He opens his brilliant, haunted brown eyes and curls his lips up on one side, giving me a little grin. The soft, playful smile is in direct opposition to the rest of his hard, serious features, but that makes me love it all the more. For one brief, beautiful moment, Matteo lets me see his heart. Just like the first day I met him.
But then his brow furrows again and anger clouds his features. No, not anger. He’s looking at me like he’s...worried.
“How are you feeling this morning?” He asks, his intense eyes meticulously studying my every movement. Is he worried about me?
“I’m fine,” I say without any thought. I’m always fine. Even when I’m not.
Matteo lifts his massive paw of a hand and rests the back of it over my forehead. This man has enough brute strength to end me, and yet his touch is gentle, reverent even. He trails his knuckles down my cheek and then tucks some hair behind my ear. His kindness is overwhelming to the point of tears.
No one has ever cared for me like this. Not my mom who left after I was born, or my dad who dropped me off at a fire station when I was two. Not my foster families or my social worker. Not even Freya.
So how is it that Matteo, a freaking mafia boss, is the one by my side, asking if I’m okay?
“You are not fine. You are sick. Stay here,” he declares as if that’s the final word. I suppose in his world, what he says goes. Matteo rolls out of bed with a surprising amount of grace and speed considering his size.
A few moments later, he is by my side with a veritable cornucopia of sick-day needs. The large silver tray that I’m sure is intended to hold the finest of foods for the Queen herself, is littered with small packs of tissues, a plate of crackers, a mini bowl filled with cough drops, every kind of over-the-counter anti-inflammatory available on the market, DayQuil, NyQuil, water bottles, three kinds of Gatorade, an ice pack, a heating pack, and right in the middle of all the chaos, there is a single chocolate truffle in a gold foil wrapper.
I pick up the chocolate and give Matteo a questioning look.
“My nonna said chocolate can fix anything.”.
I giggle at his devout response as if the pope himself gave the instruction to feed chocolate to sick women. I swear the tops of his ears turn pink like he's embarrassed. But it's gone before I can be sure.
“Your nonna sounds like a very smart woman,” I nod, popping the chocolate in my mouth. “Oh my God,” I moan around a mouthful of chocolate.
“Careful, angel. You’re not well enough for me to hear those sounds.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, totally confused.
Matteo sets down the tray of goodies and places one knee on the bed beside me, leaning his broad, muscular body over mine. His strong arms cage me in as he stares down at me like a man possessed. All laughter dies on my lips as I meet his hungry gaze.
Matteo runs his nose and lips up the side of my neck, pausing to nuzzle below my ear.
"What I mean, tesoro, is that the next time you make those throaty moans, I'm going to have my fingers buried in your delicious, dripping pussy, followed by my tongue. Then my rock fucking hard cock will sink into your tight little cunt and finally get some relief from the constant, painful ache you create whenever I think about you."
My breath catches in my throat and I feel my entire body heat up – not from fever this time. "I-it hurts?" I murmur.
His eyes go dark and I feel every single muscle in his ridiculously sculpted body tense. “Hurts so goddamn much, but it’s nothing I can’t take. When you’re ready, I’ll let you ease my pain, okay Darlene?”
I nod my head, never breaking eye contact with him. We share an intense moment, the air thick with tension and an excruciating need. I’m replaying every kiss, every touch, every moment of the multiple orgasms he gave me a few days ago. I know he’s thinking the same thing. I feel it all the way down to my toes. It’s like we’re experiencing it together again as our breaths grow shallow and we both shiver at the memory. Matteo finally breaks away from me, rolling over so he’s sitting on the bed instead of kneeling over me. What a shame.
He picks up the tray again and holds it out to me. So freaking cute. Yeah. Cute. The big, lethal, intimidating crime lord is cute, if only just for me. That thought has me smiling while I sit up and select a pack of tissues. Matteo shakes the tray slightly, indicating I need to take more. My smile only gets bigger.
I grab some Advil for the slight headache I still have, along with a bottle of water. Matteo raises an eyebrow and stares at me until I grab a handful of cough drops and a few crackers. Finally satisfied, he sets the tray down and proceeds to open the Advil and place two pills onto my palm. I toss them in my mouth while he unscrews the lid of the water bottle and hands it to me.
Once I swallow the pills, he lifts a cracker up to my mouth, as if he's going to feed me by hand. I laugh at first, but then I realize he's serious. Something about the look in his eyes tells me not to fight him on this. And really, if the sexiest man in existence wants to hand-feed me, who am I to complain?
I open up for him, and Matteo slides the flat little disk into my mouth. The look of absolute satisfaction on his face when I start chewing is enough to make me melt for him. More than I already have, that is.
He feeds me the rest of the crackers and encourages me to drink more water. Then Matteo opens the little pack of tissues and holds one out for me to blow my nose. Nope. That’s where I draw the line. Snot is not sexy.
“Matteo, I can blow my own nose. I’m not that sick,” I roll my eyes at him, taking the tissue and doing what needs to be done myself.
His face turns hard, his eyes dark, which makes me laugh again. He’s so serious about everything, including blowing my nose. “You were plenty sick last night,” he grits out. His tone lets me know he’s not in the mood for jokes. “You scared the shit out of me, tesoro. Why didn’t you tell anyone you were sick before it got so bad?”
My emotions take another sharp turn, and I feel my eyes fill with tears. I look away from him and shrug. He’s so fierce, even when he’s concerned and caring. It’s not that he’s overbearing, though some might see it that way. It’s more that I don’t know how to handle this level of attention.
“I don’t know. I didn’t really feel all that bad until last night,” I whisper, not trusting my voice.
The next thing I know, my face is cradled in Matteo’s hands and he’s wiping my tears away with his thumbs. “Please don’t cry. It hurts me to see your tears.”
His words, of course, make me cry even harder. He sits there patiently, rubbing the back of my neck with one hand while grabbing a tissue and wiping my tears with the other. “Sorry. I’m not usually such a mess,” I mumble once I’ve finally calmed down. “Must be a side-effect of the chocolate or something. I’m not used to food being wrapped in gold.”
A deep chuckle rolls through Matteo’s body, making his entire frame shake. It makes me unreasonably proud that I made him laugh. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt more victorious in my whole life.
“Yes, that’s probably it. I’ve heard of gold foil doing that to some people.”
Matteo kisses my temple and then my forehead. I’m still not a hundred percent sure what’s going on between us, but I’ll take any contact with him I can get.