Chapter Twenty-Six
Daphne
I am officially avoiding Matteo Rossi.
Not that I have a choice, really. Mark and his colleagues have a habit of pulling me into their conversations before I can escape, and - surprise, surprise - Matteo seems far too busy charming his way around the room to notice me.
Which is fine.
Totally fine.
I’d rather focus on trying to navigate this godforsaken event anyway.
The gala is in full swing now. I thought the room was full of them before, but now there seems to be a constant flurry of waiters gliding effortlessly through the ballroom, carrying silver trays of champagne and canapés and gathering up empty glasses and plates.
Every time I turn, I see some CEO or high-ranking official shaking hands with a footballer like they’re closing a business deal instead of pretending to care about tonight’s cause.
Not that I have much time to think on any of it, because Mark is still firmly attached to my side .
"That’s Alessandro Conti," he murmurs in my ear, tilting his chin toward a greying man laughing at something one of the club’s executives has just said. “One of the biggest financial backers of the team.”
I nod like I care.
“Old money,” he adds, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "The kind of guy who could make or break someone’s career if they pissed him off."
"Good thing I don’t plan on pissing him off," I say dryly.
Mark chuckles, then lifts a hand, signaling to a passing waiter for another drink.
That makes… what, five now? Six?
I try not to think about it as I sip my champagne, conscious of making it last as long as possible, but it’s hard to ignore the way his voice has changed and his shoulders have dropped into a much more relaxed than usual posture.
It’s even harder to ignore the way his friends are getting progressively louder, their jokes a little cruder, their laughter a little meaner.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, forcing a polite smile as yet another man dressed in a tuxedo approaches our group.
Another handshake, another round of schmoozing, another wealthy donor chuckling at a joke that wasn’t even remotely funny.
This is what the night is going to be, isn’t it? Endless ass-kissing and forced pleasantries while Mark and his cronies get drunk on the free alcohol.
I glance around the room, trying to subtly locate the nearest exit .
I don’t mean to find him, but across the ballroom, Matteo is deep in conversation with a man I vaguely recognise from some previous interviews. A club director, maybe?
Whoever it is, he seems completely at ease, gesturing animatedly as the other man nods along.
Mark’s voice drags my attention back to our group, and I quickly look away before he catches me staring.
"What do you say, Sinclair? Time to start putting those networking skills to use?"
I blink.
"What?"
"You’re ambitious, aren’t you?" Mark’s mouth curves into a smirk. "All these powerful men in one room. Seems like a good time to start making connections."
“Seems like a good way to start something, alright,” one of the other men pipes up.
The comment crawls under my skin, though I try not to show my discomfort.
“Or,” I say sweetly, “I could go throw myself into traffic. Same level of enjoyment.”
Mark throws his head back with a laugh, his hand briefly landing on my shoulder as he shakes his head.
"You kill me , Sinclair."
I force another polite smile, but my skin feels hot where his fingers touched.
I need a break.
“Excuse me,” I murmur, stepping away. “I need the restroom.”
Not that anyone is listening. Mark and his friends are already absorbed in another conversation, their voices blending into the background noise of clinking glasses and classical music.
I don’t wait for permission. I just go.
*
As soon as I step into the hallway, I can finally breathe.
The main ballroom may be modernised, but out here, the building’s history is on full display. The polished marble floors echo softly beneath my heels as I make my way through the corridors, and I exhale, letting the quiet settle over me.
It’s beautiful. The kind of beauty that makes you stop and think, that makes you feel small in the best possible way.
If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine another time. A different century, when the halls were filled with artists and scholars, when the world moved a little slower.
A faint smile tugs at my lips, and I wonder about the women who attended those events. Did they feel the same way that I do now?
Does history really change that much?
I walk briskly toward the bathrooms, eager for a moment of solitude. The hallway stretches ahead of me as I round another corner and push open the door to the ladies' room.
The music from the ballroom fades into the background as I step inside, and I immediately feel a wave of calm wash over me.
The main room is elegant, with several couches and dressing tables scattered around. There are huge individual stalls on opposite sides of the room, each one equipped with a floor-to-ceiling mirror, pristine white marble sink and a counter lined with luxurious hand lotions and soaps .
I take a moment just to savour the quiet, the space - and the lack of unwanted attention.
It’s a welcome break from the chaos and heavy-handed schmoozing.
