8. Contessa
Contessa
There’s a difference between being watched and being hunted. And right now, my skin is crawling with a predatory heat that says I’m not just being observed—I’m being stalked. Only one man has ever made me feel this way, like I’m prey being stalked by something with bigger teeth.
Mrs. Whitmore drones on, her diamond earrings catching the light as she tilts her head. Her husband nods along, his eyes glazed over from too much champagne or boredom. Probably both. “—and that’s why we’ve always supported the children’s hospital,”
“Excuse me,” I murmur, setting my champagne flute on a passing waiter’s tray. “I just spotted someone I need to speak with.”
I turn slowly, bracing myself, and there he is. Matteo fucking Marino, standing across the ballroom like some dark god in a custom tuxedo. His eyes lock with mine instantly, as if he’s been waiting for me to acknowledge him. A smirk spreads across his face, and I want to smack it right off.
I lift my chin and turn away, heading for the bar. I need something stronger than champagne if I’m going to survive this night.
“Whiskey, neat,” I tell the bartender, drumming my fingernails against the marble countertop. The black dress I’m wearing suddenly feels too tight, the slit up the side exposing too much thigh. I picked it to make a statement, but now I feel like I’ve put myself on display for him.
“Make that two.” His voice slides over me like warm honey, and I close my eyes for a brief second before turning to face him.
Matteo stands too close, invading my space like he has every right to be there.
Up close, he’s even more devastating—the silver at his temples catching the light, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass.
I don’t even get a chance to say something bitchy before he’s being an ass.
“It’s a charity event. I’m being charitable.” His eyes drop to my cleavage, then back to my face. “Nice dress.”
My heart pounds against my ribs. “I’ve been ignoring you for a reason.”
“Yes, because you’re scared.” His voice drops to that dangerous velvet tone that makes my clit throb. “Not of me, stellina. Of yourself. Of how badly you want me.”
“You’re delusional.” But even as I say it, my body betrays me.
The bartender slides two tumblers of amber liquid across the marble. I grab mine before Matteo can even think about reaching for it.
“Excuse me, I have people to talk to.” I knock back half the whiskey in one burning gulp, feeling it scorch my throat all the way down.
His eyes darken as I brush past him, my shoulder deliberately bumping his. The contact sends a shiver through my body that I refuse to acknowledge.
I spot a group of tech investors huddled near the east windows and make my way over toward them. These are exactly the kind of people I need in my corner.
“Gentlemen,” I say, sliding into their circle with practiced ease. “Contessa Gallo. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”
The oldest of the group—silver-haired with a face that’s had more work done than my vibrator molds—extends his hand. “Richard Phelps. Phelps Ventures.”
I shake his hand, letting my touch linger just a second too long. “I’ve heard wonderful things about your portfolio. Especially your interest in female-founded startups.”
His eyes light up, and I can practically see dollar signs reflecting in them. “Always on the lookout for the next big thing. What’s your venture, Ms. Gallo?”
“Please call me Contessa.” I lean in slightly, giving him a better view down my dress. “I run Contessa Luxury Intimate Products. We’re revolutionizing the female pleasure market with high-end, tech-integrated toys.”
Another investor perks up. “Sex toys? Isn’t that market saturated?”
I laugh, tossing my purple hair over one shoulder. “About as saturated as the smartphone market was after Apple. There’s always room for innovation when you understand what women really want.”
For the next twenty minutes, I work the room like the professional I am.
I move from group to group, dropping my business card into eager hands, making sure they all know my name—Contessa, not just Gallo.
I can feel Matteo’s eyes on me the entire time, tracking my movements like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.
I spot Eleanor Chambers, CEO of a major distribution company that could get my products into high-end boutiques across the country. Perfect. I approach with a confident smile, pushing thoughts of Matteo to the back of my mind.
“Eleanor! I’ve been hoping to run into you tonight.”
She turns, her perfectly coiffed silver bob swinging. “Contessa Gallo, what a surprise! Your father mentioned you might be here.”
