Adriana

The sketch felt alive beneath my hands, but not in the way I intended. My pencil had started on the skyline, the bold lines of Manhattan rising across the paper, each tower piercing the white page with shadows of power. But my mind betrayed me somewhere between the steel and glass lines.

The shoulder I shaded wasn’t a skyscraper. The curve belonged to him.

Matteo.

I let the pencil move, sketching the ridge of a muscle I’d memorised with my fingertips, the way his chest lifted when he breathed beside me at night, the sharp line of his jaw that cut sharper than any blade.

He haunted my canvas as surely as he haunted me.

And in my mind’s eye, he wasn’t dressed in the tailored suits or heavy jackets of his world.

No.

He was bare.

Naked.

Skin stretched over the scars of a man who had bled, who had killed, who had conquered.

My thighs pressed together as I imagined dipping a brush into paint and tracing every line of his torso, sliding lower, down to where the shadows would swallow my hand, to the places only I had the right to capture.

The door opened. I startled, the pencil slipping across the page.

“Princess.”

His voice curled around me, low and rich, and I turned to find him carrying a tray. The smell of buttered toast, eggs, and strong coffee filled the room, but my eyes locked on him instead.

“A Don who brings me breakfast?” I teased, setting my sketch aside. “That doesn’t seem very on brand.”

He smirked, setting the tray down on the low table. “I like spoiling what’s mine.”

The words were simple, but they curled hot in my stomach. I accepted the cup of coffee he poured, sipping while his gaze flicked to the sketch.

“The city?” he asked. “Or is it something else?”

“Both,” I murmured, heat rushing to my cheeks. If he looked too closely, he’d see him etched into the skyline, his form hidden in the glass and steel.

But his smirk told me he already knew.

I picked at the toast, but Matteo didn’t sit. He moved around the room with restless energy, sharp and caged. My chest tightened even before he spoke.

“The race is tonight.”

The words fell like a weight. I set the toast down. “The race?”

“It’s underground,” he said, voice rough, deliberate. “High stakes. Millions ride on a single car. Some walk away rich. Some don’t walk away at all. I don’t hand that kind of thing to just anyone. Sometimes, I drive.”

My fork slipped from my fingers and clattered against the plate. My pulse skittered. “Matteo, you mean you’ll be racing yourself?”

He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, the leather of his watch catching light. “I don’t bet millions on someone else’s reflexes. I drive because I won't lose.”

“That’s not an answer.” My voice shook despite me trying to steady it. I’d heard whispers of those races and their violence, the accidents, men broken and burned. He was speaking about it like another boardroom deal.

He caught my fear in my silence and smirked, cruelly calm. “Don’t look at me like that, Princess. I’m not going anywhere.”

But I wasn’t sure I believed him.

Before I could press him, his eyes slid down my body and back up, the air between us shifting, heavier. “Get changed. We’re swimming.”

“Swimming?”

“Yes.” His tone cut off refusal.

I slipped into the smallest bikini I owned, black silk that barely covered my breasts, the thin straps threatening to snap. Over it, I tied a sheer cover-up that clung to me, riding up high so the curve of my ass peeked through.

When I returned, he was already in the pool, slicing through the water with smooth, lethal strokes. Each movement was perfect and precise, controlled, his body was made for speed.

I sat on the edge, dipping my legs in, but his gaze found me immediately. It burned, lingering where the bikini top barely contained me, where the thin fabric left nothing to the imagination.

“Get in.” His voice was rough, dangerous.

Before I could move, he was on me, striding through the water, droplets streaming down his chest, sliding off his tattoos. He grabbed my waist and yanked me in.

The cold water shocked me, stealing my breath, until his body pressed against mine, all fire and heat.

“Matteo—” I gasped, but his mouth crashed against mine.

The kiss was brutal, hungry, tasting of chlorine and possession. His hands slid under my cover-up, gripping my ass, grinding me against the thick, hard length already pressing through the water.

He broke the kiss only to spin me, pressing me against the pool’s edge. My breasts flattened against the cool tiles, nipples aching from the cold and his stare.

“You like teasing me, Princess?” His breath burned against my ear. His hand slid between my thighs, rubbing over the soaked fabric of my bikini bottoms. “Thought I wouldn’t notice those hard little nipples begging for my mouth?”