After taking a little bit of time to myself, I eventually decide that I should get back out there. I finish up and wash my hands, using them to splash a little bit of cool water onto my face to wake myself up.
I take one last glance at my reflection in the mirror, adjusting the strap of my dress and running a hand through my hair. With a deep breath, I turn on my heel and head for the door.
Just as I start to push it open, I freeze.
It’s Mark .
He’s leaning in the doorway, one hand tucked into the pocket of his blazer while the other holds a half-empty glass of whiskey. His face is flushed, his eyes glassy, and there's a small, lopsided grin on his lips.
To top it all off, there’s absolutely no way that I can get out of here without him finding me.
Brilliant .
“What are you doing out here?” I ask as I step over the threshold, trying to keep my tone neutral, though there's no hiding the discomfort creeping up my spine.
Mark gives a slow, exaggerated blink before he pushes himself away from the wall and takes a few steps closer.
"I was waiting for you," he says, his words slurring as he rakes his gaze over me slowly.
There’s a gleam in his eye that has my stomach twisting in uncomfortable knots .
"You look stunning tonight, Sinclair. Really… something else."
I force myself to keep my expression neutral, but something in the air feels off .
“Uh, thanks,” I reply. My voice is a little shaky, but I try to stand firm. “I think we should really get back, though -”
“Come on,” he interrupts, his tone lowering.
He’s practically swaying now, and I take a small, subtle step backwards, instinctively putting more distance between us.
"You don’t have to go back yet. We could… talk . Get to know each other a little better."
His eyes scan my face, lingering a little too long on my lips.
"I’m sure we could have a lot of fun…"
I try to suppress my cringe, but it’s near impossible.
“Mark,” I start, keeping my voice steady despite the alarm ringing in my chest. “I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink. Why don’t we just… go back to the party?”
He steps forward again, and my heart starts to beat faster.
Shit.
He’s got me pinned.
“What’s the rush?” he asks. “You know, I’m really starting to think you and I -”
Before he can finish his sentence, the sound of footsteps echo in the hallway. I turn my head instinctively towards the interruption, my heart skipping a beat -
Because it’s him.
Of course it’s him .
Matteo appears in the hallway, striding towards us like he owns the place. His sharp, dark eyes flicker between Mark and I before narrowing.
“What’s going on here?”
His voice slices through the tense silence like a blade, his words carrying an immediate weight as his presence fills the space, making him impossible to ignore.
Mark’s jaw clenches so hard, I’m surprised he doesn’t crack his teeth.
He glares at Matteo, his eyes cold and calculating.
“None of your business, Rossi ,” he spits.
The venom in his tone is unmistakable, but Matteo doesn’t so much as flinch. In fact, he steps even closer, minimising the distance between them.
He’s unphased, his expression a mask of cool indifference as he stands tall, looming over Mark in a way that feels more like a challenge than an exchange of words.
“I’d say it’s definitely my business if you’re bothering one of my favourite journalists,” he retorts.
His words are smooth and deliberate, his strong, dominant gaze never leaving Mark’s, and the air around us thickens with unspoken animosity.
Mark’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t retreat.
“I mean it, Rossi. Stay out of this,” he warns, his tone becoming more menacing. “It’s not your concern.”
“ Back off, Chapman,” Matteo says.
His voice is firm, carrying an edge that makes it clear he’s not playing around.
“I don’t care what you think this is, but I’m not going to let you intimidate her.”
Mark sneers.
“You think you can just come in here and make demands about my assistant journalist?” he huffs. “You’re a player, not her fucking babysitter .”
Matteo doesn’t budge. His jaw tightens, his expression unyielding.
“You’re not listening , are you?” he says, his voice low but charged with a quiet intensity.
Mark opens his mouth to retort, but Matteo continues before he can get a word out, his voice suddenly lower.
“I have to wonder... how do you think Giovanna Falcone will feel when she finds out about your professional relationship with a junior colleague? A woman nearly twenty years younger than you?”
Matteo’s voice is deceptively calm, but the undertone is unmistakable.
The words hang in the air between the men, sharp and pointed.
A threat that’s only thinly disguised.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as my pulse races at an alarming rate, and I watch as Mark’s eyes flicker with the first sign of uncertainty.
His face turns a dull, angry red as he stumbles back slightly, caught off guard by the insinuation.
