I think about arguing. Sure, I feel more comfortable around him now, but I’m not sure how I feel about him spending the night in my apartment.
But the truth is, I’m scared. Viktor could be watching my social media right now. He could be on his way here.
“Fine,” I eye him. “But I’m warning you, my couch is not designed for giants.”
My apartment is small and bright, decorated in colors that make me happy. Matteo looks hilariously out of place among my throw pillows and fairy lights, this massive, dangerous man standing in my cheerful little living room.
I bring him a pillow and blanket from the linen closet. He’s already removed his shoes and placed his gun on the end table beside the couch. His legs are curled up to fit, and he looks uncomfortable as hell.
“Thanks,” I say. “For staying.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Good night, Matteo.”
“Good night, Sierra.”
I go into my bedroom and close the door behind me. Then I stand there, staring at the lock.
He’s here. Twenty feet away. Armed and alert and ready to protect me from whatever comes through that door.
I feel safe.
And that’s exactly the problem.
I felt safe with Viktor too. In the beginning, when he opened doors and brought me flowers and looked at me like I was something precious. I trusted my gut then, and my gut was dead wrong.
My fingers find the lock.
I don’t think Matteo is like Viktor. I really don’t. But I didn’t think Viktor was like Viktor either. Not until it was too late.
It’s not about Matteo. It’s about me. About the part of me that’s broken now, the part that doesn’t know if I can tell the difference between real safety and the pretty lie that comes before everything falls apart.
I turn the lock.
Maybe someday I won’t need to.
Tonight isn’t that night.
12
SIERRA
Matteo’s mouthis on my throat.
His weight pins me to the mattress, one hand fisted in my hair, the other sliding up my thigh. Rough calluses catching on bare skin. I’m already panting, already arching into him like my body knows exactly what it wants.
“Been thinking about this.” His voice is smoke and velvet, lips brushing the hollow beneath my ear. “Since you spilled that coffee on me.”
“You looked so pissed.” I’m breathless. “It was kind of hot.”
He bites down on the curve of my neck, just hard enough to sting. The sound I make is embarrassing. Desperate. He doesn’t seem to mind.
His hand slides higher, fingers tracing the edge of my underwear but not slipping beneath. Teasing. I squirm, trying to angle my hips toward him, but he holds me down with his weight.
“Matteo.” It comes out like a plea.
“Tell me what you want.” His thumb hooks under the waistband, tugs it down an inch, then stops.