Of course he did. I keep my smile fixed in place. “I’ve been wanting to discuss a potential partnership.”
For the next twenty minutes, I charm the pants off Eleanor, showing her product photos on my phone and making her laugh with carefully chosen innuendos. By the time I excuse myself, she’s promised a meeting with her and sent my contact info to her assistant.
I work the room methodically, moving from one potential connection to the next. Richard Hargrove, whose boutique hotel chain caters to the ultra-wealthy. Sophia Lin, whose lifestyle blog reaches millions of sexually adventurous millennials.
“So what exactly do you sell, Ms. Gallo?” asks Thomas Wilson, an older man with wandering eyes and too much cologne.
I lean in slightly, giving him just enough of a view down my dress to keep his attention. “Luxury pleasure products for the discerning woman, Mr. Wilson.” I lower my voice. “Or the discerning couple.”
His eyes widen, then narrow with interest. “Is that so? And what makes your…products special?”
“Quality, design, discretion.” I run my finger around the rim of my empty glass. “We understand that pleasure should be an experience, not just a function.”
“Fascinating.” His hand brushes my arm. “Perhaps we could discuss this further in private.”
I smile, knowing exactly what he’s suggesting. “Unfortunately, my products speak for themselves. They don’t need my personal endorsement.”
“That’s not quite how business works around here,” a deep voice directly behind me says, so close I can feel hot breath against my neck.
Mr. Wilson’s face drains of color so fast I swear I can hear the blood rushing from his head. His eyes widen, darting from me to whoever is standing behind me, though I already know exactly who it is.
“M-Mr. Marino,” Wilson stammers. “I was just—”
“You were just leaving,” Matteo says, his voice deceptively soft but laced with a threat that makes even my skin prickle. “Unless you’d like to discuss exactly what you were proposing to Ms. Gallo with her father. I believe Conrad would be very interested in your...business approach.”
Wilson takes a step back, nearly tripping over his own feet. “No, no, that won’t be necessary. I was simply—”
“Goodbye, Thomas.” The dismissal is final and absolute.
Wilson scurries away like a cockroach when the lights come on, and I’m left standing with Matteo’s presence burning into my back.
I spin around, ready to tear into him. “I don’t need you fighting my battles.”
His eyes are cold, predatory. “That wasn’t a battle. That was vermin trying to fuck what’s mine.”
“I am not yours,” I hiss, even as my traitorous pussy clenches at his possessiveness.
Matteo steps closer, backing me against the wall. His large frame effectively shields us from the rest of the room, creating a bubble of tension that’s thick enough to choke on.
“You keep pushing my buttons, stellina.” His voice drops to a whisper as his fingertips brush against my bare arm. “First you ignore my calls. Then you show up here dressed like sin itself, flaunting that body to every man in the room.”
“It’s called networking,” I snap, trying to ignore the goosebumps rising under his touch.
“It’s called asking for trouble.” His eyes darken as they drop to my lips. “And you’re earning yourself more than one punishment.”
My breath hitches. “Fuck you.”
“Oh, you will,” he promises, his hand sliding around to grip the nape of my neck. “But first, I’m going to teach you what happens when you parade yourself around like a prize to be won when we both know you’re already claimed.”
I hate how wet I am already, how my nipples have hardened against the silk of my dress just from his proximity. “I’m not some possession for you to—”
“Shut up,” he growls, his grip tightening just enough to send sparks down my spine. “I’ve watched you all night, working that pretty mouth, batting those eyes. Your little show is over.”
Who the fuck does he think he is? I wrench away from his grip, stumbling slightly as I put distance between us.
“My ‘little show’ is called building my business,” I spit. “Something you’d understand if you weren’t so busy trying to get in my pants.”
I turn on my heel and storm off, pushing through clusters of glittering socialites who part like the Red Sea at the look on my face. My hands are shaking with anger and possibly something else I refuse to acknowledge.
