6. Contessa
Contessa
Holy fucking shit. Did I just squirt all over him?
I’m still shaking, my thighs trembling as I slide off the leather chair I’ve been stuck to.
The leather makes an obscene peeling sound against my ass, and there’s a wet spot beneath me that I’m trying hard not to look at.
My pussy throbs—swollen, sensitive, and still pulsing with aftershocks from the most intense orgasm of my life.
I run my fingers over my sex, wincing at how tender it feels from his spanking. What the actual fuck just happened? And why did I like it so much?
I tug my skirt down, trying to reclaim some dignity while scanning the floor for my panties. They’re somewhere under his desk, and there’s no way I’m crawling around to find them while he could walk in any second.
My mind is racing, spiraling into a fucking tornado of confusion. I design sex toys for a living. I’ve had good orgasms before. Great ones, even. But nothing—absolutely nothing—has ever made me lose control like that.
“It was just the toy,” I whisper to myself, knowing it’s bullshit. The vibrator is my design, yes, but it’s not what made me squirt like a fucking fountain all over Matteo’s expensive suit. It was him. His voice, his control, the way he slapped my pussy when I came without permission.
Permission. Since when do I need a man’s permission to cum? Since when do I want it?
I hear the bathroom door open and freeze, my heart hammering against my ribs. Matteo emerges in a fresh shirt, his hair slightly damp at the temples where he must have splashed water on his face. He looks composed, powerful, and entirely too pleased with himself.
“Looking for these?” He dangles my black lace panties from one finger, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
“Give them back,” I demand, but my voice comes out raspy and weak.
“Come get them.” His eyes challenge me, daring me to approach him.
I stay rooted to the spot, suddenly aware of how vulnerable I am. My pussy is bare under my skirt, still wet, still aching for more despite the intense orgasm I just had. What is wrong with me?
“Shy now?” he asks, taking a step toward me. “After what we just did?”
“We didn’t do anything,” I say quickly. “You…tested my product. That’s all.”
He laughs, the sound rich and knowing. “Is that what we’re calling it? Testing the product?” He moves closer, my panties still dangling from his finger. “Then I’d say your product exceeded expectations. Made quite an impression.”
“You can’t just—”
“I can do whatever the fuck I want,” he cuts me off, tucking my underwear into his pocket. “Especially after you ruined my favorite suit.”
“It was a good toy,” I mutter defensively.
“No, stellina. It was a good toy in the hands of someone who knows exactly how to use it.” He pushes off the desk and stalks toward me. “Someone who knows exactly how to use you.”
My pussy clenches at his words, and I hate myself for it. “This was a mistake.”
“Was it?” He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from my face. His touch is gentle now, almost tender, which somehow makes it worse. “Your body disagrees.”
“My body’s a traitor.”
Matteo’s eyes flash with amusement as I struggle to gather my composure.
“This was strictly business,” I insist, stepping back and smoothing down my skirt. “A product demonstration that got...out of hand.”
“Out of hand?” His deep laugh sends a shiver straight to my clit. “Sweetheart, your pussy practically baptized me.”
My cheeks burn. “Look, the toys work. That’s what you wanted to verify, right? Your investment is sound.”
I move toward my briefcase, gathering the prototypes with shaky hands. I need to get the fuck out of here before I do something even stupider, like beg him to bend me over his desk.
“Next time you want to test one,” I say, snapping the case closed, “you’re more than welcome to. Just not with me.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Is that right?”
“Absolutely.” I straighten my spine, trying to look professional despite the fact that my panties are in his pocket and my thighs are still slick. “This was a one-time thing. A business transaction.”
“A business transaction,” he repeats, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You always act like that during business transactions?”
“Fuck you.”
“You already did, in a manner of speaking.” He leans against his desk, arms crossed. “And you enjoyed every second of it.”
“I’m drawing a line, Matteo,” I say firmly. “You’re my investor. That’s it.”
“A line in the sand?” His lips curl into that predatory smile that makes my stomach flip. “You know what happens to lines in the sand, stellina. The tide comes in.”
I roll my eyes, grabbing my briefcase. “Save the poetic bullshit. I’m leaving.”
