Adriana

I woke up to light slaps across my cheek. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming. My lashes fluttered open, and all I saw was an old woman hovering over me with a feather duster in hand.

“What is—” I croaked, groggy, my body still sore from last night with Matteo.

Then another slap came, only this time it wasn’t her palm, it was the damn duster. Dust exploded across my face, choking me, falling into my hair.

I sat up, furious, yanking the sheets around me. “What on earth is wrong with you? Does Matteo sleep with women this old now? Get the hell out of my home!”

Her lips pulled back in a cruel grin. “You little brat. Who the fuck are you calling old? I’m tired of the Don’s little girlfriends prancing around here like they own the place. I have work to do. Move.”

Her tone made my blood heat, but it was Lorenzo’s words echoing in my head that anchored me. You are Matteo’s wife. Stand tall, don’t let anyone diminish you.

“Girlfriend?” I repeated, narrowing my eyes, anger bubbling. “I’m not his girlfriend. I’m his wife.” My voice trembled, but I stood my ground.

The old woman laughed so hard she wheezed, wiping tears from her cheeks with the rag in her hand. “His wife? Oh, darling, and I’m a billionaire disguised as a housekeeper. Spare me your delusions.”

She raised the duster again, swiping toward me like I was dust she wanted to sweep away.

I dodged, heart pounding, and darted into the bathroom. I slammed the door shut and locked it, pressing my back against the cold wood. She banged a few times, cursed in Italian, then shuffled away muttering to herself.

Breathless, I grabbed my phone and dialled Matteo. The line rang and rang before his voice finally spilled into the room, deep and sexy.

“Hello?”

Relief melted through me. I leaned against the sink, naked, the cool tile kissing my bare ass. “Matteo,” I said, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “I didn’t know you had a thing for older women—grannies, to be precise. There’s a crazy old lady in our house saying she’s a housekeeper.”

He sighed so loud it vibrated into my chest. “That’s Mrs. Claudia. I told her you’d be there. And you’re my wife. If she forgot, I’ll remind her.”

The way he said wife made me throb. Heat spread between my thighs before I even realised it. I couldn’t stop imagining his mouth on me again, his tongue buried deep where I needed him. My nipples hardened, my pussy clenched, and my body betrayed me.

I pressed my chest against the cold tiles, the contrast to my feverish skin making me gasp. Without thinking, I slipped one finger inside myself.

“Mmhh,” I moaned, forgetting for a moment I was still on speakerphone.

Matteo’s chuckle came low and dark. “Don’t tell me my princess is touching herself in the shower. Are you that desperate already?”

“Y-yes,” I breathed, thrusting faster, my forehead pressed to the wall. My juices coated my fingers, the slick sound echoing in the bathroom.

“Princess,” his voice grew ragged, “if one finger is enough for you, then you don’t need me as badly as you say.”

My knees buckled. I spread myself wider with my free hand and shoved two fingers in. The stretch made me cry out, and I rocked onto my tiptoes, chasing the high.

“I-I need you, Matteo,” I panted. “I miss you so bad. I need your fingers fucking me.”

“Then say it like you mean it.” His tone was sharp, commanding. “Say you need my hands inside you. My cock. Say it.”

“I need your hands inside me, Matteo!” My voice broke as pleasure overwhelmed me. My back arched, and I rode my own fingers until hot release spilled out of me, cream dripped shamelessly down my thighs.

“That’s my good girl,” he growled, low and primal. “Be ready for me. When I’m home, you won’t be able to walk.”

I collapsed against the wall, panting, my body trembling with aftershocks. My fingers glistened with my orgasm, and a wicked thought struck me.

Grabbing my phone, I hit record. I lifted my messy, wet fingers to my lips and shoved them down my throat, licking every drop. My eyes rolled back at my own taste, raw and intoxicating. I snapped a quick video, sent it to him, then finally showered properly.

By the time I came out, wrapped in Matteo’s oversized white shirt and a pair of boxers that cheekily read Daddy’s Girl, I already had his reply.

Matteo: You’re tempting me, Princess. Remember this when you’re begging for mercy.

My face flushed crimson, my nipples peaked against the shirt, and I giggled like a sinner. This man was turning me into someone I barely recognised. Someone I didn’t want to stop being.

The kitchen smelled like garlic and rosemary when I started cooking. Claudia hovered, glaring at me like I was intruding. She muttered Italian curses under her breath, but when I nearly dropped the tray carrying dinner, she silently steadied it with her bony hands.

I smirked at her, and she scowled back, but she helped me anyway. Maybe we weren’t enemies. Not yet.

I carried dinner upstairs into the art studio Matteo had gifted me. The room was bathed in late-afternoon light, colours spilling through tall windows, paints and canvases everywhere. I ate alone, savouring the taste of real food for once. Still, the thought of Matteo lingered with every bite, his words replaying like a broken record: Be ready for me.

I looked at the paintboard and thought of something to paint, but nothing came to mind. It was insane that I had all the paint, a studio and nothing came to mind.

I went back to Matteo's inbox again and saw the picture I sent. My nipples erected immediately looking at the nasty picture and I brought my thighs together rubbing them close

My body stirred again. My thighs pressed together, restless. My gaze fell to a clean paintbrush on the table. Slim, smooth, harmless. Or maybe not.

I bit my lip, wickedness curling in my gut.

Dropping my shorts, I went to my knees on the soft carpet, bent forward, and raised my ass high in the air. The air kissed my swollen cunt, and I shivered, needy.

I dragged the handle of the brush against my clit, soft at first, teasing. My back arched higher. “Ohhh, fuck,” I moaned, pressing it harder against my swollen bud.

I circled it, slow, deliberate, every nerve firing. My hips bucked, chasing the friction. Soon I was rocking shamelessly, moaning louder, the sound muffled into the carpet.

My walls pulsed, desperate for something inside, so I slid the smooth wooden handle into my soaked pussy.

“Fuck, yes!” I cried out, driving it deeper, pumping in and out. The insanity of it only made it hotter. I gripped my nipple, twisting hard, pain shooting through me, mixing with the pleasure.

The brush slid easily, slick with my wetness. I fucked myself faster, the sound of my wet cunt filling the room. My ass shook with every thrust, juices dripping down my thighs onto the carpet.

I was gone, lost in the filth of it, panting, drooling against the rug as I fucked myself like a bitch in heat. My body trembled violently as I neared climax.

“Oh God, Matteo,” I sobbed, imagining it was his hands splitting me open. “I need you—fuck, I need you—”

I didn’t hear the footsteps until it was too late.

I heard Mrs Claudia's voice at the door and before I could get out of the crazy position, the door creaked open.

I froze, still on all fours, ass in the air, the paintbrush buried deep inside my dripping cunt.

My heart stopped.