8. Renata
I watchas Matteo fixes drinks for us. Vodka martini for me, and a Scotch over ice for himself. I”m relieved that the house is so different now. I was dreading walking inside and finding myself taken back to that awful day, but it”s as if I could be inside a completely different home. Gone is all the fussy furniture and overcrowded rooms. All the fake old-master paintings, the endless amounts of gold statues, and gold frames have been removed. In their place are bold pieces of art and large sculptural pieces, which suit the modern furniture.
I must admit that I like the place now. Matteo has done wonders with it. As he leads me out of the living room, I wonder where he’s taking me.
“I think you’ll like this,” he says.
He leads me into a large space, which I think used to be a music room, and I gasp. It’s been transformed into a large, modern, airy library. It’s full of wall to ceiling bookshelves, and it even has a ladder.
He must remember how much I love reading. He did too. Clearly, he still does. I walk into the room, holding my glass in one hand and letting the fingers of the other hand trail over the spines of the many books. There are classics, lots of thrillers, historical novels, and plenty of non-fiction too. I see a few business and motivational authors I’ve read myself.
“Do you like it?” he asks.
For a moment, the hard mask of the man he has become drops, and standing in front of me is an unsure young boy. I see the teenage him shining in his gaze, but he blinks, and the boy is gone again, only the man remaining.
“I love it,” I say truthfully. “You’ve done wonders with the house. It couldn’t have been easy living here,” I say. “After losing so many people, and your father deciding to leave for good.”
I lapse into silence as he nods and looks away, staring out of the large, mullioned windows to the lawn beyond.
I’ve wondered how come Matteo became head of the family when it was really Clifford’s place if succession was linear. After all, Aldo, Clifford’s father, was the former boss, and Alberto was his second. Although the rumors were always that they ran it together in reality, with equal power.
Since Aldo died, though, Matteo has allegedly taken over, and he is definitely in charge. From what I hear, Clifford is scary crazy, but he’s not the leader of their merry band. That role is Matteo’s. I want to ask, but it’s far too soon to show curiosity about their family dynamic.
The plan is: get him in bed. Earn his trust. Screw him over, and hopefully screw my family over at the same time. After all, I received enough money in my divorce to be comfortable even if I bring both families down financially.
The trust between Matteo and I has to come before the nosy inquisition. Still, I’m burning with curiosity.
“You want a tour of the house?” he asks.
I nod. “I’d love one.”
He leads me out of the library and shows me around the downstairs. It’s opulent but tasteful. Modern but with some old pieces of furniture that fit in well with the more contemporary décor. Damn, Matteo has good taste. “You decorated this place beautifully,” I tell him.
He laughs softly. “You mean the interior designer that I paid tens of thousands to did.”
“Oh, she’s talented,” I say. “I should get her number.”
“His, and he’s booked up until next year, or so he said when I asked if he’d look at a friend’s place for him.”
It’s a pity because if I do buy myself a pad, then it would be amazing to hire someone with such a keen attention to detail. Then again, I can do it myself. I love to shop and who better to design my space than me. The actual painting I’d leave to the professionals, but buying furniture and trinkets would be fun.
We walk through the kitchen, and it has been totally gutted and redone. It’s modern, sleek, and to be honest, it’s the only room I don’t love. It lacks personality somehow.
“The garage is this way. Unless you’re interested in cars, then there’s nothing in there.”
“Oh, I’m interested in cars,” I tell him with a smirk.
He casts me a puzzled glance but then nods. He ushers me into the garage and flicks the light on. It’s cavernous. Utterly huge. He’s extended it surely.
I look at the cars and give a satisfied nod. “Okay, we can go.”
He holds the door for me again but stares at me as we leave the room. “Did you just check that my cars passed some sort of test?”
“Yes,” I admit.
He frowns. “Like what? They have to be worth a certain amount? Or a certain horsepower?”
I giggle. “No. nothing of the sort. I just don’t date men who own red sports cars. Well, certain red sports cars.”
“What? Are you for real?”
“Relax, cowboy.” I wink. “You didn’t have any, so you passed.”
“Why, though?”
“Because they all have small dicks or ego issues in my humble opinion.”
He’s just taken a sip of the scotch, and he coughs as it goes down the wrong way. He clears his throat and looks at me with watery eyes. “Are you shitting me right now?”
“No. My dad always drove a red Italian sports car, so any man who drives one reminds me of him. I don’t like my father, just so we’re clear. So a red Italian sports car is a red flag for me.”
