Page 62 of Curse

Before I can worry about moving or trying to have a complete thought, Matti scoops me up effortlessly. His chest is warm and solid as he carries me to the bed, laying me down gently. He pulls the sheet up over me and leaves the room, his cock back in his underwear, his pants still undone, the whole front of them wet from fucking me.

The sound of running water comes from the bathroom. I close my eyes, trying to make sense of everything, but he returns before I can sort through my spinning thoughts.

He rolls me onto my stomach, the damp cloth in his hand warm and soothing as he carefully wipes me down. Each stroke of the cloth is slow, almost reverent, easing the soreness as he takes care of me.

“That feels really nice,” I murmur into the pillow, my voiceheavy with exhaustion and contentment. “You are a constant surprise to me, Matti. I never imagined you like this.”

His hands pause for the briefest moment.

“Like what?” he asks, his voice gruff and guarded. There’s a sharpness in his tone, though his touch remains gentle.

“Like this,” I reply, gesturing vaguely, the movement sluggish and clumsy since my limbs are still numb and I’m wiped out. I’ve never come so hard in my life. “Like being sweet.”

He grunts in disapproval. “Sweet? I don’t think that’s an accurate depiction of what just happened.”

“Well,” I say with a faint smile, “sweet is better than ‘fuckboy.’”

The instant the word leaves my mouth, I regret it. His hand stills, and I swear the room turns colder. My breath catches as I sense the shift in his energy. He drops the cloth off the side of the bed, and it lands on the cement floor with a muted wet thud.

He grasps my chin, tilting my face toward him. His gaze is sharp, unyielding, and his voice is a low growl. “The fuck did you just say?”

“I—” My throat tightens as I scramble for an explanation. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“Say more,” he demands.

I pinch my lips together, trying not to smile. Not that this is funny, but I feel like I’m high after what he just did to me. “Olivia said it,” I admit, the words tumbling out before I can reconsider.

Thinking of Olivia, the urge to smile disappears. He said they weren’t together, but was he just saying that because he wanted to fuck me?

“Don’t do that.”

He climbs in bed next to me, on top of the sheets, rolling me on my side so that we’re facing each other.

“Do what.” I know what, and I hate that he can read me so well.

“I told you I am not now and have never been with Olivia.” Matti narrows his eyes at me. “Now tell me what she said.”

I shift under his intense gaze, pulling the sheet up around me. “I don’t remember exactly. She said she didn’t know where you were when I asked her, and then she called you a fuckboy.”

He frowns. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means…” I hesitate, looking away and choosing my words carefully. “That you’re not into relationships, but you don’t mind fucking when the opportunity presents itself.”

He lets out a sharp exhale, his grip on my chin firm but not painful. “I like fuckingyou, Siena. And I’m no boy. As for Olivia—” He releases me, tugging the sheet down playfully so that my tits are exposed. “I am not and never have been anything remotely resembling a fuckboy to her. She’s not my type, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Olivia could be a model, tall and slim but curvy in the right places. A classic and classy look with white blonde hair cut into an A-line bob below her shoulders and gray eyes. That’s not his type?

But me—dark hair, short, thick thighs, tits too big for my frame, and boring brown eyes—that’s more his speed? I suppress a smile even though I’m not sure I believe it, but jump when he clears his throat, bringing me back to the conversation.

“She didn’t try to tell you that I fucked her, did she?” His tone is casual, but his eyes are sharp, scrutinizing my reaction.

“Not exactly,” I admit. “But she called you a fuckboy like she had firsthand knowledge. And I overheard her telling Franco you two were together.”

Matti raises an eyebrow. “Let me guess: Franco had just hit on her?”

“Yeah,” I say, shuddering at the memory. “He’s a sleazy prick. Of course, he shot his shot, despite being beaten down, locked up, and way out of his league.”

Matti’s expression shifts, a flicker of concern crossing his face. “I saw what you did to Franco, kitten. Are you okay?”

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