Matteo

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  I nearly choke. Wow – this is some potent stuff. I cringe as the alcohol slithers its way down my throat.

  Anyway, he thinks he’s clever. And charming. I’m not buying his whole self-effacing act. He’s full of it; I know that much. “Ugh – Guys like you…”

  “What do you mean ‘guys like me’?”

  “You know the effect you have on women. Don’t play dumb. I’d respect your game much more if you’d just own up to it,” I tease. “You love it. Admit it. Don’t play modest. It doesn’t suit you.” I take a small sip of my drink, my chest still burning from my previous gulp.

  He looks me straight in the face, a wildfire burning in his eyes. “So, Ms. Parker, are you saying that I’m having an effect on you tonight?” His lips rise into an awfully conceited smirk.

  God – those sure look like delicious lips…

  I feel my cheeks heat up. My breasts ache, wanting so badly to feel his big, warm hands cupping them, squeezing them. I look off into the distance, too flustered to hold his stare. “I’m just a girl sitting at a bar with her lawyer on a Friday night.” I finish off my drink.

  He chuckles, mock offense paints his expression. “And you accuse me of being insincere.” He playfully touches my hand, which is buried in my hair.

  I cringe when I realize I’ve been twirling a lock of my hair around my finger for the better part of five minutes. Am I flirting, too? I immediately drop my hand to my lap and adjust my posture. What is wrong with me? Sitting here, batting my eyelashes and giggling like a silly teenager with a crush. I might as well send in my freaking application for the Matteo Moretti Fan Club.

  He waves down the bartender again and when she looks his way, he gestures for two more drinks. She’s back in a flash with our refills.

  Maybe I shouldn’t drink anymore, I think to myself as I cautiously nudge the glass away from me.

  Matteo’s eyes haven’t left mine yet. His fingers flitter across my shoulder bone and my skin tingles, arousal undulating through my body. “You’ve got a chip the size of Atlanta on that shoulder of yours.”

  “Well that may be true but my ‘chip’ is still not as big as your ego,” I retort trying to appear cool and composed despite the swirling and whooshing in the pit of my stomach. “Being that arrogant must be exhausting.”

  “Funny.” He downs his drink in one voracious gulp. “But seriously – what’s got you so jaded, Ms. Ellie Parker? What’s your deal?” His searing gaze is relentless as he drinks in my profile, studying me intensely. “Did some guy break your heart and leave you bitter?”

  “Ha!” I spit out a mirthless laugh. As if I’d ever let a guy get close enough to hurt me.

  He continues to eyeball me. “No – that’s not it,” he says out loud to himself. Silence hangs heavily above us for an uncomfortable moment and I can see his mind racing. My body becomes warm and tingly and I can’t tell whether it’s the alcohol working it’s way through my system or the intensity of this man’s gaze.

  “You think you’re so smart, huh, Mr. Lawyer?” I mutter under my breath as I bring my glass to my lips.

  “No – it’s your father,” he says suddenly as if a light bulb just went off in his head. “Your father – filthy rich, ostentatious business magnate, Elias Parker, spent all his days in the lap of luxury. Meanwhile you, you were god knows where – somewhere off in the shadows. You never got the life that was rightfully yours. You resent him for keeping you a secret...”

  I feel my chest tighten. He’s hit the nail on the head, but I don’t know him well enough to admit it. “You just have me all figured out, don’t you?” I turn my body away from him, towards the bar.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him lift a shoulder nonchalantly. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.”

  He’s silent for a while. I watch, quietly, as his index finger circles the rim of his glass. An image of him circling my clit with that thick, strong finger flashes through my mind.

  Whoa – where did that thought come from?

  I shift uncomfortably in my seat, painfully aware of the wetness pooling in my underwear.

  Great! Just great!

  Looks like I’m gonna need another sip of that alcohol.

  When I left my room tonight, it was because I was restless. I couldn’t sleep after the long day at the factory inspection. I needed to unwind in order to fall asleep. I never would have imagined I’d find myself pinned down under Matteo Moretti’s intense gaze.

  But I like it. I actually like it.

  Honestly, I can’t believe how easy it is to talk to him. It should feel somewhat awkward having such an intimate moment with my lawyer, at a bar no less. But, it feels oddly comfortable and familiar and the banter just seems to flow.

  The man in front of me is nothing like the douchebag my blog has made tens of thousands of dollars reporting on. The contrast between the real Matteo Moretti and the caricature that the New York Flame has propagated over the past two years is striking.

  Yes – the real Matteo Moretti is painfully conceited but he’s also incredibly charming and surprisingly funny and after a few rounds of liquor, fucking the hell out of him tonight really doesn’t seem like a bad idea.

  I snort out a laugh at the thought.

  He peers up at me with a hooded gaze. “What are you giggling at?” He sets down his tumbler and trains his full attention on me.

