Page 13 of Ruined By Protection
She raises her hand to wipe it away but I catch her wrist. Her pulse jumps beneath my thumb.
"Let me," I say.
I slide my thumb across the corner of her mouth, collecting the creamy sauce. Then, deliberately, I trace her full bottom lip with my thumb, spreading the aioli in a slow glide across the pink flesh. Her breath catches, her pupils dilating until those hazel eyes are mostly black.
I hold her gaze as I cup her jaw with my free hand, my fingers threading into the silky hair at the nape of her neck. Her skin is warm beneath my palm, soft in a way that makes me want to touch every inch of her.
"Matteo," she whispers, my name a question on her lips.
I don't answer with words. I pull her face toward mine and press my mouth to hers, my tongue sweeping across her bottom lip to taste the sauce I'd just spread there. The garlic aioli is good but she tastes better—sweet and warm and alive.
For a heartbeat, she freezes. Then she melts against me, her hands coming up to grip my shoulders. I deepen the kiss, angling her head exactly how I want it, taking control of her mouth the way I've been imagining since I first saw her behind that bar.
She makes that soft noise again—that barely-there moan that drives me fucking crazy. I growl in response, my hand tightening in her hair. I press closer, stepping fully between her thighs where she sits on the table. Her legs part further to accommodate me and I can feel the heat of her through the layers of our clothes.
Hazel
His mouth crashes against mine and everything in my world narrows to this moment. This man. This kiss.
Matteo tastes like danger and expensive whiskey, his tongue sweeping across mine with confident possession. My brain short-circuits, unable to form a single coherent thought beyond the electric sensation of his lips on mine. The rough scrape of his beard against my sensitive skin sends shivers racing through my core.
I should stop this. I should push him away. I should...
But I can't think of a single reason why I should stop. Not when his hand cradles my jaw so tenderly while his kiss devours me. Not when heat pools between my thighs, my body responding to his touch like he's flipped some hidden switch inside me.
His other hand slides to my waist, fingers digging into my hip as he pulls me closer to the edge of the table. My legs part instinctively as he presses his body against mine. The hard bulge of his arousal pushes against my center, and I gasp into his mouth as the delicious pressure suffuses my entire body.
"Fuck," I whisper against his lips, unable to contain the word.
He smiles against my mouth, a predatory curve of his lips that I feel rather than see. "That's the idea, bella."
His lips trail down my neck, teeth grazing my pulse point. My head falls back, giving him better access as pleasure spirals through me. Each nip of his teeth, each stroke of his tongue sends another wave of heat to my center. I'm embarrassingly wet already, my panties damp beneath my work pants.
I slide my hands from his shoulders to his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath his smooth cotton shirt. My fingers curlinto the pristine fabric, pulling him even closer. I need more contact, more pressure, more everything.
Matteo groans against my throat, his hands tightening on my waist before yanking my tucked shirt free. "You feel what you do to me?" he says, grinding his hardness against me.
The raw desire in his voice makes me tremble. I've never wanted anyone this badly, this quickly. Something about Matteo bypasses all my usual caution, all my carefully constructed walls.
"Tell me what you want, Hazel," he commands, his voice a rough whisper against my ear. His hand slides under my shirt, calloused fingers tracing the bare skin of my lower back. "Tell me exactly what you need."
His touch burns like a brand, marking me as his. I arch into him, desperate for more contact.
"I want you," I manage to say, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears. It's husky, needy in a way I've never heard myself sound before.
"Be specific," he growls, nipping at my earlobe. "I need to hear you say it."
His hand moves higher under my shirt, fingers tracing the edge of my bra underwire. Every nerve ending in my body feels alive, hyper-aware of his touch, his scent, his heat.
"I want you to fuck me," I whisper, shocking myself with my boldness. But it's true—I've never been more certain of anything. In this moment I need him like I need air.
A sound rumbles from deep in his chest, a groan and a growl at the same time. His eyes, when they meet mine, are nearly black with desire, only a thin ring of brown visible around his huge pupils.
"Say it again," he demands. His thumb brushes across my nipple through the thin fabric of my bra and I gasp at the jolt of pleasure.
"Fuck me, Matteo," I say, louder this time, more confident.
Matteo's hands slide to the hem of my shirt, his eyes locked with mine while he slowly unbuttons it then slides it back off my shoulders. He tosses it aside and reaches behind to unhook my bra. The straps drop down my arms and I resist the urge to cover myself as the garment falls away.