“Please,” I whispered, trembling.

“Please what?” His fingers hooked my bottoms aside and thrust into me with no warning. The water splashed around us as he pumped deep, rough, deliberate. “Please stop? Or please more?”

“More,” I whimpered, nails digging into the tile.

His laugh was a dark, dangerous rumble. “Good girl.”

He shoved me harder against the edge, arching my back, my ass raised in the water. Then his mouth replaced his fingers. The shock of his tongue flicking my clit made me cry out, my voice echoing across the pool.

I clawed at the edge, the cold tile biting my palms as heat coiled tighter and tighter inside me. My thighs trembled, trying to close, but his grip was iron, holding me open.

And then his fingers trailed lower, between the cheeks of my ass. He pulled back only to coat them in my slick, smearing it deliberately before pressing against the tight ring.

“Let me in here too, Princess,” he growled against my pussy, tongue relentless. “Say yes.”

Shame and hunger collided, but the words tore out of me anyway. “Yes, Matteo. Please yes.”

His groan vibrated against my clit as he pushed a slick finger into my ass, slow but firm, stretching me while his tongue lashed my pussy. The sting made me cry out, half pain, half unbearable pleasure. My body jerked, but he pinned me steady.

He pumped harder, finger curling deep inside as his tongue devoured me. The double assault broke me open.

“Matteo!” I sobbed, voice shattering.

“Take it,” he growled into my cunt, thrusting deeper, adding another finger, stretching me wide. “Take everything I give you.”

The pressure, the fullness, the ruthless pace.it was too much. My thighs quaked violently, my pussy clenched around his tongue while my ass throbbed around his fingers.

I shattered with a scream, thick cream spilling into his mouth, coating his tongue. My body convulsed, broken open, every nerve raw.

But Matteo didn’t stop. If anything, he grew hungrier, tongue punishing my clit while his fingers fucked my ass until I was trembling, limp, ruined against the edge.

My cries broke into sobs as orgasm after orgasm tore through me, cream slicking his mouth, dripping down my thighs into the water.

Finally, he pulled back, licking me clean, smirking as he wiped his jaw. His eyes burned. “Sweetest taste in the world. And it’s all fucking mine.”

He carried me to the shower, his strength unyielding.

The shift was dizzying. From brutal to gentle.

He stripped me slowly, peeled away the bikini, then undressed himself. His cock was thick, heavy, demanding but he didn’t take me.

Not yet.

The water cascaded over us, warm and soft. He soaped my body, his hands reverent, gliding over my shoulders, down my arms, circling my breasts, not teasing just washing. He kissed my temple, my cheek, the corner of my lips, each touch soft.

“This is the first time we’ve showered together,” I whispered, surprised by the intimacy of it.

“Not the last,” he murmured, rinsing shampoo from my hair, careful not to let suds sting my eyes.

When he finally wrapped me in a towel, pressed his lips to my forehead, my chest ached with something tender, something I didn’t dare name.

Later, dressed in his shirt, I answered Ruby’s call.

“Babe!” she squealed. “Tell me… have you finally fucked the Don?”

Heat scorched my cheeks. “No. But… we’ve done a lot.”

Her laugh rang sharp before dropping low. “So what’s this about a race?”

I hesitated, chewing my lip. But the words tumbled out fast, shaky.Matteo racing himself, the millions on the line, the danger coiled in every part of it.

Her laughter vanished. “Adriana, those races aren’t games. People crash. People die. It’s blood sport. You don’t understand what you’re walking into.”

The dread in her tone seeped into me.

“Ruby—”

“Promise me you’ll be careful. If he’s racing, it’s not just him in the crosshairs. It’s you.”

The line went dead, leaving silence heavy in the room.

I stepped back into the bedroom and froze.

On the bed lay an outfit. A tiny black leather skirt. A white lacy corset. A cropped leather jacket.

My knees buckled. He wanted me dressed as his prize, his possession, the woman at his side when he walked into danger.

When Matteo entered, I broke, clutching his shirt, burying my face in his chest.

“Don’t go,” I whispered, voice cracked and raw. “Please. Don’t leave me tonight.”

He wrapped me in his arms, warm and steady, but too calm. Too resigned. He kissed my temple, whispered something in Italian, soft but not a promise.

And no matter how tight I held him, I knew he’d still race.