AmaraMatteo strides into my room without knocking, as if he owns me—and maybe in his mind, he does. His presence fills the space, and before I can form a question or complaint, he’s in front of me, his hands cupping my face as he leans down to press a kiss to my lips.It’s not soft, and it’s not exactly gentle. It’s possessive, calculated, like he’s reminding me who he is and the hold he thinks he has on me. The shocking part is… I don’t pull away.When he finally leans back, his green eyes searching mine, he smirks faintly, as if he knows how much he’s throwing me off balance. “Lunch,” he says simply, offering no explanation for the kiss. “Come on.”Still stunned, I blink at him. “Lunch?”“Yes, princess,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “It’s a meal people eat in the middle of the day. Now, move.”I glare at him, my cheeks heating. “You don’t have to be an ass about it.”He chuckles as he steps back, giving me just enough space to slip past him. “I’d argue that being an as
MatteoI tell myself this will be the last time. The last time I let her pull me under, let myself drown in her. But as I stand in the shadows of her room, watching her chest rise and fall in peaceful sleep, I know it’s a fucking lie. I watch her sleep for a moment; her features soft, her lips slightly parted, completely unaware that I’m here again, invading her space like the fucking predator I am. She doesn’t even stir as I crawl onto the bed, spreading her legs gently, careful not to wake her too soon.I pull her panties down and my mouth finds her center, hot and slick and already begging for me. I bury my tongue between her folds, moving slow and teasing. Her body responds even in sleep, her hips shifting, her breath catching, and it makes me harder than I have any right to be.Grinning, I look up at her as my tongue circles her clit, teasing and relentless. Her eyes are still closed, her head tipped back, but her body betrays her. Her hips roll against my mouth, her thighs tremb
AmaraThe first thing I notice when I wake up is the cold. The bed feels empty, the warmth that Matteo always radiates nowhere to be found. I shift, my hand brushing the space where he had been, and it’s cool to the touch. He must have left hours ago.I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts swirling in a tangled mess. The events of last night come rushing back with brutal clarity—his touch, his words, his tongue and the way I had given in so easily, like it was the most natural thing in the world.I press my hands to my face, trying to drown out the flush creeping over my cheeks. I let him in, not just into my bed, but into parts of me I swore he’d never touch. Matteo has been claiming me since the moment he dragged me from that church. Every look, every touch, every goddamn word he’s spoken has been a declaration. But this time, I wasn’t just the unwilling captive. I gave him something willingly.Why?The question sits heavy in my chest, a weight I can’t shake. I don’t love
AmaraFor a moment, I hesitate, not out of fear but because I’ve never done this before, never even thought about doing this before. But Matteo? He’s different. The way he looks at me, the way he consumes me, makes me want to give him whatever he demands.When I don’t move fast enough, his grip tightens slightly, his thumb pressing into my lip with just enough force to sting. “Now, Amara,” he growls, his tone sharp, cutting through my hesitation.I part my lips, my heart pounding as his feral grin spreads wider.“That’s my good girl,” he mutters, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip before he gets to his feet and pulls out his cock. My eyes widen when I see the size of him.Then he presses the head of his cock against my tongue. “Now let’s see if you can back up all that fucking talk.”He guides himself to my lips, the weight of him heavy against my tongue as he pushes inside. The sensation is foreign, overwhelming, and my hands clutch at the sheets as I try to adjust. He’s slow at
AmaraThe door clicks shut behind Matteo, and the sound seems to echo in the silence of the room. I stare at the ceiling, my thoughts a tangled mess of confusion and frustration. The warmth of his presence still lingers in the air, and I hate that I notice it, hate that I feel the cold settling in as soon as he’s gone.I pull the blanket tighter around me, trying to shake the lingering sensation of his kiss, the weight of his hand on my jaw, the dangerous promise in his voice when he said he’d deal with me later. It’s maddening how much space he takes up, even when he’s not here.What is wrong with me?I should be planning my escape, not lying here thinking about the way he looked at me, the way he touches me like he owns every part of me. And maybe he does.My stomach twists at the thought, and I press my palms to my face, trying to block it out. But the questions won’t stop.What hold does Matteo Dragonetti have over me? How did it come to this?I never asked for this—to be taken,
AmaraI’m ripped from sleep by the weight of him—heavy, warm, and unmistakable—pressing down against me. My heart jumps to my throat before I fully wake, my body instinctively trying to move, to push him off. But the second I recognize him—his gorgeous cologne—everything inside me stills.Matteo is back.His face is buried in the crook of my neck, his body caging me against the mattress. He’s holding me so tightly, it’s like he’s afraid I might disappear. His breaths are ragged, hot against my skin, and I can feel the tension vibrating off him, coiled and dangerous.I should shove him away. I should say something cutting and remind him that he left me here, locked up, like I was nothing more than an afterthought. But I don’t.Because the way he’s holding me—the desperation in the way his arms crush me to his chest, the way his lips are pressed to my throat, barely moving but there—makes my heart clench. It’s silent, wordless, but I feel it. He missed me. He’ll never say it, but it’s
