4. Contessa
Contessa
I’ve learned two things about men like Matteo Marino: they get off on making you wait, and they fucking hate when you make them wait. That’s why I’m fifteen minutes late, strutting through the gleaming glass doors of Marino Headquarters like I own every inch of this tower.
“Excuse me, miss! You need to sign in!” The peroxide blonde receptionist jumps up from behind her desk, manicured hand reaching out like she might actually try to stop me.
I arch an eyebrow, not breaking stride in my burgundy power suit and black Louboutins. “Do you know who I am?”
Her mouth opens, then closes.
“If not, you should learn. I’m Contessa Gallo, and Matteo is expecting me.” I tap my watch. “I’m late, so I suggest you get out of my way before you find yourself looking for a new job.”
Her face pales. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Gallo. Please go right up. Mr. Marino’s office is on the top floor.”
“I know where it is.” I blow past her, my briefcase swinging with each confident step.
The elevator ride gives me thirty seconds to check my reflection. My hair is twisted into a high, messy bun, and my crimson lipstick is still perfect. I look like a woman who could ruin a man’s life with a smile. It’s exactly the image I need when facing Matteo.
I’ve spent two weeks avoiding this meeting. First, I tried sending him a detailed email about our progress. He replied with a single line.
Not acceptable.
Then I called, hoping to placate him with my voice. He let me talk for thirty seconds before cutting me off. “My office. Friday, 2 PM.”
And here I am, because when Matteo Marino summons you, you eventually show up—even if you make him wait just to prove you still have some semblance of control.
The elevator doors slide open to reveal his executive assistant, an older severe woman with a permanent frown. She’s been with him for as long as I can remember.
“Ms. Gallo,” she says, standing. “Mr. Marino has been waiting.”
“Traffic was a bitch.” I smile sweetly. “Is he in?”
“He is, and he’s—”
I’m already moving past her desk. “Great, I’ll see myself in.”
“Wait, you can’t just—”
I push open the heavy double doors without knocking. Matteo’s office is exactly what you’d expect—dark wood, leather, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. It screams old money and bigger dick energy. My mouth slightly waters as an image of his dick pops into my head.
Matteo stands with his back to me, hands in his pockets, as he stares out at the skyline. The cut of his suit emphasizes his broad shoulders, tapering down to a narrow waist. At the sound of my entrance, he turns slowly, like a predator who’s been expecting his prey.
“You’re late.” His voice is dark, rich and smooth.
“Am I?” I drop my briefcase on one of his visitor chairs. “Hadn’t noticed.”
His eyes rake over me, from my perfectly styled hair down to my heels. I feel the weight of his gaze like a physical touch, and I hate how my nipples tighten in response. His jaw ticks. He definitely noticed.
“Fifteen minutes, to be exact.” He steps away from the window, moving toward his massive desk. “I don’t appreciate having my time wasted, Contessa. I’ll have to break you of that.”
“Then don’t waste mine by demanding in-person meetings when an email would suffice.” I cross my arms, leaning against the chair instead of sitting. Power move. “I have a business to run.”
“A business I funded,” he reminds me, his voice deceptively soft. “A business that required more patience from me than I typically offer.”
“Poor baby. Want a refund?” I arch an eyebrow, daring him.
His lips curl into something too predatory to be called a smile. “Sit down.”
“I prefer to stand.”
“And I prefer you sitting.” His tone drops an octave. “Now be a good girl and do as you’re told.”
My pussy clenches at those words. Fuck him for knowing exactly which buttons to push. I drop into the chair, crossing my legs, making sure my skirt rides up just enough to give him a glimpse of thigh.
“There. Happy?”
“Not remotely.” He sits on the edge of his desk rather than behind it, looming over me. “Where are my prototypes, Contessa?”
“They’re in development,” I say, holding his gaze. “These things take time.”
“You’re a terrible liar; don’t start trying to flex that poor skill now. You already have some; you wouldn’t have come to me without that. I know you.”
“Because I knew you’d be a fucking pain in my ass about timelines.” I shrug one shoulder. “Creative processes can’t be rushed.”
He leans forward, invading my space. “You’ve given your little friend Natalia a prototype to test, but your primary investor has yet to see a single design. Explain that.”