He’s not used to being challenged like this.
Especially not in front of anyone.
“You wouldn’t dare -”
“Oh, I would,” Matteo interrupts.
His voice filled with an icy finality, the chill in it unmistakable.
“This is my business now. And if you don’t back off, I’ll make sure it’s everyone’s business.”
His gaze doesn’t leave Mark’s, unflinching and resolute, and for a moment, there’s a stillness in the air.
The two men are at an obvious standoff, neither of them so much as glancing in my direction. It’s like I’ve disappeared completely.
But then I spot the exact moment that the weight of Matteo’s words finally lands with a punch.
Mark’s fists clench by his sides, and it’s obvious that he’s absolutely seething, but he also knows he’s beaten. He shoots me a look - one that’s a combination of disdain and barely-contained fury - before muttering something unintelligible under his breath.
His steps are quick and unsteady as he hurries down the hall, eager to escape the situation he’s found himself in.
The silence that follows feels oppressive.
The sound of Mark’s footsteps echo as he retreats, but Matteo’s presence fills the hallway, and it’s impossible to ignore the energy shift between us.
He doesn’t move. Instead, his eyes remain fixed on the space where Mark had been.
It’s like he’s daring anyone to challenge him again. Daring an invisible person to take another step forward.
I stand there, frozen on the spot, and I can’t help but feel an odd combination of relief and fury.
Relief because I’m not trapped in that awkward moment anymore, but anger because I didn’t need or ask for anyone’s help.
Especially not Matteo’s .
The frustration bubbles up from somewhere deep inside me, and before I can stop myself, I turn toward him, my voice tight with irritation.
“I didn’t need you to do that,” I snap, my voice sharper than I intended. “I was handling it just fine on my own.”
Matteo’s eyebrow arches slowly, his gaze darkening, but he doesn’t step back. Instead, he steps closer, leaving his tall, broad body mere inches from mine.
His grin is mocking, but there’s something more in his eyes.
Something challenging.
Something dangerous.
"Right. Yes. You looked like you were handling it great ," he says, his thick accent adding a layer of sarcasm and judgement that makes my blood simmer. "I'm sure Mark was just about to change and be so respectful."
I feel my chest tighten with indignation.
“Don’t patronise me, Rossi,” I grit out, forcing my voice to stay steady despite the fact that every inch of my body is practically vibrating with the urge to yell at him.
“I’m not being patronising,” he replies easily. “I was just making sure you didn’t end up in a worse situation. And for the record - most people say thank you when someone saves them.”
I scoff at the actual nerve of him. It honest-to-god makes me want to punch him in the arm.
Or his stupidly handsome face .
“You think I needed saving ?” I throw back at him, my breath coming faster now. “You clearly don’t know a damn thing about me. I’ve been handling that man just fine on my own, thank you very much.”
For a split second, Matteo’s smirk falters, the flicker of surprise in his dark eyes betraying him.
But then he steps forward just as quickly, effectively closing the remaining space between us.
“I didn’t say you couldn’t handle it,” he says through gritted teeth. “I just didn’t think you should have to.”
His words land on me like a weight.
Something in the way he says it makes me feel like he wasn’t just defending me in that moment, but he was somehow also protecting me.
The thought makes my stomach churn and my heart race all at once.
I inhale sharply in an attempt to ground myself, but before I can form a retort, I realise I’ve stepped too far into his space.
Too far into his territory.
And I feel it again.
This thing I’ve been trying to ignore. This feeling I’ve been doing my best to push down.
This pull between us.
“I didn’t ask for your protection,” I tell him, my voice trembling despite myself. “I can handle that man - and anything else - on my own, without you playing the white knight.”
He’s so close that I can feel his breath against my skin, his chest rising and falling in time with mine .
“You’re right,” he says quietly, his voice now a low rasp. “You don’t need saving.”
He leans closer still, and I can’t breathe, my pulse hammering in my throat.
"But if you think for one moment that I can just stand by and let someone talk to you like that - let anyone treat you like that - then you're fucking wrong .”
I swallow hard, my whole body alight with anger, confusion, and something else.
Something that makes my hands tremble at my sides.
“I’m not some fragile thing you need to protect,” I say, the words raw and unsteady. “I can handle myself."
His eyes flick to my lips for a brief moment, and the change is instantaneous.
