“This is a beautiful dress,” he said, tracing the deep V of the neckline with his fingertip, skimming silk and skin with the movement. Her breath hitched, her entire body on edge, waiting for what he would do next. Needing it more than she needed air. “But it is not as beautiful as you. And right now, I need to see you.”
He reached around, tugging on the zipper, jerking it down.
“Careful,” she said, choking on the word. “You’ll snag the fabric.”
“I’ll tear it if I have to,” he said.
The top fell around her waist, revealing her breasts, covered only by a whisper-thin bra that showed the outline of her nipples beneath the insubstantial fabric.
He lifted his hand and cupped her, slid his thumb over the tightened bud. “Hot for me?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Wet for me?” He put his other hand on her hip, flexed his fingers.
She couldn’t speak, she just nodded. And he closed his eyes, his expression one of pained relief like she’d never seen before.
She put her hand between her breasts, flicked the front clasp on her bra, letting it fall to the elevator floor. He looked at her, lowering his head, sucking her deep into his mouth. An arrow of pleasure shot from there down to her core. She tightened her fingers in his hair, then suddenly became conscious of the continued movement of the elevator.
“Hit the stop button,” she said, her voice breathless.
“What?” he asked, lifting his head, his cheeks flushed, his hair in disarray. Her heart nearly stopped. Matteo Corretti undone was the most amazing thing she’d ever seen.
“The elevator,” she said.
He cursed and turned around, hitting the red button on the wall, the elevator coming to a halt. He cursed again and reached into his pocket, taking out his cell phone. “Just a second.”
“You better not be texting,” she said.
He pushed a few buttons, his eyes not straying to her. “Not exactly.” He turned the screen toward her and she saw him. And her. And her breasts.
“Oh.”
He pushed a few more buttons. “I have disabled the security camera now. Unless you like the idea of being on film.”
She had to admit, she had a certain amount of curiosity as to what it looked like when Matteo Corretti made love to her. It was a video she wouldn’t mind owning, in all honesty. But she didn’t want it on security footage, either.
“Not in the mood to provide security with any early-evening jollies.”
“No worries, I have now deleted that little stretch of footage. There are advantages to being a control freak. Having an app on your phone that lets you see all the security at your hotels, and do as you please with the cameras, is one of them.”
He discarded his suit jacket and tie then, throwing them onto the floor of the elevator, tossing his phone down on top of them.
“Have you used that trick before?” she asked, before he lowered his head to kiss her again.
“With a woman?”
“Yes.”
“Jealous?”
“Hell, yes,” she said, not worried if he knew it. She wanted this moment, this desperation that was beyond anything she’d known, to be as foreign to him as it was to her.
“No, I haven’t.” He kissed her again, his tongue sliding against hers, and she forgot her lingering concerns.
Forgot about everything but what it felt like to have Matteo kissing her. Caressing her.
“Later—” he kissed the hollow of her throat “—I will do this right—” lowered his head and traced the line of her collarbone with his tongue. “I’ll taste every inch of you. Take time to savor you. Take your clothes off slowly. Look at those gorgeous curves.” He kissed her neck, bit her lightly like she’d done to him earlier. “Now, though … now I just need to be inside you.”
He started to gather her skirt up in his hands, the slippery fabric sliding up her legs easily. “Take your panties off,” he said.
She complied, her hands trembling as she worked her underwear down, kicking them to the side with her heels. He pushed her dress up around her hips, his hand hot on her thigh. He tugged her leg up around his, her back pinned against the wall of the elevator.
He tested her with his other hand, teasing her clitoris, sending streaks of white heat through her body with each pass his fingers made through her slick folds. “You didn’t lie,” he said. “You do want me.”
“Yes,” she said. “Tell me,” he said.
“I want you.”
“My name.”
“I want you, Matteo.”
He abandoned her body for a moment, working at his belt, shoving his slacks and underwear down, just enough to free his erection so that he could sink into her. It was a shock, all those weeks without him, and she’d forgotten just how big he was. Just how much he filled her. She let her head fall back against the wall of the elevator, pleasure building deep inside her, her internal muscles tightening around his length.
And then there was no more talking. There was nothing but their ragged breathing, Matteo moving hard and fast inside her, blunt fingertips digging into her hips as he held her steady, thrusting into her.
He lowered his head, capturing her nipple in his mouth again. A raw sound of pleasure escaped her lips and she didn’t even care. She wasn’t embarrassed at all.
Because this was Matteo. The man she’d always wanted. Wanted enough to break out of what was expected of her for the first time in her life. The man who had saved her, the man who made her angry and hurt her, the man who made her feel things she’d never felt before.
Matteo scared her. He confused her. He made her feel more than anyone else ever had.
And right now he was driving her to a point she’d never even imagined, to the edge of a cliff so high she couldn’t see the bottom of the chasm below.
She was afraid to fall, afraid to let the pleasure that was building in her break, because she didn’t know what would greet her on the other side. Didn’t know what would happen. And something would happen. Something would change. There was no question. None at all.
And then he looked at her, those dark eyes meeting hers, and she saw him. Not the mask, the man. Raw need, desperation and a fear that mirrored her own.
He lowered his head, his lips pressing against her neck, his thrusts losing their measured rhythm. And something in her broke, released. And she was falling, falling into that endless chasm. But she wasn’t afraid anymore.
Release rolled through her in waves, stealing every breath, every thought, everything but the moment.
And when she finally did reach bottom, Matteo was there, his strong arms around her. He was breathing hard, too, sweat on his brow, the back of his shirt damp, his heartbeat raging, so hard that, with his body pressed so tightly against hers, she could feel it against her own chest.
He stepped away from her slowly, running his hand over his hair, erasing the evidence that she’d ever speared her fingers through it. That she’d messed with his well-ordered control.
He adjusted his pants. Bent and collected his jacket, putting his phone back into his pocket. And she just stood there, her back to the wall, her dress still pushed partway up around her hips, the top resting at her waist, her underwear on the floor by her feet.
Matteo put his tie around his neck and started straightening it, too, before he looked at her. “Get dressed,” he said.
“What?”
“Get dressed,” he said. “We have to go back to the party.”
“W-we do?”
“It’s my charity,” he said. “I have a speech to make.” He checked his wristwatch. “And it seems I’m not too late for it so I really should try to manage it.”
“I …”
“Turn around,” he ordered, his voice harsh. She did as he asked. He put her straps back into place, zipped the dress back up. “My bra …”
“You don’t need it,” he said.
“What should I do with it?”
He opened up his jacket and indicated his inner pocket. She bent and scooped up her bra and panties and handed them to him, and he put both tiny garments into his pocket.
“Solved,” he said.
She looked down at her chest, cupped her breasts for a moment. “I’m sagging.”
“You are not.”
He hit the button on the elevator and it started moving again, the doors sliding open. Then he hit the button for the first floor and they waited for the doors to close again.
Alessia felt … used. No, not even that. She just felt sad. Angry, because he was able to do that with her and then go back to his purely unruffled self.
Maybe she’d been making more out of them, and the sex, than she should have. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe it didn’t mean anything to him. Nothing more than just sex, anyway, and a man like Matteo surely had it quite a bit.
They rode in silence, and the doors opened again. The photographer was still out there, wandering the halls. Looking for a photo op, no doubt.
Matteo put his arm around her waist and led her through the hall, that false smile back on his face. They started back toward the ballroom and she had the strangest feeling of déjà vu. Like they were back at the beginning of the night. Like their interlude in the elevator hadn’t happened at all. But it had. She knew it had.
The photographer snapped a picture. And Alessia didn’t bother to smile.