“You have reverse daddy issues,” he says.
“What?”
“Instead of looking for a man who can fill daddy’s shoes, you’re looking for anyone who you think is different than him.”
“We all have parent issues, Matteo.” I poke his chest. “Even you. Now … why don’t you show me upstairs?”
The air between us once again stands heavy with a weight of expectation.
“I didn”t ask you here for that, Renata.”
I quirk an eyebrow at him. “Presumptuous much? I only want to take a look at the decor.” A smile plays about my lips. “I have a thing about nice bathrooms. I’d like to see yours.”
“You just want to look at the bathroom?” His mouth twitches up into a smile, one-sided and sexy.
Oh, that smile is not fair. That smile is him bringing a gun to a knife fight. Damn the man.
“Yes, that’s all. Bathrooms are a big thing for me. If I go to a hotel, the first thing I do is check out the bathroom. In fact, and this is a bit of a weird thing, I often photograph it.”
He angles his head slightly to one side and regards me. “Seriously, you photograph hotel bathrooms?”
“Yep. I”m not ashamed of my strangeness. It”s quite a big thing on Instagram, you know. Lots of people seem to be into hotel bathrooms. Not that I put mine on social media. I”m not allowed to post where I am and things like that; apparently, it isn’t safe.”
“Yet your family allow you to wander around without any security,” he says under his breath.
“My family are assholes, as you well know.” I sigh, wanting to lighten the mood and not think about my family as fuel my resentment and anger. “Are you going to show me upstairs or not?”
“Come on.” He slips his hand into mine, and the shock of the contact zips down my spine. His skin is warm, and his grip is firm but gentle. His hand is huge and covers most of mine, and I suddenly get a feeling I haven”t had in the longest time. A sense of safety.
I remove my hand quickly and pretend that I”m brushing the hair from my eyes. Hot and heavy sex I can deal with, but this intimacy is something else entirely. I can”t let myself begin to feel safe with this man, or cherished in anyway; that”s not what I”m here for.
I”m here to get my revenge on him, and in doing so I’ll possibly get my revenge on my family too. How I”m going to do this, I have no clue. I”ve probably bitten off more than I can chew, but that”s always been my way in life. I”ll figure it out somehow. One day I”ll get that nugget of information that allows me to bring Nico and my family to their knees, but also bring Matteo down a peg or two.
The problem is, when I”m with him, I forget exactly why I want to ruin his life. He might be the one weakness that I have.
We reach the top of the stairs, and he turns to the right and leads me to the end of the long corridor.
“This is the family bathroom,” he says with a small smile. “Seeing as you are so into bathrooms, I thought I”d show you this first.”
He opens the door, and I”m looking at a very nice, but very normal bathroom.
I have to admit I”m a little disappointed, because I thought it might be a bit swankier. “It”s nice,” I say.
He laughs. “Ah, Renata, I know you well enough to understand that that”s a very muted response. Come on let me show you mine.”
He turns and walks back the other way until we reach the end of the corridor and take a right down a smaller section of hallway. There’s a large door at the end, and I think this used to be his parents’ room. He opens the door and ushers me inside. The room is opulent and decorated in shades of gray. The back wall is panelled and painted a deep warm gray, and a large bed rests against it. To the side of the bed are tables with glass surfaces, and brass frames and legs. The brass looks good against the gray darkness of the room. The bedding is a mix of a slightly lighter gray than the walls and a rich bronzy colour. I would never put them together, but the colors complement each other nicely. There”s a guitar in the corner of the room, and I walk over to it and gently touch the strings. I didn”t know he played guitar, but there”s a lot of things about Matteo I don”t know anymore.
I remind myself that really these days he”s a stranger to me. All along the wall to the right is a built-in wardrobe. There”s a second door, which I presume leads to the bathroom. Snug in the corner of the room is a bookshelf. I walk over and take a quick look at the books. There”s also one on the bedside table on the right-hand side of the bed and next to it a pair of glasses.
Matteo didn”t wear glasses when we were dating, and I wouldn”t imagine he”s old enough to need reading glasses just yet. Maybe he does. Unless the glasses and the book belong to someone else. The thought has my stomach turning, and I feel queasy at the idea of some woman being so comfortable here she can leave her glasses and a book on the bedside table.
“This is the bathroom,” he says. He opens the door and clicks on a light to the side, and I walk in and gasp.