My stomach drops. How the fuck does he know about Natalia? “Are you having me followed?”
“Answer the question.”
“You are having me followed! Jesus Christ, Matteo, that’s—”
“Smart business,” he cuts me off. “I protect my investments. Now answer me. Why is Natalia testing products I haven’t even seen?”
“She’s the target demographic.”
“And what am I?”
“A nosy investor who doesn’t understand boundaries.”
He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Boundaries? You came to me, stellina. You asked for my money. We have an agreement.”
“An agreement that doesn’t give you the right to stalk me and know every aspect of my life.”
“I need to know every aspect of my investment.” His voice drops even lower as he leans in, placing his hands on the armrests of my chair, caging me. “And you, Contessa, are my investment.”
“Excuse me?” I sit up straighter, heat flooding my face. “That’s not how this works.”
Matteo pushes off his desk and steps toward me, his movement fluid like a predator. In one smooth motion, he’s behind my chair, hands gripping the armrests, caging me in. His breath is hot against my ear, and I freeze, afraid to move.
“This is exactly how it works,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my earlobe. He’s so close I can smell his cologne. Something so masculine that it makes my thighs want to part on instinct.
“Back the hell up,” I say, but it comes out breathier than I intended.
He doesn’t move an inch. “Show me the prototypes.”
“I don’t have them with me.”
“Liar.” His eyes drop to my briefcase. “Open it.”
“No.”
“Open it,” he repeats, “or I’ll open it for you.”
We stare at each other, locked in a battle of wills before I finally cave.
“Fine.” I grab the briefcase, yanking it onto my lap. “You want to see? Here.”
I punch in the code and flip it open, revealing three sleek black boxes nestled in velvet. Each one contains a different prototype from my luxury line.
Matteo straightens, satisfaction rolling off him in waves. He reaches for the largest box, but I slap his hand away.
“Don’t touch without permission,” I snap. “Isn’t that what you are always preaching?”
His mouth curls into a dangerous smile. “You’re right. May I?”
I roll my eyes and hand him the box. “Be my guest.”
He opens it slowly, revealing a curved, matte black vibrator with gold accents. The design is elegant, almost like a piece of art. He lifts it, turning it over in his hands, examining every detail with those long fingers that I absolutely do not fantasize about.
“This is…impressive,” he admits, running his thumb over the controls. “High-quality silicone?”
“Medical grade. Body-safe, phthalate-free, and with a magnetic charging port that’s completely waterproof.”
“And the gold?”
“Twenty-four karat plating. The Contessa line doesn’t cut corners.”
He presses a button, and the vibrator hums to life, pulsing with a deep, rumbly vibration that can be felt across the room. My cheeks heat as I watch him test each setting, his expression contemplative.
“Seven speeds?”
“And three patterns,” I say, trying to keep my voice professional despite the fact that he’s holding a fucking sex toy I designed to make women orgasm their brains out.
He turns it off and places it back in the box with a care that makes my stomach flip. Then he reaches for the second box.
This one contains a smaller vibrator, designed for clitoral stimulation. It’s shaped like a teardrop, with the same matte black finish and gold accents. He examines it with the same meticulous attention, testing its weight in his palm.
“This one’s more discreet,” he notes, turning it on. The vibration is higher-pitched but just as powerful. “For public use?”
My face burns hotter. “For whatever the user wants.”
“Hmm.” He switches it off and returns it to its box, reaching for the third prototype.
This one’s my favorite—a sleek, almost ridged dildo with a slight curve designed to hit the G-spot perfectly. No vibration, just pure, elegant design. The base is weighted for optimal balance, with a suction cup for hands-free use. Perfect for fucking riding.
“Interesting.” He runs his fingers along the ridges, and I try not to imagine those same fingers exploring my body. “The curve is anatomically precise.”
“I did my research,” I manage, trying to sound professional while he’s basically fondling my creation.
He places it back in the box and stands up. I expect him to return to his desk, but instead, he walks to his office door and turns the lock with a decisive click.
“What are you doing?” My voice comes out higher than I intend.
Matteo turns, walking back to his desk with that predatory grace that makes my pulse race. He sits on the edge again, loosening his tie slightly.
“Now, Contessa, you are not that naive.” His voice is silky smooth and dangerous. “I said I wanted to test them.”
