Page 95 of My Italian Love Affair

The pleasure builds again as Matteo’s tongue works its magic over my slit, fast and overwhelming. It doesn’t take much longer for him to bring me to the edge - my thighs trembling as burning heat coils low in my stomach - and when I finally shatter, it’s with his name on my lips.

His large, strong hands are the only things that keep me upright against the bathroom wall as I completely fall apart.

I’m still trembling when he rises to his feet. His hands smooth up my sides as I struggle to catch my breath, and I can’t help but think of how his face is almost unbearably smug as he leans in, pressing his lips to mine in a deep, claiming kiss, making sure I can taste myself on his tongue.

“You were right about one thing,” he murmurs.

I blink up at him, still dazed, my legs barely holding me up.

“What?”

His hands tighten on my hips, his body pressing into mine, hard and ready.

“Idefinitelytalk too much.”

Matteo’s mouth is on mine again, hot and demanding, swallowing my gasps as he maneuvers my body away from the wall and presses me against the marble countertop instead.

His hands are everywhere - gripping my hips, sliding up my waist, fisting into the fabric of my dress like he’s seconds from ripping it off.

I honestly don’t even give it a second thought - the fact that we’re still in the ladies’ room. I don’t care that anyone could walk in at any moment and hear us from behind the closed door.

All I care about is the way he’s looking at me - like he’s just as desperate as I am.

He groans as my nails dig into the back of his neck, his grip tightening on me in response. He lowers me down onto the counter, the sharp edges of his suit contrasting to the hard, unrelenting strength underneath.

“Tell me you want this,” he rasps against my lips, his breath hot and ragged. “That you’vebeenwanting this. Tell me I’m not the only one losing my fucking mind.”

I let out a breathless laugh, arching into him.

“If you don’t do something in the next five seconds, Rossi, I swear I will kill you.”

His answering growl is pure satisfaction as he hoists me higher onto the counter, my dress sliding up my thighs. My panties are still tugged over to one side, and I gasp as the cool air hits the soaked flesh of my exposed slit.

The moment is fleeting, because Matteo is already there; his warm, tanned hands splaying over my thighs, gripping tight as he pulls me flush against him.

I can feel him, thick and long and almost painfully hard through his trousers, pressingexactlywhere I need him most.

A fresh wave of heat crashes through me, and I roll my hipsagainst him.

I drag my soaked pussy against his trousers, relishing the sharp inhale of breath that he takes along with the way his fingers dig into me - like he’s barely holding on.

“Fuck, Daphne,” he grits out, his forehead dropping to mine, his breath ragged. “You’re going to kill me.”

I smirk, tilting my chin up.

“I thought you liked a challenge.”

His responding growl is the only warning I get before he’s moving, his hands working fast - unbuckling, shifting fabric - until he’sexactlywhere I need him, hard and ready.

His mouth finds mine again, and it’s different now. Almost deeper, and impossibly more urgent.

There’s no teasing. No hesitation.

Just raw, unfiltered want.

“You’re sure?” he murmurs against my lips, his voice tight with restraint. “You want this?”

I don’t answer with words. I can’t form them. Instead, I do the only thing that I can.

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