AmaraBefore I can respond, his hands are on me—one gripping my waist, the other sliding up beneath the oversized shirt I’m wearing. His touch is slow, fingers trailing over my skin in a way that makes my breath catch in my throat.“Matteo,” I warn, my voice trembling despite myself.“What?” he drawls, his lips grazing the shell of my ear, his tone mocking. “Afraid you’re going to break first?”I clench my teeth, refusing to answer, but Matteo’s patient. Torturously so. He trails his fingers lower, skimming over my hip, my thigh, his touch light enough to drive me insane. My back arches slightly, chasing the contact even as my mind tells me to resist.“You can keep your mouth shut all you want,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin. “But your body doesn’t lie, Amara. You’ve missed me. I can feel it.”I force out a laugh, sharp and breathless. “You’re delusional.”“Am I?” Matteo’s grin widens, and his hand slides higher, teasing the sensitive skin along my inner thigh. “Let’s see
MatteoI stare down at Amara as she watches me like she’s trying to peel me apart with her eyes. She’s always looking for cracks, for weakness, as if she’ll find some way to slip a knife between my ribs if I let her get too close. I’d laugh if it wasn’t so fucking pathetic—she doesn’t realize she’s already there. Already under my skin. Already carving herself into me.But I’m not about to say any of that. Not out loud. I’ve given her enough for one night.“Go to sleep,” I mutter as I get to my feet, yanking off my boots one at a time and letting them thud against the floor. Her eyes follow every movement, suspicious as always.“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice edged with that bratty defiance I’ve grown to expect.I don’t answer right away. Instead, I unstrap the tactical vest I’m wearing, letting it drop with a heavy thud next to the bed. My knives go next—one tucked at my ankle, one hidden under my shirt—and I make a point of dismantling my gun, piece by piece, before setti
AmaraI wake slowly, my body heavy and warm, cocooned in a tangle of sheets and the steady, grounding heat of Matteo pressed against me. His arm is draped over my waist, holding me against his chest like he’s afraid I’ll slip away in the night.The memories from the night before rush back in a wave, and my cheeks heat as I bury my face into the pillow. I gave myself to him. My first. Matteo Dragonetti. And he was…Gentle.The thought surprises me. Matteo, who has only ever been cruel, cold, and possessive, was careful with me. His touch, his words, everything was different last night.But even as my body feels sated, my heart twists with anxiety.What happens now?I gave him the one thing I had left, the last piece of myself I’d kept untouched, and now… now I feel empty, like I’ve lost something I’ll never get back.Tears prick my eyes before I can stop them, and I try to stay quiet, biting my lip to stifle the sob building in my chest. But it’s useless. A sniffle escapes, soft but en
MatteoHer brows knit together, and for a moment, she looks like she might fight me again. But then she nods, her voice barely a whisper. “I do.”Something in me twists at that. It’s not the answer I was expecting, and it hits me harder than I’d like to admit. But I don’t let it show. Instead, I lean down, brushing my lips against hers in a kiss that’s softer this time, almost tender.“Good girl,” I murmur, the words slipping out before I can stop them.She shivers at my praise, her hands sliding up my arms, her nails scraping lightly against my skin as she pulls me closer.“You’re so fucking perfect,” I growl, my lips trailing down her neck, to her collarbone, to the swell of her breast. “Do you even realize that?”She lets out a soft sound, somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. “I’m not—”“Shut up,” I interrupt, my teeth grazing her skin just enough to make her gasp. “I don’t say things I don’t mean, Amara. You should know that by now.”Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling slightl
MatteoI watch her beneath me, her eyes wide but steady, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as her fingers dig into my shoulders. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away, even when I can feel how hard my hands are gripping her hips. She’s never been afraid of me, not really, and that’s what drives me fucking insane.“You have no idea,” I murmur again, the words slipping out as I brush my lips over hers, softer this time, almost reverent. “How much I want you. It’s not just want—it’s need. Fucking need.”Her hands tighten against my shoulders, and I pull back enough to look at her, my gaze searching hers. “You came to me,” I say, my voice rough. “You didn’t have to, but you did.”She blinks up at me, her breath catching as she whispers, “You gave me a choice.”“And you chose me,” I growl, the truth of it settling deep in my chest, both exhilarating and terrifying. “You chose me, princess. Do you have any idea what that means?”She shakes her head slightly, her lips parting
