Chapter Forty-One
Daphne
T he drive back is quieter than before, a comfortable kind of silence stretching between us.
One of Matteo’s hands rests on the steering wheel, the other on my bare thigh, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns against my skin. Every so often, I catch him glancing over at me with something unreadable in his eyes.
I should probably go home. That would be the sensible thing to do.
But when he asks, voice low and laced with something I can’t quite decipher -
“Come home with me?”
- I don’t even think before I say yes.
*
Matteo’s home isn’t in the city centre like I expected it to be.
Instead, he drives us further out, winding through quieter roads, past olive groves and rolling hills, the sky now a deep indigo overhead.
The further we go, the more I realise just how different his world is from mine -
And then we turn onto a private tree-lined driveway.
His house - no, his mansion - is breathtaking. All soft stone and towering archways, the kind of place that looks like it belongs in a luxury travel magazine.
The entire property is framed by high stone walls and wrought-iron gates, giving it a secluded, almost secretive feel.
The long driveway curves around an elegant fountain, and as Matteo slows the car, I glance around, taking it all in.
“This is your home ?”
My voice comes out higher than I intend, and Matteo grins, clearly amused.
“You sound surprised.”
I shoot him a look.
“Oh, please . This place looks like a billionaire’s summer retreat,” I tell him. “Your car definitely belongs here, though.”
He chuckles, pulling up to the entrance and cutting the engine.
“What can I say? I worked hard for this.”
There’s something about the way he says it - quiet, almost thoughtful - that makes me look at him a little differently.
I watch as he steps out of the car and comes around to open my door, offering me his hand.
“Come on, bella . Let me show you around.”
I take his hand, letting him pull me out of the car, and as we step towards the grand front doors, I can’t help but think how I’m already in love with this place.
Matteo pushes open the heavy wooden doors, and I very much try to school my expression. I thought that his home was stunning from the outside, but inside…
High ceilings stretch above us, with exposed wooden beams and floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a beautiful view out towards the city below us.
“Wow,” I breathe, turning in slow circles as I take it all in.
Matteo smirks, hands sliding into the pockets of his jeans.
“You like it?”
I shoot him a flat look.
“Matteo, this house is ridiculous .”
His smile widens into a full-blown grin.
“Ridiculously nice, you mean.”
I grin as I step further inside, trailing my fingers along the sleek marble countertop of his open-plan kitchen. The entire space is seamless, with a grand staircase that winds up to the second floor.
“It’s… huge .” I turn back to him. “How do you even use all this space?”
Matteo shrugs.
“I don’t, really.”
“Do you live alone?”
He nods.
“No staff?”
A chuckle rumbles from his chest as he steps towards me.
“I have a housekeeper who comes during the week. But no, I don’t have some big team of people running my life. Not at home, anyway. ”
I let that settle in as I walk towards the living area, my fingers brushing over the arm of a rich, dark leather couch. There’s a fireplace built into the wall, sleek and modern, and beside it, a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf filled with -
I pause, squinting.
“Are these actually your books?” I tease, stepping closer.
Matteo snorts.
“Despite your assumptions, I can read.”
I scan the spines, noting a mix of sports biographies, classic Italian literature, and -
“Matteo.” I turn, holding up an Italian copy of Pride and Prejudice . “Explain.”
His grin turns lazy.
“What? I like Mr. Darcy.”
I stare at him.
“You’ve read Pride and Prejudice ?”
He shrugs as though it’s obvious, and I laugh as I shake my head.
“Unbelievable.”
“Are you impressed?” he asks as he steps closer, his voice dipping lower, his hands coming to rest on my waist.
I tilt my chin up, feigning contemplation as I place the book back down.
“Mildly.”
His fingers tighten, pulling me in.
“I’ll take it.”
His lips brush mine, and I let myself sink into him .
Standing here, in his impossibly perfect house with the warmth of his body against mine and the soft hum of the night outside, it’s dangerously easy to forget that I don’t belong here.
That I’ll be leaving before I know it.
But Matteo doesn’t kiss me like he cares about any of that.
And honestly, right now, neither do I.
His kiss deepens, and I find myself pressing closer, my fingers curling into the soft fabric of his oversized white tee.
The tension that's been building between us dissolves into something else entirely - something molten and magnetic.
He breaks away, but only to trail kisses down my neck.
"You drive me crazy, you know that?" he murmurs against my skin, his accent thicker than usual. “That dress - fuck. Looking so sweet, so innocent - when I know that you’re anything but.”
I should come up with some witty retort. After all, that’s what we do, it’s how we work.
But his hands are sliding down my waist, and the way he's looking at me makes it hard to remember my own name, never mind remember why I ever found him arrogant in the first place.
With a grace that no doubt comes from years of athletic training, he guides us backwards, towards the couch. He sits first, pulling me with him until I'm perched on his knee, my dress riding up slightly.
