Page 77 of Italy Can Bite Me

“Are you okay? Tell me what you feel.”

“So good… so full.”

My restraint is hanging by a thread. I start to move, slow and steady—the friction is almost too much. Her moan—soft at first—morphs into a wanton growl. I thrust deeper, and it becomes something I’ll replay in my head for the rest of my life.

“Yes,” she gasps, her hands gripping the sides of the table. “More of that. Please, Matteo. Don’t stop.”

I’m teetering, edged to a cliff and fighting not to fall. “You’re killing me, bella,” I grit out, backing myself down to a measured pace.

But then she does something unexpected—her inner muscles tighten around me. I freeze.

“Oh,” she says nervously. “Are you… done?”

The vulnerability in her voice, the uncertainty—it hits me. This is what she’s used to. Quick, selfish lovemaking that leaves her wondering if she was enough. That won’t happen with me. Not tonight. Not ever.

I cup her face, my thumbs brushing over her flushed cheeks. I force her eyes to mine. “Katie,” I say firmly. “We’re not finished here. Not even close. Not until you’re screaming my name. Understand?”

She nods, and that’s all the permission I need.

My grip tightens on her hips as I pull her flush to the end of the table. In one swift motion, I hook her legs over my shoulders, the new angle earning me a gasp from her lips.

“What are you doing?”

“What I’ve wanted to since the day we met.”

I thrust into her, hard and deep, rocking our hips into a rhythm that makes our bodies sing together.

Her back arches off the surface, a cry tearing from her throat. “Jesus, yes!” she gasps between trembles. “I feel it. Please, more.”

The sound of her, the way her body is responding—it’s too much and not enough. My movements become faster, harder—my control slipping with every thrust. “You’re perfetta,” I say, my voice tight with restraint. “Sei bellissima. So fucking good.”

“Harder,” she pleads, quivering. “Right fucking there. Don’t stop.”

Dio, the noises of this woman. It’s taking everything I have to hold on. I can sense it—how she tightens—the way her breaths grow ragged. She’s close, and I want nothing more than to push her to her breaking point.

She throws her head back, her cries growing louder, more desperate. “Yes, yes! There, Matteo, almost… almost…”

And then it happens. She comes apart beneath me, her body bending with pleasure, her voice breaking as she’s crying out my name. The sound of it, the sensation of her milking me, pulls meover the edge with her. My release crashes through me, white-hot and all-consuming, and I let out a roar, my body trembling with the force of it.

Paradiso in terra(heaven on earth)!

I move slower, each thrust prolonging the pleasure, unwilling to let this moment end. Her beautiful frame goes limp, collapsing back onto the table, her chest heaving as she gasps for air.

Her legs slide down from my shoulders, and I collapse against her chest, my heart thundering against my ribs. Every muscle in my body is liquid fire. “Cristo, principessa. You’ve ruined me.”

She gives me a tired, sated smile. “You weren’t so bad yourself, tour guide.”

I can’t stop touching her, tasting her—my lips forging a path of worship along her jaw, her throat, memorizing the salt-sweet taste of her skin. Words tumble out before I can stop them: “Stay with me tonight?”

“Will there be more of this?”

“My body is at your service.”

Katie taps her finger against her chin, a playful smirk on her lips. “Hmm. Let me consult my mental spreadsheet. Pros: earth-shattering orgasms, sexy Italian accent, marathon-level stamina…”

I can’t hide my bewildered expression. She laughs, the sound warm and genuine, and it rumbles through me, right down to where our bodies are still joined. She grabs my face, pulling me into a kiss that’s slow and deep, her hands tangling in my hair.

She whispers against my lips, “I don’t need a list, Matteo. I want you.”

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