Like a spark igniting a fire, the switch flips.
“ No ,” he growls. “I don’t want you to handle yourself. I’ll handle you just fine.”
And then, without another word, Matteo closes the distance between us, his large hands gripping my shoulders with undeniable force as his mouth crashes into mine.
It’s rough. It’s heated.
There’s no gentleness, no hesitation.
Every bit of frustration, every ounce of tension that’s built between us in the last few days, the last few weeks seems to collapse into our kiss.
I don’t pull away.
I can’t .
His lips are insistent and dominant as they claim mine, and all I can do is melt into him. Everything else - the gala, the ridiculousness of the night, Mark’s behaviour, our argument - vanishes.
All that’s left is him and I, and the undeniable heat between us.
Matteo’s mouth moves firmly against mine, rough and demanding as every ounce of frustration, every lingering stare, every sharp-edged comment explodes into something reckless and consuming. His warm, large hands slide down, tracing the line of my arms and pulling me flush against him.
I barely have time to gasp before his tongue sweeps against mine; coaxing, taking, devouring .
A low, primal sound rumbles from his chest as his thick fingers dig into my hips, pulling me harder against his body while simultaneously moving us backwards. The bare skin of my back meets the cool surface of the wall behind as he presses in, his body slotting against mine, heat radiating from him in waves.
I should stop this. I should push him away.
But his hands grip me like he can’t bear to let go, and all rational thought vanishes.
I arch into him, my fingers threading into his dark hair, tugging just enough to earn a sharp inhale from him. His hands roam over the fabric of my dress until his fingers press into my lower back, digging into my bare skin and molding me to him.
My breath stutters, and he takes advantage of the moment, tilting his head and deepening the kiss until it’s nothing but pure, unfiltered need.
One of his hands moves to skim along my side before sliding up. His palm traces the curve of my ribs, and his touch sets my skin ablaze even through the fabric of my dress.
His mouth leaves mine only to trail along my jaw, his breath hot against my skin as he grazes his lips along my throat.
A sharp gasp escapes me when he nips at the sensitive spot just below my ear, his stubble scraping deliciously against my skin.
“You drive me fucking insane ,” he groans, his voice thick and breathless as it vibrates against the column of my throat.
I don’t even know if he means it as an insult or a confession, but I don’t care.
Because I feel it too.
This impossible, almost unbearable tension that has been pulling us together from the start.
My hands move of their own accord, sliding down his chest and feeling the heat of his body beneath his shirt. He hums in pleasure when my nails lightly scrape against the fabric, his hips pressing into mine, and suddenly I feel everything .
His strength. His heat.
His need .
It’s overwhelming and undeniable, and god, I want more .
His lips find mine again, rougher this time, more desperate.
Like he’s trying to prove a point and show me exactly what’s been simmering beneath the surface all this time.
Matteo’s hands roam my body like he’s been starving for this.
Like he’s been starving for me .
And maybe I’ve been starving for it too, because now, I don’t hesitate, don’t second-guess, don’t so much as stop to think. I just pull him closer, kissing him harder and deeper, pouring every ounce of frustration and need into the way our mouths move together.
My fingers slip beneath the lapels of his jacket, curling into the fabric as I yank him impossibly closer.
He’s everywhere - surrounding me, consuming me - and I let him.
Because for the first time, I don’t want to fight it.
I just want him.
I don't know who moves first, but suddenly, we’re stumbling back, still locked in a desperate, heated kiss.
My back barely has time to miss the cool surface of the wall before Matteo’s hands are on me again, guiding me, urging me.
The ladies’ room door swings open behind us, and we slip inside without breaking apart.
The room is empty, but I barely register it. All I can think about is Matteo - the way he tastes, the way his hands grip me, the way his body aligns perfectly with mine as if we were made for this.
One of his large, tanned hands moves up to cup my face, his thumb sweeping over my cheek as he tilts my head just right. The change of angle has him deepening the kiss until I feel lightheaded while his other hand drags down my naked spine, landing on the small of my back before pressing me flush against him.
I can feel the outline of his cock straining against his suit trousers, and I moan against his mouth, the sound swallowed by his mouth.
He backs us up further, his steps purposeful and controlled, and then the cool metal of the stall handle meets my back.