"Better?" he asks, that infuriating smirk playing on his lips - the same one that used to make me want to throw my notepad at him during press conferences, but that now just makes me want to kiss him senseless .
So I do.
His hands tangle in my hair as I lean into him, and I can feel his smile against my mouth as our tongues brush together.
"You’re eager tonight," he teases.
"You're one to talk. You nearly crashed the car when I adjusted my legs a little earlier.”
"You did that on purpose,” he says. “And I wouldn’t say that spreading them open when my hand is on your thigh is you adjusting your legs, ” he continues, tutting playfully. “You're dangerous, Daphne. The world thinks I'm the troublemaker, but they've got it all wrong."
I shift slightly on his knee, delighting in the way his breath catches as I straddle his waist and centre myself right over where I know his cock is already half-alert.
Two can play at this game.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m a perfectly professional woman. I wouldn’t ever do such a thing,” I say, feigning an air of innocence.
“ Professional ?” Matteo chuckles, his laugh rich and warm as he pulls me closer, his hands sliding around my waist and inching down towards my ass. “Is that what you call fucking me in the changing room?”
I groan as he palms at my flesh over the fabric of my dress, and his chest rumbles with laughter, the sound warm and indulgent, and then -
Smack .
His palm lands sharply against my ass, making me yelp in surprise.
"Matteo!" I twist to glare at him, but he just grins, all smug satisfaction and lazy confidence.
" Shh . I know you love it," he murmurs, his lips brushing my jaw. “Can practically feel you dripping already.”
I open my mouth to argue, to tell him that he is insufferable and arrogant and so, so full of himself; but then his fingers dig into my ass just enough to make my breath hitch, and the words die on my tongue.
This is dangerous.
Not the physical part ( though, let’s be honest, maybe a little ), but the way he makes me feel like I belong here.
Like this is more than just a temporary thing.
Matteo’s lips find that spot behind my ear - the one that turns my thoughts to static, the one that makes me forget everything - and I decide that reading into this can wait for another time.
He must sense my surrender, because his smirk deepens against my skin as his large hands slide up my sides and ghost over my panties, his movements slow and deliberate.
"See?" he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. "You do love it."
I let out a huff, determined not to give him the satisfaction of an answer, but my body betrays me and arches instinctively into his touch.
His chuckle is low and knowing as he presses a kiss just beneath my jaw, then another - slower this time, like he’s savouring the moment.
"This isn’t fair," I mumble, my voice unsteady.
"Oh, I think it’s very fair," he muses as he pulls back slightly, brushing the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip and pulling it down. "You drive me crazy, I drive you crazy… it all ev ens out in the end."
"That is not how fairness works,” I scoff as his hand lowers from my face.
Matteo grins wickedly.
"It is in my house."
Before I can argue, he kisses me again, and - damn him - I let him. I lose myself in the way his lips move over mine, in the way his hands tighten at my waist as he pulls me impossibly closer, in the way he kisses like he has all the time in the world.
Maybe he does. After all, I’m the one with an expiration date.
My hands grip to his shoulders as Matteo’s lips move over mine. His fingers slip beneath the hem of my dress again, sliding up my thighs with deliberate slowness, and I groan as he guides me closer on his lap so I’m straddling him fully, the centre of my panties fully lining up over the outline of his hard cock.
"There we go," he murmurs, his fingers tracing mindless circles over my bare skin. " Much better."
I roll my eyes.
"Who knew you’d like having me on top of you."
His grin is pure sin.
"I’m sure you could have guessed," he says as his hands flex against my thighs. "And I think you like it, too."
I open my mouth to argue, but his lips brush the sensitive spot behind my ear again, and my thoughts turn into nothing but static.
" Shit, " I breathe.
"See? Told you. "
I shift slightly in his lap, and his breath hitches.
Ha.
"Have I ever told you that you’re insufferable?" I ask as my hands slide up to cup his jaw, my thumbs brush over the slight display of dark stubble that’s forming.
"And yet, you adore me," he counters, tilting his head back slightly as I press a slow, teasing kiss beneath his jawline.
I hum noncommittally, my lips trailing down the column of his throat.
"That’s debatable . "
His chest rumbles with laughter, but it cuts off sharply when I rock against him just so. His fingers dig into my thighs, and his throat bobs as he swallows.
"Daphne," he warns, his accent delicious as his voice strains.
I smirk against the column of his throat.
"Something wrong?"
He glares at me, eyes dark with something I really shouldn’t find as satisfying as I do.
"You’re playing a dangerous game, bella ."
I shrug, dragging my nails lightly over his shoulders.
"You don’t remember? I told you before - I like danger."
Matteo mutters something in rapid Italian - something that sounds distinctly not PG - before gripping my hips and flipping us so that I’m on my back against the couch, pinned beneath him.