The gray theme continues into the vast space, but it’s much more opulent in here, almost decadent. Matte gray marble tiles cover the floor and walls, and there”s a huge freestanding bath in one corner. A high shelf runs the length of the wall by the door, underneath which stand two sinks and vanities. Above the marble vanity, below the shelf is a long mirror. On the high shelf are plants in pots, some with the greenery hanging down to trail over the vanity.
The shower is massive. The head is a big square and set into a recessed area of the room with one sliding glass door at the front. There”s a marble seat at one corner of the shower, and I realize when I look up that there”s a separate head that runs along the back end of that wall, all the way along, so you can either stand under the square head or you can sit on the bench and let the water pour down on you.
“The second rectangular head is a rain shower,” Matteo says. “It”s supposed to feel like you”re sitting under a warm waterfall or something; I don”t know. I never use it, only the big square one.”
“Did the designer do all this as well?” I ask.
“They did every damn thing,” he says with a laugh. “Even down to the bedsheets. They asked me what kind of colors I liked, and I told them. They asked me what sort of furniture I liked and showed me some pictures. I picked out the pieces that appealed to me. Then they presented me with a plan, and I agreed.”
“So, everything in this house is what the designer suggested, and not yours, as in you didn”t buy any of it?”
“No, I didn”t buy any of it myself.”
“But, there must be some things that you personally like. Like when you go antiquing or something, you must see the odd bits that you like.”
It’s disturbing me for some reason that there”s nothing of him really stamped onto this house. Yes, he”s redesigned it and made it a stunning home, but he”s paid someone to do it, and the fact that he hasn”t even bought one thing to put in here makes me feel he doesn”t really see this as home.
“Antiquing?” He raises one of those dark brows at me mockingly, and I let out a sigh.
“I guess that”s too feminine an activity for you to take part in, huh?”
He chuckles again. “It”s not that, I”m just not really interested in it. This house was full of antiques before, and I couldn”t stand them.” He pauses for a minute, and when he looks at me again there”s a moment of vulnerability in that dark gaze of his. “I guess the house doesn”t really feel like mine, you know? My father is still alive and yes, he says he”s going to stay in Italy for the rest of his days, but it feels weird living in his home.”
He glances around the bathroom. “I suppose while he”s alive, I don”t fully feel like it”s mine. He gave me the go ahead to redecorate, and he took most of the furniture, antiques, and all the other crap that he”d accumulated over the years with him anyway. Cost an absolute fortune to ship all that stuff to Italy. So the house was pretty empty. I had to do something. But I guess deep down it almost feels like I”m kind of renting, if you know what I mean. Or even squatting.”
“You”re not squatting,” I tell him. “This is your family home. It is being passed down to you now. You run the business as well, and you don”t seem to feel like you have no right to do that.”
He barks out a laugh, and this one isn”t soft or gentle; it”s quite harsh. “I”ve been running that business for many years, Renata.”
“You have?”
“Yes, I have. There were things that Aldo and Alberto were still doing, of course, because I couldn”t wrestle control from them entirely, but in reality, I was running most things. With Clifford, of course.”
“What sort of things were they still doing?” I ask. It’s a nosy question, and he might simply shut me down.
I”m leaning against the wall and he”s very close to me now. He sighs and rests his arm on the wall above me so that he”s even closer.
“Landmine number one,” he says mysteriously. “Well, if you want to get right down to it, one of the things they did, which Clifford and I most definitely did not approve of, was trying to buy shares in your family’s business.”
“You didn”t approve of that?” I ask, surprised.
“Of course not.” His voice is impatient, but I realize it”s not with me. “It was a totally stupid move. I don”t even know what they thought they were going to achieve. It”s not as if your family wouldn”t have eventually seen that they were buying up lots of shares in the business. They never would have allowed them to take a place on the board. It”s the kind of stupid shit that generation keeps pulling. There”s no need for it.”
Is he saying he wants some sort of truce?
I glance away from him, and when I look back his gaze has darkened. “Of course, your dick brother then went and did something dreadful in return, so he’s as bad as the old generation so far as I’m concerned.”
“My brother is an idiot,” I say dismissively.” Then I grin. “I doubt he’ll be as much trouble going forward.”
“Oh?” He watches me like a hawk watching a mouse. “Why’s that?”
“He’s in love. Utterly whipped as you men would put it. He wants to become more legitimate. Make sure his little blonde mouse is safe.”
“Really? Is that a fact? Whipped you say?”
“Yes. Gone and lost his head.”
“Weak,” Matteo says sharply.