AmaraI sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the door, hating myself for how badly I want to open it.His words echo in my mind, over and over, like a song I can’t shake: Come to my bed tonight.It wasn’t an order, and that’s what makes it worse. Matteo never gives choices, and yet, tonight, he handed me one. And what’s worse? The second the words left his mouth, my first instinct was to say yes.I hate myself for it. For the way my chest tightened when he said it. For the way my breath caught when he turned and walked away, leaving me alone with the chaos he created.I’ve spent the last hour pacing my room, the walls feeling smaller and smaller with every step I take. My thoughts are louder than they should be, a war raging in my head between what I want and what I should do.What I should do is lock my door, bury myself under the covers, and pretend none of this happened.But what I want to do…I let out a frustrated sigh, running my hands through my hair. Dancing helped clear my h
MatteoAmara’s head rests against my chest, and I can feel the warmth of her breath through the fabric of my shirt. Her hands are still gripping me, as if letting go would break whatever fragile thread is holding her together.And for once, I don’t feel the need to speak.Her vulnerability is raw, unfiltered, and it seeps into me in a way that nothing else ever has. It’s not weakness—not with her. It’s strength disguised as surrender, and I don’t know what the fuck to do with it.My hand trails down her back, settling at the curve of her waist. I can feel the tension slowly bleeding out of her, her breaths evening out, though there’s still a hesitance in the way she leans into me. Like she’s testing how much of herself she can give before I take too much.“I hate how you do this to me,” she whispers, her voice muffled against my chest.I smirk, even though she can’t see it. “What, make you melt like this?”She pulls back just enough to glare up at me, though there’s no real bite to it
MatteoI hesitate outside her door, my chest tight with a fear I’ll never admit out loud. The guards reported nothing. No movement, no alarms, no sign she’d tried to leave. But still, I’m bracing myself for an empty room.I left the door unlocked on purpose. A test—or maybe a choice, I’m not sure anymore. I told myself it was to see what she’d do, to prove something about her loyalty or lack of it. But now, standing here, I feel like a fucking idiot.If she’s gone…I can’t even finish the thought.Swallowing hard, I push the door open, expecting the worst.But she’s there.My breath catches in my throat as I take in the sight before me. She’s not in bed. She’s not cowering, plotting, or even sulking like I half expected.She’s dancing.Her movements are fluid, precise, like she’s caught in her own world, a world I have no right to step into. She doesn’t see me, too engrossed in the rhythm of her own body. Her arms move gracefully, her feet gliding across the floor with a lightness tha
MatteoThe meeting drags on, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on. My father sits at the head of the table, commanding the room with a calm authority that’s always been both intimidating and inspiring. Lukas and Markus bicker over logistics, their usual bullshit filling the space, but I’m barely paying attention. My mind keeps drifting to Amara—to the way she felt in my lap this morning, the warmth of her body against mine, the way she looked at me like I was something more than a monster.“Matteo, stay behind,” my father says as the others start filing out at the end of the meeting.My head snaps up, and I nod, staying rooted in my chair as Lukas and Markus exchange a glance before leaving. The door closes behind them, and the room is eerily quiet. My father leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he studies me with those sharp, calculating eyes. The kind of look that’s always made me feel like a kid caught doing something I shouldn’t.“What’s going on between
AmaraMatteo’s hand is firm as he leads me downstairs, his grip like iron around mine. I follow in silence, my head spinning from everything that happened last night.He was rough—he always is—but there was something different, too. Something softer. Something that made my chest ache and my pulse quicken in ways I don’t want to admit.And the things he said…The memory makes my cheeks burn. Matteo Dragonetti doesn’t do kind words, and yet he said things that had me feeling things I shouldn’t.I glance down at our joined hands, the sight of his calloused fingers wrapped around mine making my stomach twist. How strong of a hold does he have over me? Strong enough that I didn’t even try to grab one of his weapons last night when I had the chance. Strong enough that I didn’t even think about running.Why not?That question haunts me as we reach the dining room. Matteo doesn’t let go of my hand as he pulls out a chair, but he doesn’t let me sit in it either. Instead, he sinks down into th
MatteoThe first thing I notice when I wake up is her. Amara’s watching me, her head propped on her hand, a soft smile tugging at her lips. It’s not smug or defiant or sharp like it usually is. It’s… different. Too soft. Too real. Like she’s letting her guard down without even realizing it.And it hits me in the chest like a punch I wasn’t ready for.My heart feels like it’s in a vice, squeezing tighter with every second she looks at me like that. I can’t fucking breathe.She looks at me like I’m hers.I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve her.“What are you smiling at?” I murmur, my voice rough from sleep.She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away, just tilts her head slightly. “You. You look… peaceful.”Peaceful. I almost laughed at that. Me? The walking disaster Matteo Dragonetti, peaceful? Not a fucking chance.I don’t respond. Instead, I reach out, curling an arm around her waist and pulling her against me like she belongs here. She gasps softly, her hands bracing against my chest a