Azra
The dressing room mirror reflects a face I don’t recognize. I quickly hide my flushed cheeks and dilated eyes by pulling my all-in-one pantsuit up my thighs, but no number of silent prayers can mask the scent of my arousal slicking my underwear.
I should have known any outfit Matteo insisted would “make an impression” would be body-hugging. Dress ten was so stuck that there was no way it was leaving this dressing room in one piece—and I’m only one step behind it.
With Matteo, it’s impossible to distinguish where the performance ends and the truth begins. I’m as confused by his actions as I am horny.
Matteo props his shoulder against the solid wall of the dressing room, crosses his arms, and speaks in a warm, amused voice. “Are you positive you don’t want to hunt for a handful more outfits? Four dresses are barely a day’s worth of clothes for some women.”
Despite my back being turned to him, I roll my eyes. “I’m sure.”
“You hesitated.”
“I did not,” I immediately snap back, hating how easily he reads me.
“You did.” He sounds way too pleased with himself. “It’s fine. Happens to everyone when they’re shocked I can be as helpful as I am sexy.”
After gathering the clothes he picked, I move toward the curtain. “I’m done. No more stuffy dressing rooms for me for at least the next century.”
His gaze sweeps over me. His gawk isn’t inappropriate, more assessing, like he’s cataloging every detail for reasons he’ll never admit. “Shame. I was enjoying myself.”
“You were enjoying bossing me around.”
“That, too.”
I hustle past him, desperate to reach the cashier before he says something else that makes my pulse misbehave. With a playful groan, Matteo pulls open the dressing room curtain. His arm brushing mine sends a rush of heat to the apex of my thighs.
It was like this in my dream last night. Tension so intense that, even while making mistake after mistake, it felt as if I’d never face the consequences of my actions.
I’ve only just entered the main part of the boutique when Matteo’s hand closes around my wrist. Before I can ask what he’s doing, he pulls me back inside, crowds me against the already fogged mirror, then seals his mouth over mine.
Without a negative thought slipping through my head, I part my lips to allow his lashing tongue to slide between them.
I groan into his mouth when he drags his tongue along the roof of my mouth before dueling it with mine.
Tingles flood my pussy from the delicious flavor of his mouth.
He tastes like the breakfast we shared and a unique palate that belongs solely to him.
My god, this man knows how to kiss.
The strokes of his tongue are precise and controlled, and the soft tenderness of his mouth is unexpected for how riled up it can make me when he’s not kissing me senseless.
Mindless with need, I meet his kiss with both potency and steam. I stroke my tongue along his, sucking gently, while mimicking the hungry, sultry movements of his mouth.
My breath catches when Matteo rocks his hip upward, wordlessly announcing that this feeling isn’t exclusive to me. He’s hard, his erection straining against the crotch of his jeans.
As I rock against him, the air between us tightens with the charge of a storm about to break. I assume the tension has finally snapped for him too, that he’s done allowing me to pretend this is solely about strategy, but then I hear it.
A familiar voice calls my name.
It’s dull compared to the ringing of my pulse in my ears, but distinguishable.
Antonio.
My stomach drops when I recall him mentioning a boutique in town from which he purchases all his suits. They have an on-site tailor, which saves him a drive to the city.
Matteo’s expression is unreadable when I inch back. He drinks in my heated neck and kiss-swollen lips before he flicks his dilated eyes to the entryway of the dressing room, wordlessly announcing my stupidity.
When his hooded gaze returns to me, his posture shifts from protective to deliberate. It isn’t the stance of a romantic man. It’s tactical.
Antonio calls my name again, louder this time, like he recognizes my moans.
The silent accusation stiffens Matteo’s shoulders, but I act ignorant and peer past them.
Antonio is on the other side of a partially open curtain, holding a garment bag.
He’s wearing sunglasses indoors, which would be ridiculous if he didn’t already look so awkward.
His uncomfortable posture hides more than a battered ego, and his jaw is tight.
He heard me.
He just has no clue that Matteo’s kisses alone can inspire such a carnal response.
Matteo tilts slightly to the left, blocking the view.
“Showtime,” he whispers, audible only to me.
He places me back on my feet, and my pulse hammers. Not from fear. Well, not entirely.
The way Matteo’s presence fills the small space is intimidating, but the fact that he’s already three moves ahead of his opponent is both inspiring and frightening.
Antonio’s expression is exactly the reaction I want, but it takes everything I have to slip my hand into the one Matteo is holding out in offering.