“You’re cute when you’re being bossy,” he says, his voice suddenly soft. “Especially when we both know who’s really in charge.”
My pussy throbs traitorously at his words. “I’m in charge of my company and my body.”
“Of course you are,” he agrees, too easily. “Just like you were in charge when you came all over my hand without permission.”
“That was...” I trail off, unable to explain away the way my body responded to him.
“That was just the beginning.” He pushes off the desk and walks toward me, stopping close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
“Well, you can’t have me.” I step back, creating space between us. “I’m not for sale.”
“Everything has a price, stellina.” He smiles, slow and confident. “Even you and you already agreed to it.”
“I certainly didn’t agree to whatever fucked-up fantasy you’re spinning in your head.”
Matteo’s eyes darken as he closes the distance between us again. This time I stand my ground, refusing to back up even though every cell in my body is screaming at me to run.
“You think I care about your little company, about the investment?” His voice drops to that dangerous velvet tone that makes my thighs clench. “I couldn’t care less except for the fact that they are yours. Your business, your passion. That is literally the only reason I give a fuck.”
“Of course you do. That’s why you’re here—”
“I’m here for you.” He cuts me off, his hand coming up to cup my face. His palm is warm against my cheek, and I hate how I instinctively lean into it. “I’ve always been here for you.”
I jerk my head away from his touch. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I want your future, Contessa.” He steps closer, backing me against the wall.
A laugh bubbles up from my throat, high and nervous. “My future? Are you fucking insane?”
“Perhaps.” His smile is slow and predatory. “Insane for you. Have been for years.”
My heart pounds so hard I swear it’s going to crack my ribs. This can’t be happening. Matteo Marino—my father’s best friend, the man I’ve known my entire life—is looking at me like he wants to devour me whole.
“I want you wearing my ring,” he continues, his voice rough with need. “I want you swollen with my child. I want you riding my cock every night until you’re so full of my cum you can’t remember a time when you weren’t mine.”
“Jesus Christ,” I whisper, my face burning hot. “You can’t say shit like that to me.”
“Why not?” He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “Because it makes your pussy wet? Because you can feel yourself dripping right now, imagining it?”
I shove at his chest, but he barely moves. “Because you’re my dad’s best friend, you psycho!”
“I am that, yes. Doesn’t change the fact that you’re mine. I’ve wanted you since I saw you after you had been gone for a few years. And last I checked you’re a grown woman now. A beautiful, stubborn woman who needs to be reminded of her place.”
“My place?” I sputter. “And where exactly is that?”
“Under me,” he growls. “On top of me. Wrapped around my cock, screaming my name. Wherever I fucking want you.”
My pussy clenches so hard it hurts. What is wrong with me? This man is twice my age, has known me my whole life, and is saying the filthiest, most asinine things, and I haven’t stormed out yet. What the hell does that say about me?
“I’ll pay you back every penny with interest, but this deal is over.”
The words hang in the air between us, and I watch as something shifts in his expression.
The playful predator vanishes in an instant.
His jaw hardens, eyes turning cold and calculating.
Suddenly, I’m not looking at Matteo anymore.
I’m staring at the infamous Del Mar enforcer, the man who makes business rivals disappear with a phone call.
“Even if I allowed you to do that,” he says, voice stripped of all warmth, “you couldn’t afford the interest rate.”
A chill runs down my spine. His tone isn’t threatening—it’s worse. It’s factual. Clinical. Like he’s discussing the weather instead of destroying everything I’ve built.
He straightens his cuffs, a small gesture that somehow emphasizes the power differential between us. “I’ll let you leave, Contessa, but this isn’t over. Go ahead and think about what you really want to do.”
I grab my briefcase, clutching it like a shield. My hand hovers over the doorknob as I hesitate, words forming and dying on my tongue. What could I possibly say that would make any difference now?
Nothing. There’s nothing.
I unlock the door and walk out, feeling his eyes burning into my back the entire way.
A chill settles over me as I realize I made a deal with the devil and didn’t fully think it out in my haste to avoid asking my dad for the capital.
I am screwed in more ways than one.