The Woman in the Wrong Place (Grassi Framily)

“You’re killing me, baby,” he groaned into my shoulder. “I’m trying to be the good guy here,” he added, even as his hips started rocking against my movements.

“Don’t. Don’t be the good guy,” I urged him. “You’ve been the good guy enough.”

“Baby…” he groaned, losing his control by the second, but desperately trying to cling to it as his fingers continued to fuck me.

Impatient, I turned slightly. Just enough to allow me to reach my hand down his boxer briefs and wrap my hand around his cock.

His whole body jolted at the contact as his breath shook out of his chest as my thumb teased over his sensitive head before I started stroking him, matching the rhythm to his fingers inside me.

As soon as he caught onto that, his fingers started thrusting harder and faster, making me need to wrap my free arm around his back, holding on as my thighs started to feel shaky.

Matteo’s free hand rose, tipping up my chin, and gently sealing his lips over mine, mindful of the fact that the lower one had been split. The kiss was soft and sweet and longing, full of the need coursing through both of our systems.

I didn’t mean for it to happen.

I wanted him inside me.

But I was so caught up in the moment that I didn’t even realize I was teetering on that edge before he was tossing me over, leaving me free-falling into my orgasm.

My cries were swallowed by his lips as his hips rocked against my hand until he came with me, hissing out my name against my lips.

Even as the haze of pleasure dissipated, I knew that while I wanted more, I had to admit it would be better the first time if we weren’t working with the constraints of my battered body.

Afterward, we both climbed out, and Matteo carefully dried me with the same sort of care he’d washed me, he’d held me after we’d both come together.

It had all changed that day.

That was the moment we went from tip-toeing around there being something between us to actively engaging in it.

Carefully. Because I was hurt. Because he was too worried about making it worse.

But his hands found reasons to touch me. Across my lower hips as he passed. Brushing my hair from my shoulder. Fingertips brushing over my hand when he passed me something.

And in bed that night, he scooted in close at my side, draping an arm over me, kissing me softly for a long, long time. Long enough that my whole body felt like it was floaty and buzzing.

Then he just held me.

It was somehow the most intimate I’d ever been with a man outside of sex. There was no expectation of anything else. Just closeness. Just shared comfort and affection.

A little part of me started falling for him then.

And I guess a part of me thought we would have all the time in the world to explore that.

But Fate would have other plans for us.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Matteo

“May I ask you something?” Josie asked early in the morning six days after the time in the shower when I’d washed her hair. And when we finally but silently agreed we weren’t just boss and employee, or injured person and caretaker, or even blackmailer and the one being blackmailed.

“Sure,” I said, confused why she felt the need to ask. Josie was typically someone who blurted things out. I liked that about her. There were no masks or pretenses with her.

“It’s okay if it is too personal.”

“Baby, I’ve had my mouth between your legs, nothing is too personal at this point,” I said, mostly because her cheeks always went a little pink when I said something like that to her.

“It’s just… it’s something Adrian and Sofia have kind of mentioned in passing.” She fiddled with stirring her coffee for an extra couple of seconds before her gaze lifted to mine.

She was looking better.

The swelling had gone down on her eye completely. There were still bruises on her face, but they had faded from the deep purples and blues to lighter shades with the healing colors of yellow and green creeping in. All the actual cuts had healed. Her ribs, well, it could be weeks still until she felt one-hundred percent. But she walking around no longer had her sucking her breath in and wincing.

Progress.

And we had nothing but time.

“I was just wondering what happened to your mom,” she said, giving me sad eyes. “It seems like you lost her really young.”

“I did,” I agreed. “I was three, actually,” I said, feeling a familiar sadness spreading through my system. “I don’t really remember her, to be honest. Luca was seven. He remembers. But she’s mostly just certain smells and songs to me now.”

“Was she sick?” Josie asked, moving closer toward the island where I was sitting.

“She was murdered, babe,” I told her, watching the shock as it jolted through her system, making her eyes widen and her lips part. “I know. That’s a lot to take in.”