His glinting eyes reveal this is a game to him, but for a second, when he had me pinned to the mirror, it felt like the most honest thing in the world.
As my hand slips into Matteo’s, he says, “Ready to make him regret everything?”
It’s a fight to school my expression. “More than ready.”
He pulls back the curtain as if he has no clue that the darkness of my past is lurking beyond it.
When Antonio balks, Matteo’s teeth graze his lower lip, scarcely concealing his smug grin.
He’s enjoying this a little too much.
Antonio’s head snaps toward me. “Azra?” he says again, differently this time. His voice is strained, and something oddly similar to disbelief threads through it.
I blink as if embarrassed he caught us. It isn’t a hard ruse to pull off since it’s true. Antonio wasn’t the only one who caught me off guard. It isn’t even Matteo. It’s the actions of my lusty head.
“Anto… Hi.”
He removes his sunglasses, revealing blackened and unfocused eyes. They’re not the eyes of an exhausted man recovering from losing someone he didn’t realize he wanted until she was stolen from him. They’re the marks of a man punished for his many false notions of what is right and wrong.
It’s a fight not to smile. The only reason I hold back is because Antonio makes out that he knows the difference between my groans of disgust and my moans of pleasure. “I thought that was you. I’d recognize those noises anywhere.”
With one hand not enough to slow down a man like Matteo, I clutch his hand firmly before digging the nails of my other hand into the tattooed skin on his forearm.
It’s pretentious of me to assume he’ll bristle with jealousy from Antonio’s comment, but he did admit only minutes ago that that was the reason he stopped our exchange in the SUV.
Despite my battle to keep his feet rooted to the floor, Matteo moves closer to Antonio. He isn’t within striking distance, but close enough to make the implication of Antonio’s actions unmistakable.
“Then I suggest you learn fucking quickly how to forget what she sounds like when she’s about to come before I rearrange your face with my fists.”
Antonio’s gaze dances between us, the fear in them picking up the more time passes. “You… were about to come?”
“Yeah,” Matteo answers before I can register my disgust, much less voice it. His tone is pleasant but propped up with an unvoiced threat. “She was.”
Antonio’s jaw tightens as he signs his death certificate with a stern glare. “When have you not been a fuck ’em and dump ’em guy, Matteo?”
Matteo returns his glare before his focus shifts to me. An exciting zap darts down my spine as he drags his eyes over my flushed face and body. “Have you seen her? Who the fuck would give that up?” He turns his lusty eyes back to Antonio. “Only a fool.”
I love everything he’s saying, and that his tone is gospel, but I can’t forget my objective.
Two pairs of equally menacing eyes snap to me when I mutter, “We also haven’t… fucked.”
Matteo’s grip firms so much his clipped nails dig into my palm.
Antonio peacock feathers fan as he smirks arrogantly.
I work on the latter first.
“Because we’re upholding the terms of our marriage contract.” I tilt in close to Matteo’s side and breathe in both the scent of his skin and the heat of his annoyance. “We don’t want anything to ruin our chance of becoming husband and wife.”
Antonio’s lips hitch at one side, and instantly, I see sparks of the man I must marry. “Right. The purity clause.” He doesn’t even attempt to hide his smile while shifting his attention back to Matteo. “Have fun with that…” He twists his lips. “Or not.”
After a sleazy wink directed at me, he turns on his heel and walks away. Or should I say limps away? He’s walking stiffly, and it has me desperate to ask Matteo if he knows what happened to him.
Before I can utter a word, Matteo hustles me out of the boutique, briefly muttering to the cashier to deliver my purchases to his estate.
He’s so blistering mad that I don’t protest when he straddles his bike before holding out his hand to help me on. I slot into the leather seat behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, unblinking.
Unconcerned that we have absolutely no form of protection if we get into a wreck, he skids out of the parking spot at a speed too fast to be safe. I’m not even wearing a helmet this time.
Within minutes, the urban jungle’s familiar streets give way to dirt roads and endless miles of untouched countryside. There isn’t a single house in sight, and I learn that’s the point when Matteo pulls into a recently turned-up lot half a second before telling me to remove his dick from his pants.
“Wh-what?” I ask, shocked.
His eyes lock with mine in the side mirror of his bike before he repeats, slower this time, “Take my dick out.”
Although his eyes are blazing with fury, the remembrance of how he reacts positively to my sass doesn’t warrant his anger the respect it deserves. “I’d rather die.”