I need air or space. Just really need to be anywhere he’s not.
The hallway leading to the terrace looks empty and promising. I make a beeline for it, my heels clicking aggressively against the marble floor. Just as I reach for the handle of the French doors, a large hand wraps around my wrist.
“Running away, stellina?” His voice is a dangerous rumble behind me.
“Let go of me,” I hiss, trying to yank my arm free.
Instead of releasing me, Matteo spins me around and pushes me backward. My back hits the wall as he crowds into my space, one arm braced beside my head, the other—oh fuck—sliding between my legs.
His hand hovers there, not quite touching my pussy but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his palm. My breath catches in my throat as he leans in, his lips a mere inch from mine.
“If you wanted to flirt and fuck, I’d have happily obliged you,” he murmurs, his hazel eyes burning into mine.
“You’re not the boss of me, Matteo. You don’t get to dictate who I talk to or how I dress.” I tilt my chin up defiantly, even as my thighs tremble with the effort not to press against his hand. “You’re just my investor, remember? Not my keeper, not my boyfriend, and certainly not my fucking owner.”
“Keep telling yourself that, stellina.”
“You know what?” I push against his chest, creating just enough space to look him dead in the eyes.
“If you wanna touch it, then do it or let me the fuc—” The words die in my throat as he suddenly drives two thick fingers straight into my cunt, the intrusion so sudden and deep that my knees nearly buckle.
I’m horrified to realize I’m already soaking wet, my pussy gripping his fingers like it’s been waiting for them.
“Fuck!” I gasp, my head falling back against the wall with a thud.
“So fucking wet,” he growls against my neck, curling his fingers inside me while his thumb finds my clit. “All this attitude, all this sass, and your cunt still weeps for me.”
I want to deny it, to tell him to go to hell, but my body’s betraying me. My hips rock against his hand involuntarily, seeking more pressure, more friction.
“Someone could see,” I manage to choke out, even as I spread my legs wider to give him better access.
“Let them,” he snarls, pumping his fingers faster, deeper. “Let them all see who you really belong to.”
I whimper, pressing my back harder against the wall as his fingers fuck me relentlessly. My pussy makes obscene wet noises around his invasion, and I’m mortified at how fucking ready I am for him.
“Please,” I gasp, not even sure what I’m begging for. More? For him to stop? My mind is cloudy with lust.
“Please what?” he demands, curling his fingers to hit that spot inside me that makes my vision blur. “Use your words, Contessa.”
“More,” I admit, the word torn from my throat. “I need more.”
His eyes gleam with triumph. “More of what? My fingers? My mouth? Or do you need my cock stretching this greedy little pussy?”
Just the word cock on his lips sends a fresh gush of wetness around his fingers. I’m so fucking gone that I don’t care we’re in a hallway at a charity event where someone might walk by any minute.
“Your cock,” I whisper, then louder when he slows his fingers. “I need your fucking cock inside me.”
Matteo’s smile is pure sin. “Is that what you want? You want me to fuck you, Contessa?” His fingers withdraw slightly, teasing my entrance. “Force my big dick into your body and drag it along every inch of your walls, my balls slapping against your ass as I bite and suck on your nipples?”
Jesus fucking Christ. My clit throbs at his filthy words.
“Yes,” I moan, beyond caring who might hear us.
He pulls his fingers out of me and I whimper at the loss, my pussy clenching around nothing. His eyes lock with mine as he brings those two fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, his tongue swirling around the digits like he’s savoring the most expensive liquor in the world.
Before I can process what’s happening, he’s pulling me off the wall, his hand firm on my lower back as he guides me down the hallway.
“Where are we going?” I ask, trying to steady my wobbly legs.
“Home,” he says simply, his pace brisk as we move through a side exit, avoiding the main ballroom. “My driver’s waiting.”
Oh, fuck, I didn’t think this through. I thought we’d just fuck in the hallway or in a dark room. I didn’t think he’d fucking take me home with him.