My mouth goes dry. “Yeah, so here you can have them.” I gesture at the boxes. “Test them, feel free to not tell me the details about your opinion, thanks.”
Matteo fucking laughs—a deep, rumbling sound that turns my blood red hot. The audacity of this man, sitting there looking at me like I’m the next item on his tasting menu.
“You think I’m going to test these alone?” He raises an eyebrow. “What kind of investor would I be if I didn’t ensure the products work as intended...on their target audience?”
“Exactly why I don’t need to hear back on your escapades, thanks.”
“I don’t think you understand what I’m suggesting,” he says, his voice dropping.
Matteo rises from his perch on the desk and moves toward me with slow, deliberate steps. I should get up, should back away, but I’m frozen in place, my body betraying me as heat pools between my legs.
He reaches me and leans down, one hand braced on the armrest while the other traces a slow, deliberate path down my cheek. His finger is warm and slightly callused. These are not the soft hands of a man who’s never worked, but those of someone who’s earned his power.
“I see how you look at me, Contessa,” he murmurs, his hazel eyes locked on mine.
“How you undress me with your eyes, how much you wonder what my cock looks like.” His thumb brushes over my bottom lip, pressing just enough to make me gasp.
“You’re a very beautiful girl, Contessa, and we both know I love beautiful things.
” His gaze drops to my lips, then lower to my breasts, where my nipples are visibly hard against my silk blouse.
“I won’t be testing these on someone else. I’ll be testing them on you.”
My breath catches in my throat. “Fuck you,” I whisper, but there’s no bite to it.
“That’s the idea, stellina.” His smile is pure sin as he straightens and returns to his desk, picking up the curved vibrator. “Take off your panties.”
“What? No—we’re in your office!”
“Which is why I locked the door.” He turns the vibrator over in his hands, examining it like it’s a fine piece of art. “I want to see if your products live up to your claims. High-quality, luxurious. Capable of making a woman come so hard she sees stars.”
My face burns, but I can’t deny the slick heat between my thighs. “This isn’t part of our agreement.”
“Isn’t it?” He raises an eyebrow. “I believe my exact words were that you’d pay me back in a way to be determined later. Well, consider this part of that determination.”
I should walk out. I should grab my prototypes and tell him to go fuck himself. Instead, I find myself standing on shaky legs, reaching under my skirt to slide my lace thong down my thighs.
“That’s it,” he encourages, voice rough with approval. “Good girl.”
I kick the panties aside, my pussy throbbing at his praise. What the fuck am I doing?
“Now, sit back down and spread your legs for me.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” His eyes are blown with lust, his jaw tight with restraint.
I sink back into the chair, my heart pounding so hard I swear he can hear it. Slowly, I part my thighs.
He shocks me when he drops to his knees in front of me because he never took me as a man that would willingly go to his knees for anyone.
“Your consent means consent. So tell me, Contessa—do you want me to stop?”
This is the moment. The line in the sand. I could say yes, and I know he would back away. For all his predatory intensity, Matteo has never struck me as a man who would force himself on a woman. Control, manipulate, seduce—yes. But force? No.
“No,” I whisper, the word escaping before I can stop it.
His smile is pure sin. “No, what?”
“No, I don’t want you to stop.” The confession burns my throat. I don’t stop to think about what this means, or who he is to me and my family. I just answer uninhibitedly.
His eyes darken as he pushes my skirt higher, his fingers brushing the outside of my thighs. The touch is electric, sending shocks straight to my core. I can’t believe this is happening. That Matteo fucking Marino is on his knees in front of me in his executive office.
“Wider,” he commands, his voice rough with need.
I obey without thinking, spreading my thighs further apart. His hands slide up to my hips, and he tugs—hard—pulling me down until my ass is barely hanging onto the edge of the seat. The position leaves me completely exposed, my pussy on display for him.
“Look at you,” he growls, his hot breath fanning against my inner thigh. “Fucking dripping already.”
I should be mortified, but all I feel is a desperate, throbbing need. He stares between my legs like I’m a five-course meal and he’s been starving for years.
“Pretty little pussy. So pink and perfect. I love that you’re not bare,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against the landing strip of hair I keep neatly groomed.
I whimper, a soft almost mewling sound escapes between my lips and I curse myself for it.