Page 54 of The Devil's Den

With his index finger, he pulls my panties to the side, and I feel his touch.

Warm.

Masculine.

Like every inch of him is.

The muscles in his bicep ripples, the vein there straining as one finger sinks past my wet lips, running up and then all the way down, like he’s discovering it, remembering.

“Yes…” I cry on a sigh as the pad of his finger meets my clit in a tantalizing touch.

“Is this what you like?” His growl is rough as his teeth rake my jaw, my eyes closing, my hips rocking to the beat of his touch.

“Yes, I—oh God, keep doing that.” My hands bite into his back, gripping tighter, the more he works me. Another finger meets my pulsating flesh, running both of them around my clit, and I wither in sheer ecstasy as his tempo grows more confident.

I open my eyes, drowning in his heavy-lidded gaze.

“You feel damn good,” he whispers. “So wet. You like this, don’t you, my beautiful girl?”

“Yes… I’ve never felt this good.” I groan on a gasp, my nails clawing his skin the faster he rubs me. My body grows hot, my toes curling. A finger enters me as I cry out in a hushed breath. “Kiss me, Matteo. Please.”

“Never have to ask me that.” His mouth crashes over my ravenous one, kissing me roughly, his teeth tugging on my lower lip like he’s never done before, those fingers moving faster, two of them stretching me, filling, thrusting. And I don’t think about those men, not once, even as they try to fight their way out, to remind me what they took from me. But I don’t let them. I allow my body to feel the touch of a man who’s been my everything, who’ll always be.

The warmth within me grows until it’s something I can’t explain. It’s too much, yet not enough.

His palm is on the top of my head now, his eyes sultry, starving, as he takes me so deeply, I know it won’t be long. Spreading my thighs wider, I let him go even deeper.

“Matteo!” I cry, my body tingling, coming alive like it’s never been before. As he pumps his fingers into me once more, I fall. It’s foreign and beautiful, and I never want him to stop.

I try to quiet the sounds coming out of me, remembering who’s listening, feeling depraved knowing that, but I don’t seem to care right now.

He kisses me, swallowing up every single moan and gasp of pleasure, his fingers slamming harder as he takes everything that I wanted him to take so long ago.

Slowly, once my tremors still, he slips his fingers out of me, kissing my forehead, his cock still hard. I want to touch him, to make him experience what he just gave me, but I’m too shy to ask.

A lazy smirk turns up as his knuckles stroke down my face. “Wow.” His eyes spill with adulation.

“Yeah.” My lips spread with a smile of my own. “That definitely was.”

He sighs, dropping to his side, tucking me into him, his front to my back. After our breathing slows to a natural pace, we hold each other and talk about his life before, whatever he can remember, so that way he never forgets.

Over the years, I’ve asked him to talk about his family on purpose. It’s the only part of himself he has left before my father and my uncles took it away.

“My brother Dante was always trying to copy Dom,” he tells me with a chuckle. “They were one year apart and Dante hated it. I remember once they were competing over who could carry the most cupcakes and they both dropped them on the floor at the shop.”

“What did your dad do?” I ask, knowing mine would lose it.

“He gave them each a towel and told them to start cleaning. And they did, muttering while Enzo and I ate some of the ones they managed not to ruin, high-fiving each other.”

“Your family sounds amazing.” Melancholy builds in my heart and I instantly hate myself for it. How dare I feel that way when his entire life was stolen.

“They were.” His fingers glide up and down my arm, and a sense of calmness drapes me. I’d give the world to feel this every day. To feel his unending love.

“I wish I knew my mom, but there aren’t even photos of her I can look at.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

I twist in his arms, facing him. “It’s okay. It’s just how it is.” I release a rough exhale, taking a long pause, wanting to tell him about my dream of her. “I keep having a dream about a woman who looks so much like me.” He eyes me with immense concentration, like he wants to know everything. “At first, I couldn’t see her face clearly, but now I do. I’d like to believe that’s her, my mother, that she’s coming to me, knowing I need her. Do you believe that’s possible?”

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