Matteo reaches out blindly, pushing the door open. The next thing I know, we’re inside the spacious, private stall, and I’m surrounded by mirrors and marble and him .
He kicks the door shut behind us, and the soft click of the lock sends a thrill through me.
I barely have chance to miss his touch. His hands are back on me instantly, tracing the shape of my body as he presses me against the sleek marble wall.
His grip is firm but reverent - as if he’s caught between the need to consume me and the desire to savour every second.
Safe to say I know the feeling very well.
I fist the fabric of his jacket, pulling him closer, needing more. I shove it off his shoulders, and he lets it drop to the floor without hesitation.
His hands slide down my sides, gripping my thighs just below the slit of my dress, and when he lifts me effortlessly, my breath stutters. I gasp against his lips, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.
The sound he makes in response - deep, primal and desperate - sends a shiver down my spine.
Matteo presses me against the wall, hard, his breath ragged as he trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down my neck.
His stubble scrapes deliciously against my skin, and my eyes roll back in my head at the feel of his cock pressing right against my core.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs against my throat.
His voice is thick with restraint, but there’s something dangerously close to desperation in it, too.
I pull back enough to be able to meet his gaze.
My own breath is just as uneven as his as my heart hammers against my ribs, but I don’t tell him to stop.
Instead, I pull him down into another kiss as I tighten my legs around his waist.
This kiss is messy and uncontrolled - all heat and hunger. Matteo’s fingers press into my thighs before sliding higher, and a low groan rumbles from his chest as he breaks away again, his forehead pressing against mine.
“ Daphne ,” he murmurs.
Fuck, I love the way that he says my name; his voice deep and dark and full of desire, his accent thicker than I’ve ever heard it.
His warm hands skim up my thighs, pushing the silky fabric higher and exposing more of me.
I arch into his touch as my own fingers slip beneath his shirt, dragging across the taut muscles of his stomach. His skin is warm beneath my touch, his defined abs clenching as I run my nails lightly over them.
“ Fuck ,” he mutters, his grip on me tightening.
He presses harder into me, his mouth moving from my lips to my jaw then down the column of my neck.
His teeth graze over my pulse point before he sucks at the sensitive flesh, and I feel the deep pull of arousal twist low in my stomach as I roll my hips, my body reacting to every touch, every kiss, every deliberate brush of his body against mine.
“You drive me fucking crazy ,” he growls against my skin, his fingers skimming dangerously close to where I need him most, and I let out a breathy laugh.
“Right back at you, Rossi.”
Matteo lifts his head, his dark eyes locking onto mine.
There’s something raw in his expression - something possessive and utterly wild.
His hand slides higher, his fingers skimming over the lace edge of my underwear, and my breath stutters as a small, needy sound escapes me.
Matteo’s responding smirk is nothing but devilish.
“I knew you’d sound good,” he murmurs.
His voice is rough and teasing, full of that arrogant confidence that should piss me off but only turns me on more.
I open my mouth to snap back, but then his fingers press against my panties, and all thoughts vanish.
My head falls back against the wall as he starts to move his fingers over the fabric in slow, torturous strokes that have me gasping.
“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this?” he presses on. “How many times I’ve thought about you ?”
I can only shake my head in response.
“You’re all I think about,” he continues.
I hum softly in pleasure as the image of him touching himself while thinking about this - while thinking about me, about us - fills my mind.
“You’re all I’ve wanted. Since the moment I saw you. Fuck. ”
It’s unfair, really - the way that he can work me up like this without even directly touching me, without any skin-to-skin contact and with a direct barrier between us.
His fingers roll and circle over my clit as well as push towards my entrance, nudging my panties inside before pulling back out. The lace is rough against my skin, the sensation unfamiliar and strange, but not necessarily uncomfortable.
“You’re already so wet for me,” he says. “I bet I could make you come just like this.”
I bite my lip, my hands gripping tightly to his muscular shoulders in an attempt to keep myself balanced and upright. But it’s impossible when he’s touching me like this, when he’s looking at me like he wants to devour me.
“ Matteo ,” I breathe, my body arching into his touch, my hips lifting upwards towards his magical fingers.
He groans at the sound of his name on my lips, and the thought is enough to have my own eyes fluttering.
“Tell me what you need,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my jaw, but I can’t tell him anything.
I can barely even think, barely breathe .
Every nerve in my body is purely focused on the way he’s touching me, and I can’t process anything else.
