Page 99 of Ache for You (Slow Burn 3)
Cornelia lifts her head, eagerly sniffing the air. My stomach emits another monstrous grumble.
“Osso buco alla Milanese,” says Matteo. “My mother’s specialty.”
“Your mother cooks?”
He chuckles at my disbelieving tone. “She’s an incredible cook. Lorenzo usually does the honors, but on Fridays we always have a family meal she makes herself.”
He holds the plate out to me. It’s filled with veal shanks falling off the bone, polenta, and some small balls smothered in red sauce. I assume they’re meatballs, until Matteo corrects me.
“Those are arancini. Rice balls stuffed with cheese and ragu, coated with breadcrumbs and fried. They’re delicious.”
They definitely smell delicious. The scent wafting up from the plate is making my mouth water. I take the plate from his hands and accept the fork he holds out. I take a tentative bite of the veal, not completely convinced it isn’t poisoned, but groan in pleasure when the taste explodes on my tongue.
Matteo smiles. “Good?”
I swallow that mouthful, then stuff another in. “Oh my God. So fucking good.”
I realize how sexual that sounded when his eyes darken. Looking at my mouth, he says softly, “So fucking good.”
It sends a thrill straight through me, like I’ve stuck my finger into an electrical socket. We stare at each other for a beat, until I remember to swallow. When the plate trembles in my hand, Matteo takes it from me. He removes the fork from my other hand, spears a bit of meat from the plate, and holds it up to my mouth.
“I don’t need you to feed me.”
“You have no idea what you need. Open your mouth.”
Okay, so my panties just exploded. So what? That doesn’t mean he’s in charge here.
“You’re used to getting your way, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Now open your mouth.” He nudges my lips with the tines of the fork.
I want to kick him in the shin, but I’m too hungry to put up a fight. So I simply open my mouth and let him slide the fork between my lips.
Like a hawk, he watches me. When my tongue darts out to lick some sauce from my lower lip, his eyes flare. My breath catches, and though I want badly to look away, I can’t.
I’m a deer caught in headlights. I’m a fox caught in a snare.
Next I get a mouthful of creamy polenta. He feeds it to me slowly, easing the fork into my mouth, focused on me with extraordinary attention. I feel my pulse everywhere in my body, even my fingertips.
When I swallow, he wipes the corner of my mouth with his thumb. Then he sucks on it, savoring it as if he can taste me, as if he’s wishing his thumb were some intimate part of my body.
“So fucking good,” he whispers, eyes blazing, and fills the fork again.
At this rate I’ll orgasm before we even get to the fried balls. “Matteo—”
“Hush.” He nudges my lips with the fork.
I close my eyes and let him feed me, swallowing everything he lifts to my lips as my heartbeat goes haywire and my skin heats. After three bites, I’m so turned on I can barely swallow.
He touches the throbbing pulse in the side of my neck, then leans in and kisses it.
My eyes fly open. I suck in a startled breath. He sets the plate on the dresser next to my hip with a clatter, then sinks his hands into my hair, angling his head to kiss me.
“The door’s open!”
He growls, “Fuck the door,” and crushes his mouth to mine.
TWENTY-EIGHT
