Lying in my bed, I toss and turn in an effort to get comfortable.
But it’s impossible.
In the back of my mind, I know sleep won’t claim me anytime soon. The cold shower I forced myself to take did nothing to extinguish the lust Matteo created inside me.
Thoughts of him have been rolling through my head for the past hour. I’ve never had a man crawl under my skin the way he’s managed to. No one has ever made my insides burn to such a fever pitch.
Feeling frustrated, I throw off the light blanket and pace the wood floor. A low ache throbs in my core despite the frigid shower.
I need to do something or I won’t find any relief tonight.
Was this his master plan?
To drive me insane with lust so that I come crawling to him?
That thought makes me grit my teeth.
Sure, I could use my own hand, but the idea holds very little appeal. The last thing I want to do is fantasize about him. It’ll only make matters worse. Imagining what Matteo would feel like inside my body is much too dangerous.
There has to be a better way to diffuse the intensity building inside me.
I need to burn off this excess energy humming under my skin, and the only way I can do that is by going for a swim. The pool on the rooftop is heated, so it should feel refreshing and not too cold.
It’s open twenty-four hours a day. I’m sure it will be deserted. I can’t imagine anyone else will be there at this late hour. It’s close to midnight. Unless there are other women in the building also fantasizing about Matteo. I almost snort at the thought. Perhaps we can start a club.
Or, better yet, a support group.
Going over to my dresser, I strip out of my underwear and tank, throwing on the first bathing suit my fingertips come in contact with. It’s a little black string bikini. I bought it a few years ago when I was dating Eric. I don’t wear it often because it always feels like my breasts are on the verge of busting out of the tiny triangles. But right now, I don’t care. I need to immerse myself in the cool, calming water.
Grabbing a towel from the bathroom, I slip my feet into a pair of black flip-flops before heading out the door. It’s late, and I’m on the top floor, so I’m not worried about running into other residents.
The short ride up to the rooftop is uneventful. Just as I assumed, the place is deserted. Chairs and tables are scattered around a rectangular pool with a small area for grilling off to one side. The other half is a lush garden oasis filled with small, ornately sculpted shrubs, a walking path, and tons of brightly blooming flowers.
It’s all stunningly manicured.
Kicking off the sandals, I throw my towel onto a chaise lounger and walk toward the edge of the pool. Using my arms for balance, I dip a toe in the water, hoping it won’t be too cold.
A low groan escapes me.
It’s a tad cooler than bath water, but not by much.
Diving in, I’m immersed in warmth while gliding through the clear liquid. I’m about fifteen feet away from the other side of the pool when I finally surface. It’s larger than I realized. Certainly not Olympic in size, but big enough to swim laps and get in a good workout. Ducking under, I do a few breast strokes before changing over to freestyle. Then I turn over, slicing my arms through the water as I begin backstroking. Gazing up at the velvety night sky, I feel the tension inside me wane.
The dull ache I seem to get every time I’m around Matteo dissipates.
This swim is precisely what I needed.
I’m glad I decided to come up here. Between running along the lake and swimming in this gorgeous retreat, who needs therapy?
A good forty minutes pass by before I make my way to the side of the pool. I don’t think I’m ready to leave yet, though. I want to wrap up in my towel and sit under the starry night sky, enjoying the quietness of the city for a while.
A noise punctuates the air, drawing my attention to one of the loungers off to the side. My breath stalls in my lungs as my gaze collides with Matteo’s.
He no longer wears the suit jacket he had on earlier, but the black pants and white shirt remain. His tie is gone, and the first two buttons of his dress shirt are unfastened. His long, muscular legs are spread out in front of him. His elbows rest casually on his knees. His eyes never relinquish mine. He picks up the towel I carelessly threw on the chaise before diving into the pool.
Unfolding it, he says huskily, “Out of the water, Grace.”
Goosebumps break out across my flesh at the way he says my name.
He’s not asking.
He’s telling.
I know it’s safer to hide out in the water, yet I lift myself out in one fluid movement. I wouldn’t put it past him to wade in after me. With one leg, I kneel on the blue tile before straightening to my full height.
