And that shouldn't matter.But fuck, it does.
He turns back to unpacking the rest, like he didn’t just toss a memory between us and walk away from the fallout.
I move to the counter, close enough to feel the tension radiating off him, but neither of us says a word.It hangs there as if we breathe wrong, the whole thing will crack wide open.
Matteo opens a drawer and pulls out a fork.He sets it on top of the container without looking at me, without saying a word.He’s not trying to take care of me… but he still is.
His head stays down, pretending to focus on unpacking the rest of the bag, pretending the food suddenly matters.Doing everything he can to avoid looking at me.
So, I look at him.Really look at him.For the first time.
He’s changed.
Sharper around the edges, more shadows in his eyes, more silence in his movements.But he’s still him.Still Matteo.
His hair’s a little longer than I remember.Messy like he ran a hand through it too many times.His jaw is tight, the kind of tension that’s lived there for years now.
But it’s the ink that catches my attention.Just above the collar of his shirt, peeking out along the side of his neck.Black lines and shadowed edges, curling up his skin.
I don’t recognize this one.It’s new.Bold.A piece of him that wasn’t there before.A piece of the life I wasn’t around to witness.A piece of something private he never meant anyone to see.
And God, he’s beautiful in the way only something broken can be.In the quiet way he exists in this room, full of shadows and restraint.He’s different now, harder, sharper, but somehow still familiar.
“You done eye-fucking me, Em, or should I take my shirt off and save you the trouble?”His voice is smooth, sharp, lethal in that low drawl that coils heat straight through my gut.“I mean, if you wanna drop to your knees, sweetheart, just ask.”
“If I wanted to drop to my knees, Matteo,” I say, voice laced with wicked intent, “I’d already have your cock down my throat, and you’d be the one begging me to let you come.”
His breath stutters, just once.Almost imperceptible.But I see it.
The way his jaw locks.The way his fingers curl into fists at his sides.Like he’s holding himself back by a thread, and I just lit a match.
His eyes burn into mine, all darkness and restraint barely hanging on.“You think I’d beg?”he growls, voice rough and lethal.
“I don’t think,” I purr, voice sweet and slow, “I know.” I step a little closer, letting the words hang in the air like a challenge.“From memory, you used to beg me not to stop when I sucked your cock,” I tease, my eyes locked on his.“So, tell me, what’s changed, Matteo?Or are you just too proud to admit you want me to do it again?”
His eyes flare, pupils darkening as the words hit him like a punch.He breathes out, rough, barely a growl, and for a split second, I see it, the moment where he almost loses it.
“If you think I’m about to beg, you're fucking delusional," he snarls."If we fuck, it’s nothing more than me getting off.Nothing more than me using you like I always have."
"You can keep pretending it’s nothing more than a fuck," I say, my voice cold."But we both know that’s a lie."
I watch his eyes, the flicker of anger, the hesitation behind the mask he’s trying to wear.
I smirk, grabbing the takeaway container with all the fake calm I can muster as if I didn’t just set the air on fire between us.
Then I turn, walking away slowly.
Every step is a reminder.
Every sway is a tease.And I make damn sure he sees exactly what he’s not getting.
“Thanks for the penne,” I say, tossing a look back at him over my shoulder.
His eyes burn into me, and I feel the heat of his gaze as it follows me across the room.I can practically feel the frustration radiating off him, and I fucking love it.
Chapter Nine
Matteo