“I need -”
My voice breaks off into a gasp as he applies more pressure, but Matteo’s breath is hot against my ear.
“ Say it. ”
“I need you .”
His whole body tenses at my words, and then he’s moving so fast that I barely have time to react.
My legs drop from his waist as he lowers himself to his knees before me. His eyes are dark and hooded, filled with a hunger that matches my own as he blinks up at me.
“Let me take care of you.”
Matteo’s eyes stay locked onto mine as he kneels, his strong hands gripping my thighs as he nudges them further apart, effectively spreading me wide open for him.
He finally pulls my panties over to one side, and my whole body tenses, heat pooling low in my stomach at the feel of his fingers dancing over my wet slit.
I brace myself against the smooth marble behind me, my breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.
His smirk is downright sinful as he leans in, his breath hot against the inside of my thigh.
“You’re trembling, giornalista ,” he murmurs, pressing an open-mouthed kiss just above my knee. “Are you nervous?”
I let out a sharp breath, my fingers twitching where they rest on the edge of the counter.
“I think you talk too much, Rossi.”
His dark chuckle sends a pulse of heat straight through me.
“Oh, I’m about to make you eat those words.”
Before I can even consider anything clever to say back, his mouth is on me.
My head slams back as his tongue moves with slow, devastating precision.
One of his hands slides up my stomach, pressing against the fabric of my dress as his other grips my thigh, holding me in place, keeping me right where he wants me.
“ Fuck ,” I breathe.
My fingers thread into his thick hair, gripping tightly and tugging hard in an attempt to steady myself and also pull him impossibly closer.
Matteo groans against me, the vibration sending shockwaves through my body.
“ Cazzo , I love how you sound,” he mutters against my skin before diving back in; licking, sucking and teasing until I’m physically shaking.
The tension between us has been building for weeks, burning slow and hot, but now -
Now, it’s completely unrestrained and unleashed, consuming and demanding.
He points his tongue and circles it over my clit, and I writhe against the wall. My back arches from the marble surface as pleasure spirals through me, heat burning through my thighs and pleasure curls low in my stomach, tightening, tightening -
And then he pulls back.
I let out a strangled noise of protest, my head snapping down to glare at him.
Despite my frustration, he really is a sight to behold.
He smirks up at me from where he remains on his knees in front of me, my legs parted wide to accommodate his broad shoulders.
His lips and chin are practically glistening, coated in the evidence of my arousal, and his dark eyes are twinkling with mischief.
“You were saying?” he taunts.
He brushes his thick fingers over my sensitive skin, dragging his nails up my thigh in a way that makes me shudder, my whole body desperate and aching.
“Matteo, if you stop now, I swear on all that is good and holy that I will -”
He cuts me off with another slow, teasing stroke of his tongue, making my words dissolve into a broken moan. My hands instinctively slide back up to his hair, tangling in the strands and using them to pull him closer to where I need him the most.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs against me before setting a pace that has me gripping onto him for dear life.
He works his tongue over me with even more enthusiasm, licking and sucking and nipping at my clit. My hips cant up and down as I push myself back off the wall, grinding myself down and thoroughly riding his face.
The pleasure builds again as Matteo’s tongue works its magic over my slit, fast and overwhelming. It doesn’t take much longer for him to bring me to the edge - my thighs trembling as burning heat coils low in my stomach - and when I finally shatter, it’s with his name on my lips.
His large, strong hands are the only things that keep me upright against the bathroom wall as I completely fall apart.
I’m still trembling when he rises to his feet. His hands smooth up my sides as I struggle to catch my breath, and I can’t help but think of how his face is almost unbearably smug as he leans in, pressing his lips to mine in a deep, claiming kiss, making sure I can taste myself on his tongue.
“You were right about one thing,” he murmurs.
I blink up at him, still dazed, my legs barely holding me up.
“What?”
His hands tighten on my hips, his body pressing into mine, hard and ready.
“I definitely talk too much.”
Matteo’s mouth is on mine again, hot and demanding, swallowing my gasps as he maneuvers my body away from the wall and presses me against the marble countertop instead .
His hands are everywhere - gripping my hips, sliding up my waist, fisting into the fabric of my dress like he’s seconds from ripping it off.
