15. Matteo #2
Azra’s narrowed eyes track every admirer, silently marking her targets. She isn’t aiming her daggers at me now. They’re aimed at any woman who dares to pay me an ounce of attention, and somehow, that makes things worse.
It’s not just me noticing her unexpected yet highly craved jealousy.
Across the room and wearing more concealer than any female attendee, Antonio stiffens every time Azra’s expression darkens. His jaw isn’t as loose and carefree as it was when Azra declared I hadn’t sealed the deal yet. His posture is rigid, as he contemplates storming over and demanding answers.
Not on my watch, fuckface.
Although this is the exact response I need to prove to my brothers that I’m not a chimpanzee who performs tricks for peanuts, I worked hard to make Azra’s face this red and heated, so I’ll be the only one to benefit from it.
After signaling to the bartender for a whiskey, I curl my arm around Azra’s waist and pull her into me. Her body fits perfectly against mine, as if God made her for me.
If anyone ever tells you that you can’t be pretty and smart, remind them of this moment. Azra is both beautiful and intelligent. As the vein in her neck thuds out a healthy tune, she attempts to crank her neck back to see why I’m acting like a neurotic jerk.
I say attempts because her neck barely moves a smidge before a muttered threat freezes both her head and her heart. “If you give him any impression whatsoever that I’m not the cause of your flushed face and wide pupils, you’ll have nothing left to marry but a casket.”
Some of my anger slips away when she whispers, “A casket is too good for him.” I arch a brow, shocked but in love with the snark in her tone. “What? I can’t be the first person to have wished for their ex to decompose in a vermin-infested pit under the hungry eyes of a group of vultures.”
“A kettle.”
Azra’s confused face is cute as fuck. “Huh?”
“Vultures circling, soaring, or flying together is called a kettle. When they’re sitting together, they’re a committee or a volt, and when they’re feeding, they’re a wake.”
“A wake at a wake. Seems fitting,” she murmurs, and my dick hardens to stone. Her eyes bounce between mine for three heart-thumping seconds. “Does your smirk mean you’re not opposed to us organizing an open burial?”
Before I can promise the most disgusting, inhumane burial known to man the moment she tells me why the man she wants to marry is seemingly at the top of her hit list, with no regard for the limited space between us, a blonde with her cleavage dangerously close to spilling out of her dress throws her arm around my neck and squashes in with the eagerness of a bitch in heat.
“Matteo, darling!”
I tilt my head in just enough time for her to leave a perfect red imprint of her lips at the edge of my mouth as opposed to smack-dab in the middle.
“It’s been too long.” Her words slither off her tongue. “Far too long.”
I have no idea who she is, so I lift my chin in fake agreement and then wipe at my mouth.
The lipstick only smears. Great. I’ll leave this event looking like a cosmetics counter clerk attacked me, and before Azra possessively said us, the only action I planned for this evening was my hand when the memory of Azra’s face required drastic action.
Azra moves in close, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “It’s about to be longer.”
The unnamed blonde drags her eyes down Azra’s frame while chewing gum with no fucking manners. “Says who?”
Azra doesn’t back down. “Says me.”
Without a snick of hesitation, Azra fists the blonde’s hair right at that sensitive spot above her nape and then peels her off me. The blonde’s squawk announces Azra’s grip is ironclad, and it keeps the numerous threats in her eyes from spilling out.
That, and my soundless warning that I’m not prejudiced when you disrespect me.
One insult, even directed at Azra instead of me, will sign her death certificate.
“Go find another fire hydrant to pee on,” Azra says when the blonde scampers away. “This one is taken.” She nips my laughter in the bud when she returns her heated pussy to the front of my pitched crotch before she locks her narrowed eyes with mine. “We agreed to pretend we’re monogamous.”
Ignoring the “pretend” part of her statement, I reply, “What the fuck do you think I’m doing, micina?”
She gives me a look that could curdle milk. “You’re being… overly friendly.”
I bite back a smile. I shouldn’t enjoy her jealousy, but I do. Very much so.
“I’m being polite.”
Her scoff fans my lips with the scent of her lip gloss. “You don’t know what polite means.”
I stop conjuring ways to get another taste of her mouth and cock a brow. “I don’t?”
“No.” Leaning in, she presses her lips to the shell of my ear.
To anyone outside of our bubble, it appears she is marking my neck.
Only I know her dig runs deeper than that.
“Polite is shaking hands and smiling at a suitor respectful enough to admire from afar. It isn’t letting half the gala leave their makeup on your face. ”
My fingertips count the bumps along her spine before I grope her ass through her dress.
I’m not solely answering one of the many pleas of my cock.
I’m also guaranteeing Antonio keeps his distance.
The past ten minutes, he’s been battling with himself on whether he should join us.
I’m far from ready to let Azra reel him in.
“You’re overreacting.”
I can’t see her eyes, but I know they’re flashing with irritation. “I am not.”
“You are,” I say, softer. I’ll never live it down if my brothers hear my next set of words, but not even the threat of castration can stop me. “Because what you don’t realize is, I don’t give two fucking hoots what any of them offer. None of them matter.”
Azra’s head inches back, and hesitation hardens her features. Not for long. Just a flicker. But I see it.
“You’re the one I’m here with,” I remind her.
Huffing, she darts her eyes away. “The one you’re pretending with.”
I almost laugh. “You can’t fake jealousy this white-hot.
” She assumes I’m referencing the unexpected sharpening of her claws until I add, “Antonio hasn’t taken his eyes off you since we walked in.
So maybe I should remove them so he can focus on something else.
” A shiver rolls through her. It isn’t in disgust. Far from it.
This angel has flaws, and although I should be fucking furious my brothers forced me to admit how obsessed I am with them, I’m not.
Even more so when she bosses me around.
“Wipe your mouth.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Azra’s thumb swipes across my lips before mine can. Her touch is brief, but it sends a jolt straight through me.
“Better?” I ask, fighting not to replace the red lipstick smears with the nude shade she’s wearing.
“No,” she mutters, eyes rolling. “But I guess it’ll do.”
Not speaking another word, she loops her arm through mine and drags me in the opposite direction from where Antonio stands.