Page 170 of My Italian Love Affair

His thrusts are hurried and clumsy as he wraps my hair around his wrist and uses his grip on the strands to tugs my head backwards. He curses in Italian as I whimper in pleasure, and the sound of our skin slapping roughly fills his bedroom.

“You’re so fuckingtight, Daphne,” Matteo groans, his fingers digging tightly into the swell of my ass. “So fucking perfect. Like you were -ugh.Made for me.”

He’s not exactly being gentle anymore, but I hardly mind at all.

My body courses with adrenaline as he pounds into me, and the thought of him losing himself while buried deep inside me has my pussy clenching and clit throbbing.

“See?” he pants between thrusts. “You fucking like me. Just. Admit it.”

I let out a strangled laugh, gripping impossibly tighter to the headboard.

“I like your dick. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Rossi.”

His hand swats against my ass, and I let out a squeal that blends into a groan as Matteo changes the angle of his hips to thrust into me particularly roughly while yanking my hair further back.

“Brutal,” he comments. “Absolutelysavage.”

“Still true,” I gasp, as he shifts again, snapping his hips as he hits a spot that has me seeing stars.

“My littleliar,” he growls as he angles himself over me, his chest pressing into my back as his lips move to my ear. “You like me a hell of a lot more than you want to admit.”

“Sure, Rossi,” I breathe. “You and your massive ego.”

He chuckles darkly, slowing his rhythm ever so slightly.

“My ego’s not the only thing that’s massive.”

“God,” I groan. “Even while fucking me, you’re incorrigible.”

“And you love every fucking second,” he whispers before reaching forwards.

His palm cups my face, and he uses his grip on my jaw to move my head to the side so that he can capture my lips in a kiss that makes me forget my own name.

Our mouths crash together in a frenzy of teeth and tongues, the desperation between us almost palpable.

His thrusts are slow but deep, each movement deliberate and agonisingly intense.

"Don't tell me you're getting tired," I whisper breathlessly as he slows, pressing a kiss to the back of my shoulder.

He lifts his head, eyes twinkling.

"Me?Tired?” he scoffs. “I run ninety minutes non-stop on the pitch. You think you can wear me out?"

"Big talk, Rossi. But actions speak louder than words."

"Is that a challenge?"

"It might be."

With a playful growl, he slaps my ass again, his laugh mingling with mine as we continue our game of push and pull - equal parts passion and playfulness.

“Fuck,Matteo,” I whisper, my breath shuddering as he leansin and bites down gently on my bottom lip.

“That’s it,” he growls, voice hoarse. “Say my name,bella. I want to hear it.”

I try to fight the urge to give him what he wants - my pride still clinging to some shred of control - but when he angles his hips and hits that spot again, the name falls from my lips without permission.

“Matteo,” I moan, and his groan of satisfaction sends a wave of heat cascading through me.

---