I honestly don’t even give it a second thought - the fact that we’re still in the ladies’ room. I don’t care that anyone could walk in at any moment and hear us from behind the closed door.
All I care about is the way he’s looking at me - like he’s just as desperate as I am.
He groans as my nails dig into the back of his neck, his grip tightening on me in response. He lowers me down onto the counter, the sharp edges of his suit contrasting to the hard, unrelenting strength underneath.
“Tell me you want this,” he rasps against my lips, his breath hot and ragged. “That you’ve been wanting this. Tell me I’m not the only one losing my fucking mind.”
I let out a breathless laugh, arching into him.
“If you don’t do something in the next five seconds, Rossi, I swear I will kill you.”
His answering growl is pure satisfaction as he hoists me higher onto the counter, my dress sliding up my thighs. My panties are still tugged over to one side, and I gasp as the cool air hits the soaked flesh of my exposed slit.
The moment is fleeting, because Matteo is already there; his warm, tanned hands splaying over my thighs, gripping tight as he pulls me flush against him.
I can feel him, thick and long and almost painfully hard through his trousers, pressing exactly where I need him most.
A fresh wave of heat crashes through me, and I roll my hips against him.
I drag my soaked pussy against his trousers, relishing the sharp inhale of breath that he takes along with the way his fingers dig into me - like he’s barely holding on.
“ Fuck , Daphne,” he grits out, his forehead dropping to mine, his breath ragged. “You’re going to kill me.”
I smirk, tilting my chin up.
“I thought you liked a challenge.”
His responding growl is the only warning I get before he’s moving, his hands working fast - unbuckling, shifting fabric - until he’s exactly where I need him, hard and ready.
His mouth finds mine again, and it’s different now. Almost deeper, and impossibly more urgent.
There’s no teasing. No hesitation.
Just raw, unfiltered want.
“You’re sure?” he murmurs against my lips, his voice tight with restraint. “You want this?”
I don’t answer with words. I can’t form them. Instead, I do the only thing that I can.
I reach between us and wrap my hand around his cock, guiding him closer until he’s exactly where I want - no, need him.
Matteo curses under his breath in Italian, the sound going straight to my throbbing clit. His whole body tenses, his jaw clenching as he barely holds himself back.
“ Dio ,” he groans. “You’re going to ruin me.”
And then he thrusts into me.
A strangled moan rips from my throat, my head snapping back against the counter as he fills me in one swift, overwhelming motion.
My body stretches as my thighs clench around him, and he curses again, his grip on my hips turning bruising.
“ Fuck , Daphne,” he breathes, his voice raw and broken. “You feel…” He trails off, exhaling sharply. “So fucking good.”
I can’t speak. Can’t think. Can’t breathe.
All I can do is hold onto him as he moves, rough and relentless, like he can’t get deep enough, close enough.
Each thrust drives me higher, each sharp snap of his hips pulling me closer to the edge. My heels dig into his back as I cling to him, lost in the heat, the urgency, the sheer intensity of it all.
One of Matteo’s hands slides up my hips and arms until he’s tangling it in my hair, wrapping the auburn strands around his hand and wrist and using his grip to angle my head. He pulls me closer so that he can kiss me again, his tongue moving swiftly against mine as his mouth moves passionately.
The kiss is deep and hungry, like he wants to consume me whole. His teeth nip at my lower lip, and I whimper into his mouth, feeling the coil inside me tighten all over again.
His movements turn almost frantic as he uses his hold on my hip and my hair to pull me flush against him with each punishing thrust.
He’s thoroughly pounding into me now - the rhythm of his strong hips relentless - and my body tightens, my nerves sparking like a live wire.
I’m close. So fucking close.
The edge is right there, and I’m teetering on it, ready to fall.
Matteo’s grip on my hair loosens, causing my head to loll slightly to the side against the counter. My lashes flutter open ever so slightly -
And that’s when I catch our reflection in the floor-length mirror.
The sight steals what little breath I have left.
Matteo hovering over me, his suit jacket long gone, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the hard planes of his chest. His dark eyes are locked onto me, filled with something raw and possessive, his jaw tight with restraint as he moves.
And me…
Well . My cheeks are thoroughly flushed, my black dress bunched up around my hips and my legs spread open wide around him. My lips are swollen and parted, my expression utterly wrecked as he practically bounces me on his cock.