He doesn’t say a word about my revealing suit. The only telltale sign that he’s affected is the heat that sparks in his eyes as they roam over my body. Although the night air is cool, his gaze makes me feel flushed from head to toe.
Wordlessly, he holds out the towel. I tentatively reach for the terrycloth, hoping he’ll hand it over.
He doesn’t.
“Turn around.”
The command shoots straight through me. In the blink of an eye, the forty minutes spent in the water evaporates, and I’m just as achy as when I was tossing and turning in bed while thinking about him.
He stands and moves behind me. The heat of his body radiates outward. I’m painfully aware of him. My body tenses as I await his touch. My breath hisses out as he gathers up the long strands of my hair in his hands and closes the thick towel around them before gently squeezing. He repeats the motion a few more times until my hair is no longer dripping.
It’s so relaxing that my eyelids drift shut as I enjoy the sensation of being taken care of. He moves down to my shoulders and arms, thoroughly rubbing each section of wet flesh until it’s dry. He lowers the towel to the center of my back and rubs in soothing circles. I want to moan at the feel of his hands on my body but don’t. My lips stay firmly pressed together.
He makes his way to my barely covered cheeks, where he spends a lot of time massaging the firm globes with the towel. I’m so relaxed that I could melt into the ground.
“Turn.”
A shiver courses through me. His voice sounds rough as sandpaper. Barely harnessed power vibrates from his chest.
He strokes the towel over and around my breasts, lifting them so that not a drop of moisture remains. As he continues drying my chest, my nipples stiffen into peaks that beg for more attention. His eyes stay fastened to them. I see desire and longing swimming in their heavy-lidded depths.
When I can’t stand another moment of his torture, he drops his hands to my ribs and exposed belly. He takes his time sweeping the fabric around my waist and hips before dipping lower. He sits back down on the lounger.
“Spread your legs.”
As soon as I part them, he resumes patting me dry. His hand goes right to my core, pressing the cottony material against my clit before rubbing in a slow, circular motion with the perfect amount of pressure to make me feel as though I might explode at any given moment. I try to stifle it, but the deep, guttural sound still manages to find its way into the night air.
Watching his expression, I try to get a read on his thoughts, but can’t. His feelings are shielded by shuttered eyes.
He smooths over my inner thighs with care before skimming down my calves. Sweeping back up again, his hand arrows to my aching lower lips.
His hungry eyes flick to mine. “You still owe me a kiss.”
“You got your kiss in the limo,” I remind him breathlessly.
His gaze turns flinty, his lips bowing into a wicked grin. He reaches out and fingers the strings of my bikini bottoms. Within a heartbeat, the ties are plucked, and the tiny black bottoms float to the ground.
“It wasn’t those lips I wanted to kiss.”
My belly hollows out.
His eyes dart to my freshly waxed pussy. His face is perfectly level with my lower lips. I want to feel his mouth against me more than anything.
He reaches over and slowly strokes one thick finger over my slit.
Another low moan of desire slides from my mouth. I couldn’t stop it if I tried.
Matteo leans forward and traces the same path his finger traveled seconds ago with his tongue. I want to die. Or maybe I want to sink to the ground and spread my thighs so I can feel the velvety flatness of his tongue stroking over me. Darting inside.
He grazes the top of my slit rather than probe deeper with his tongue. Of their own volition, my fingers thread through his inky black hair as he continues laying butterfly-like kisses against me. I want him to bury his face between my legs and ravage me instead of giving me chaste kisses. It’s pure torment, and he knows it.
“Please,” I whine. “I need more.”
But he doesn’t give it to me.
He instead pulls away, leaving me to shake and gasp before reaching down and picking up my bottoms. He holds the material against my trembling hips, tying both sides together so that I’m once again covered.
It feels like my entire body is being scorched by flames.
Gaining his feet, he wraps the towel around my shoulders and picks me up, cradling me in his arms.
“Are you ready?”
Ready to leave?
Ready to be fucked?
I have no idea what he’s asking. But the answer to both questions is the same.
“Yes.” My throat is dry and raspy. My body feverish. I’ve never wanted a man more than I want this one.