His weight, his heat, the way he’s looking down at me with pure, unfiltered hunger in his gaze - it steals my breath.
"Still feel like playing?" he asks, his voice low, rough, teasing .
I swallow hard, my heart hammering.
"Maybe."
Matteo’s grin is slow and wicked.
"Then let’s see how well you handle losing."
His lips crash against mine, all heat and urgency, but there’s something else beneath it - something teasing, smug.
It’s infuriating.
Because Matteo Rossi is enjoying this far too much.
I can feel it in the way he presses me into the couch, his body solid and warm over mine. In the way his large, hot hands roam painfully slowly up my thighs, pushing my dress higher, higher - but not quite high enough.
In the way he pulls back just as I start to lose myself, smirking down at me like he’s won some kind of battle.
I blink up at him, dazed.
"Seriously?"
"What?" he grins.
I scowl.
"You hesitate now ? Really?"
Matteo chuckles, dragging the tip of his nose down the length of my throat.
"I just like watching you squirm, cara ."
"You are so annoying," I mutter.
"I prefer devastatingly charming.”
I glare at him, but the effect is probably ruined by the way my breath hitches as his lips graze my collarbone .
"Fine," I say, shifting beneath him just enough to brush against the growing hardness pressing against my thigh. His muscles tense. "Two can play that game, Rossi."
His grip on me tightens.
"Daphne -"
"What?” I bite back a smirk as I blink up at him. “I’m just getting comfortable."
His jaw clenches, and it’s so deeply satisfying to see him struggle for control that I nearly cackle.
Nearly .
Because then Matteo decides he’s had enough of my antics.
With a low growl, he lifts me with ridiculous ease, settling me firmly back onto his lap so I’m straddling him once again. His hands grip my hips, keeping me still.
"That’s cute," he murmurs, tilting his head. "You think you’re in control here."
I lean in, letting my lips brush against his, just enough to tease.
" I know I’m in control."
Matteo hums, amusement flickering in his gaze.
"Is that so?"
"Mmhm."
With absolutely no warning whatsoever, he rolls his hips up against me, and I swear that my brain literally short-circuits.
" Oh, " I breathe, hands fisting in his shirt.
"You were saying…?"
I clear my throat, gathering what little dignity I have left.
"Nothing."
Matteo’s gaze darkens.
" Liar ."
I open my mouth to protest, but the words never come, because he chooses that moment to kiss me again, deep and slow and thorough, his hands splaying against my back as he presses me closer.
And then, just to be extra annoying, he pulls back again.
I blink at him, breathless.
"You absolute - "
"Say it."
I huff, tugging at his shirt in frustration.
"Matteo."
His lips twitch. "Not quite what I was looking for."
" Matteo. "
I drag his name out this time, frustration bleeding into something desperate, and that seems to be what he wanted.
His smirk fades into something darker - something starved - and I gasp as his hands grip tightly to my hips.
"That’s better," he murmurs.
His mouth crashes onto mine, then; all heat and frustration and barely restrained hunger, and fuck , do I love this side of him.
The Matteo who doesn’t have a smartass comment.
The Matteo who forgets how to be cocky because he’s too distracted by me .
He grinds his hips as he kisses me, and I swear it’s like he’s trying to ruin me for anyone else, like he knows exactly what he’s doing -
And what’s worse, it’s like he knows what I want before I even realise it myself.
I might not hate him in the way I once did, but I do hate that he’s so fucking good at this
My fingers slide into his thick, dark hair, tugging lightly as he groans into my mouth. I do it again just to hear that sound, just to make him come undone a little bit more for me.
But then Matteo finally pulls back, his breathing ragged as his forehead comes to rest against my own. His hands skim down my thighs, gripping them as he lifts me with an almost unnatural ease and begins to carry me across the room like I weigh nothing at all.
I squeal, my arms wrapping around his neck while my legs cling to either side of his waist.
“Matteo!” I exclaim as I cross my ankles together behind his back, though the laughter in my voice gives away my true amusement.
He grins smugly.
“Problem, cara ?”
“Yes,” I say, my voice tight as my pulse hammers against my ribs. “You could’ve warned me before throwing me around like -”
"Like a what?" he interrupts. "Like a princess? A queen ?"
I scoff, tilting my chin.
"I was going to say ‘ sack of potatoes’ , actually."
I feel his laughter vibrate through me, deep and warm, and before I can stop myself, I’m laughing too .
And that’s the problem, isn’t it?
That this isn’t just heat. It’s not just sharp words and frustration and the kind of chemistry that makes me feel like I’m burning from the inside out.
It’s this , too.
Him making me laugh, effortlessly.
Him looking at me like I’m the only person in the world who matters.
Him kissing me like -
My thoughts cut off when his lips move against my throat, slower now, softer, his fingers trailing along my bare shoulder like he’s memorising every inch of me.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s take this upstairs.”