The way he’s taking me - sprawled against the marble counter, my heels still on, my legs wrapped around his body like I never want to let go - it’s so obscene, so intoxicating -
And the sight of it tips me over the edge.
A whine erupts from the bottom of my throat as the pleasure detonates inside me, white-hot and all-consuming. My pussy clenches tightly around his cock, milking him for all that he’s worth, and Matteo groans as my ankles dig into his back.
He drops his hand away from my hair so that he can hold onto both of my hips again, and his grip turns bruising as he thrusts impossibly deeper and faster.
He fucks me harder against the counter as I ride out the waves of my orgasm, and with a strangled cry of his own and one last, harsh thrust of his hips, Matteo cums, burying his cock deep inside me as he finds his own release .
For a moment, neither of us move, our chests rising and falling in sync. The only sound in the stall is our ragged breathing along with the distant hum of music from the ballroom.
Eventually, Matteo exhales a rough chuckle, his forehead dropping to my shoulder.
“Well,” he murmurs, his voice thick, still breathless. “Didn’t expect that.”
I let out a shaky laugh, my fingers still gripping loosely to his shoulders.
“Yeah,” I manage, my voice hoarse. “Tell me about it.”
He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, his dark eyes still clouded with heat.
Slowly, a smug grin tugs at his lips.
“Think you’ll still be able to handle yourself, giornalista ?”
I narrow my eyes at him, though I know it lacks any real bite.
“Shut up, Rossi.”
His laughter vibrates against my skin as he presses one last, lingering kiss to my lips before finally - finally - pulling away.
Matteo’s hands still rest lightly on my hips as his gaze lingers on my face.
The smug, satisfied expression he’s wearing makes me want to slap him - or kiss him again.
Maybe both.
I swallow hard, and as the waves of my orgasm begin to ease, I suddenly feel very much hyperaware of where we are and what just happened.
I just had sex with Matteo Rossi .
In the bathroom of a charity gala.
Holy shit.
My skin prickles with the creeping, horrifying weight of reality.
Matteo, seemingly unphased, reaches for a stack of paper towels from the dispenser, pulling out a few before glancing at me. His expression shifts slightly, and I wonder whether he can somehow sense my spiraling.
My cheeks burn as he lowers his knees, his movements unnervingly gentle as he leans over my waist and dampens the paper towels with some warm water from the sink before he cleans me up.
Oh my god.
I stare at the ceiling, at the gilded trim along the mirror -
Anywhere but at him.
“Stop looking so horrified,” Matteo mutters.
His voice is teasing but low, still rough with lingering desire.
“I’m not going to bite you.”
I huff out a breath, still refusing to look at him.
“That’s debatable.”
He lets out a low chuckle but doesn’t comment any further.
Once he’s finished, he straightens up, hands slipping under my arms to help me off the counter.
I wobble slightly as my heels hit the floor, my legs unsteady. I reach down hastily and yank my panties back into place, discreetly adjusting my dress while trying to regain some sense of control over myself.
But it’s impossible .
Because no matter how much I try to will this away, it’s still there, burning hot and impossible to ignore.
The fact that I just let Matteo Rossi - Matteo fucking Rossi - touch me like that.
Kiss me like that.
Make me fall apart like that.
My stomach twists as panic surges up my throat, threatening to choke me.
This can’t have just happened.
Mark tried to hit on me, Matteo had to step in, and instead of walking away like a sane, rational person, I let this happen.
I let him have me.
And what’s worse, I wanted it .
A heavy silence stretches between us, and Matteo leans back against the counter, watching me with an unreadable expression.
I clear my throat, crossing my arms tightly over my chest and trying to pretend like my world isn’t currently tilting on its axis.
“I - I’m on the pill,” I blurt out.
The words tumble out so quickly, I barely even process them.
Matteo blinks, caught off guard. Then, slowly, a smirk tugs at his lips.
“Good to know.”
I nearly groan aloud.
“Right. Okay. Well. I should go.”
I turn on my heel so fast that I nearly trip over my own feet .
I don’t dare look back as I push out of the stall, my heart hammering as I move swiftly through the bathroom, towards the exit.
I just need to get out of here.
Away from him. Away from my own mortifying decisions.
I shove open the door and step out into the dimly lit hallway, my pulse still thudding in my ears.
I don’t even know where I’m going - just that I need to be anywhere but here.