Thank you for last night. I didn't want to wake you.

Have a good flight back to New York.

—Hazel

No phone number. No ‘call me sometime’. Nothing but a polite thank you and goodbye.

The paper crumples in my fist as I stare at the empty bed. Last night replays in my mind—her gasps, her smile, the way she trembled under my touch.

And now she's gone.

Fuck.