I smile and simply shrug because he might say it is weak, but I’ve seen so many men lose it all over a woman. In fact, Matteo seeing love as a weakness only makes me want to bring him to his knees even more. I let my gaze lower and focus on his mouth. His tongue darts out and wets his bottom lip, and I follow the motion, something tight pulling deep inside.
He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Do you like my bedroom and bathroom, even though I didn”t go out and buy all the things for it myself?” His voice is low and seductive now.
“I do like it,” I say. “It could maybe do with some personal touches, or a few feminine touches, but it”s very nice. Your bathroom is awesome. I bet that shower is incredible.”
“You want to try it and see?” His eyes glitter dangerously under the bathroom lights.
I swallow hard. I do want to try it out because the idea of getting under that shower all naked with Matteo is a delicious one. I need to remember, however, that this is part of my plan, and not to get carried away with letting him take the lead.
“Are you trying to say you think I”m dirty, Mr. Mancini,” I say jokingly.
“How about we find out?” he says.
He reaches for my jeans and expertly unbuckles the belt before popping the zipper open and sliding his hand down inside.
I gasp in shock.
This is not how I expected this to go. I thought he’d seduce me slowly. Kisses and caresses, and nibbles against my neck before he slowly undressed me.
Holy hell, his fingers are in my panties, and he slides them over my clit. I gasp again, and my head falls back against the marble behind me.
“Yeah, you don’t need a shower,” he murmurs against my throat. “You’re already soaked.”
His fingers stroke over me as he watches me. It’s almost disconcerting the way his gaze focuses on my face. As if he’s more interested in every subtle, fleeting expression on my features than he is in seeing me naked or anything else. It makes me feel exposed and vulnerable, so I put my hand on his wrist and halt the movements of his fingers.
“Kiss me,” I demand.
And he does.
If I thought that would help me in any way, I was wrong.
Oh, Lord, his kiss. It’s not soft or tentative; his kiss is a storming of my walls. It’s breaking down my barriers. His kiss is everything.
His mouth claims mine and owns it. He bites at my bottom lip and when I groan, he pushes his tongue inside and tastes me. He tastes of wine, and he smells amazing. I don’t know what aftershave he wears, but it makes me want to do sinful things as his scent and taste fill me.
He cups my head and angles it the way he wants, but his other hand is still in my panties, not moving, but pressing. His palm is right against my core, and the sensation of pressure without any movement is an exquisite torture.
I pant into his mouth, our breath mingling until I don’t know where I end and he begins, and then he breaks off the kiss. He stares down at me, his gaze full of desire and something else. He almost looks angry.
His fingers finally leave my panties, but only to pull my silk shirt out of my jeans.
“Hey, this shirt cost a fortune; take it easy.”
“I’ll buy you another one,” he growls as he roughly pulls the buttons undone.
Holy hell, Matteo as a man in his thirties is nothing like Matteo as a boy of seventeen.
He’s dangerous, I realize with a scared jolt.
Not physically, or at least not to me, but emotionally? This man is a grenade, and I just pulled the pin.
As he pushes my shirt down over my arms, I shiver at the sensation of the silk caressing my skin, and then he throws it to one side on the shelf behind him. He stares at my breasts in my lacy push-up bra.
This bra cost over two hundred pounds, and if Matteo’s ravenous gaze is anything to go by it was money well spent.
“Christ, you’re even bigger,” he says as if in awe.
“I am.” I shrug, pretending to be nonchalant, but dying inside at the way he’s looking at me.
I’ve gone up another cup size since we were together last, and because I’m tall and have curvy hips and thighs, I carry it well. But it’s the bra that makes my girls look so damn good. I spend a lot of money on lingerie. To me it’s like the gift wrap for an expensive present. I wouldn’t buy an expensive gift and wrap it in cheap paper, so why wrap the gift of me in cheap lingerie?
I think he might be going to unhook my bra, but instead he spans my upper rib cage with his hands and runs his thumbs under the wire of the bra as he pushes my tits up even higher.
Then he pulls the lace down, exposing my already peaked nipples to the air.
“I always loved your tits,” he says.
He pushes my breasts together, bends his head, and sucks both nipples into his hot, waiting mouth. “Oh my God,” I moan as my fingers curl into his thick, dark hair.
A tender scrape of teeth has me shivering. I like a bit of pain with my pleasure. My husband was always such a gentleman, and it bored me rigid. He liked everything vanilla and pleasant with me, but I later learned he was into degradation and humiliation with others. It seemed that he believed his wife and he should only be intimate on Sundays, under the covers, and in the missionary position.
Matteo pushes my jeans down, and I step out of them before he does the same roughly to my lace panties, which match my bra. He spins me around, and I grab onto the ledge in front of me as he pushes my legs apart. He presses his hand against the small of my back, urging me to relax, then he slides his hands down my sides, over my hips, and against my thighs. He’s kneeling behind me, I realize, and I cry out when his fingers part my folds, and he sucks my clit into his mouth. The guttural groan he gives makes my clit throb. He sounds like he’s been dying to taste me forever.
I glance up and stare at my reflection in the mirror as if I’m on the outside looking in. My eyes are heavy-lidded, my lips parted, and my gloss smudged. My nipples are peeking out of the top of my bra, red and hard. I look utterly wanton.
Matteo’s tongue should be illegal.
My legs are already shaking, and I cannot come this quickly. That would be mortifying. It’s been a long time for me, though. I haven’t had a man in my bed for many long months. I’ve also been teasing Nico’s men, which I only do to annoy him, but it does make me horny.
I’m primed to explode, and Matteo provides just the right amount of skilled stimulation to make it happen.
God, I want his cock in me. So badly. We aren’t going that far, though. I can’t get him where I need him if I give it away on the first date. He stands and covers my back with his solid, warm front. His chest and abs are ridged with muscle.
I grind against him, loving the feeling of his thick cock against my ass.
“We aren’t fucking,” he growls. “Not tonight.”
In an instant, my plan to draw this out and make him wait is flipped on its head. I hate being told no. I hate that he thinks he gets to call all the shots in this.
I was going to drag this out over a few dates, but a new plan rapidly develops.
I grind against his hard length. He wants me, but he’s denying himself, and the only reason for that is a power play.
I’ll show this motherfucker who is in charge here.
“I said.” He spanks me, one hand hitting my ass hard. “No.”
Spank.
“Fucking.”
Spank.
“Tonight.”
Spank.
If he thinks spanking me is going to somehow discipline me, he’s wrong. I love it.
Ignoring his spanks, I grind back against him again and pull his hand around to my front, shoving his fingers into my soaking wetness, letting him feel how warm, wet, and hot I am for him. He groans.
“Stop it,” he snaps.
“You stop it.” I laugh. “I’m on the pill. I’m clean. I trust you are. We are consenting adults, so why not?”
“Because I said no. I don’t want to rush this.”
I do want to rush it, for this moment, and then I’ll slow it right down. I want, no need, this initial encounter to go my way. The knowledge that I can make this man lose control is vital to me. “Okay,” I say with a sigh. “If you’re insistent.”
“I am.”
I reach around behind me and unclasp my bra. His eyes stare at my tits in the mirror, and I bite back a smile. A man once told me my girls were the eighth wonder of the world, and it seems Matteo would agree.
He reaches around and cups my breasts and pinches my nipples.
“God, yes. Harder.” His eyes darken as his jaw clenches.
I know what I want and what I like. I like it hard and fast, and a little bit dirty. I want to be sweating like I’ve hit the gym. Bite me, and I’ll bite back. Spank me while I scratch you. Pull my hair. All of it turns me on, and if his expression is anything to go by, this side of me gets him raring to go too.
“Christ, Renata. You’re so fucking sexy.”
“Thank you,” I say proudly. No shy and retiring simpering from me.
“Still not going to fuck you,” he says.
We’ll see about that. I bend over the vanity and present him with more of my pussy and ass. He groans and spanks me again.
“Stop fucking tempting me.”
“I need your cock in me,” I moan. “I’m so empty. I need you to fill me.”
“Fuck, Renata. Shut up.”
“It’s been so long, and I only have my toy, and that broke last week. I used it so much. My pussy is so needy, Matteo. I’m so desperate to have your big cock in me. Just the tip.”
I almost laugh at that. If he puts just the tip in, it’s game over.
As I’ve been playing, though, and telling him all the things I think he wants to hear, I realize that I mean them all. I am desperate for him. I am craving him. I do want him to fill me and stretch me.
“You haven’t even looked at it yet. Maybe you can’t handle it.” He bites my ear and laughs softly.
“I have seen it before, Matteo.” A glimpse maybe, but I still saw it.
“It’s changed since then.”
“Changed?” What the hell? How can it have changed?
“Want to see?” He grins at me.
I swallow and nod.