  “I just – I just –“ I hesitate.

  “You just what?”

  I focus my attention on the countertop, tracing invisible circles with my fingernail. “I just expected you to be more of a…douchebag.” I feel my cheeks heat up.

  He looks completely taken aback by my honesty but it only takes him a few moments to recover. “Well y’know – you’ve gotta know me to love me. I challenge you not to fall in love with my charming good looks and witty conversation.” He smirks at me as he playfully draws an invisible picture frame around his face. I laugh softly. “No, but in all seriousness, the tabloids have me all wrong.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Indeed.” He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and just watches me, his eyes flickering with amusement. I suspect that the alcohol is getting to him. It’s getting to me, too. Making me warm and tingly and stripping away my self-restraint. I’m not sure if we’re on our third or fourth refill by now.

  I giggle again, propping my chin up on the heel of my palm. “So, Mr. Lawyer, do you look at all your clients like that?” I say, only half-teasing. I reach for my glass, but it’s empty so I grab his and slide it across the counter to myself.

  I watch him fight back a smile. “Like what?”

  I bring his glass to my lips and toss back a mouthful of liquid courage. ”Like you want to see them naked.”

  When was the last time a man was able to get this level of honesty, of intimacy, from me? It really isn’t like me – being so direct – especially with a notorious playboy like Matteo Moretti. I could blame it on the alcohol, but it’s really his hypnotizing eyes and those panty-melting dimples that have me drunk.

  He smirks at me. “Is that how I’m looking at you?” He reaches for his tumbler, his fingers grazing mine.

  “I’d say so.” I cock my head to the side and observe him. I just can’t rip my eyes away from his mouth as he swallows the last of his drink. “You never just answer a question, do you?”

  His throaty laugh bellows out. “You’re something else, Ms. Parker.”

  And then, he gives me that wicked, sexy grin, his fingers dragging across the inside of my open palm.

  Oh shit – now, my panties are ruined for sure.

  He bites his bottom lip, pondering me, and his dimples pop into view. Christ – this man is unraveling me. I need to get away from him before I do something inappropriate. “It’s been a long day. We should call it a night,” I say in a breathy tone.

  I have to admit that I’m surprised – and awfully disappointed – when he slides off of the stool without resistance. “Lead the way, Ms. Parker.”
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br />   Chapter 14

  She leans in close and presses the elevator call button yet again. She taps the toe of her high-heeled shoe against the marble tiles in an impatient rhythm. I drink in her profile. Sparkling gray eyes. Adorable button nose. Silky blond hair. Pouty lips. Her arms are folded tightly across her freckled chest and I can see goosebumps spread along her creamy skin.

  “You cold?” I ask, fatigue weighing heavy on my voice.

  “A little,” she says, her eyes focused on the numbers above the elevator as they light up consecutively, indicating the lift’s position in its leisurely descent to the lobby.

  I unzip my sweatshirt and shrug out of it. When I drape it around her narrow shoulders, she leans her face into the fabric and takes a deep inhale. Her eyes flutter a bit and the sexiest little sound pours out of her mouth when she breathes in my scent.

  I swallow hard as I watch her. This erotic little woman may be the one to break me, to bring me to my knees.

  She’s drank just enough tonight so that her guard is down but she hasn’t lost control of her wits. Her filter has dissolved and the true Ellie Parker is exposed to me.

  The elevator finally chimes and the doors slide open. She steps gingerly to the back of the lift and sags against the railing running along the wall. I press the button for the 9th floor where my room is.

  I give her a sidelong glance. “What floor are you on?”

  “The 12th,” she tells me in a weary voice.

  At the sound of her muffled yawn, I wheel around to look at her. And she’s adorable, draped in my sweater and pressed up against the mirrored wall, covering her lips with her small hand. “Excuse me,” she says with a bashful smile, her slender fingers lingering on her mouth.

  And now, my lips tingle. I want to press them against hers. I’ve been dying to put my lips on her. Since the day I met her, I’ve wanted to taste her.

  With a ding, the elevator announces its arrival on the 9th floor. Too damn fast. I could just stand here all night and look at her.

  “Good night, Mr. Moretti,” she says quietly.

  “Good night, Ms. Parker.” But, when I look into her eyes, I see the same disappointment that I feel. I don’t want our time together to be over. Not yet.

  An unseen force slowly pushes me towards the open door until I’m standing in the hallway just outside the lift.

  I’m watching her.

  She’s watching me.

  My desire is reflected on her face.

  And just as the doors begin to slide shut, I stretch out my hand. Her eyes go wide. I step onto the elevator and take her by the wrist. She comes willingly when I lead her down the hallway to room 909. My right arm slides around her waist, kneading into the flesh at her hip as I hold her left hand in mine. My heart has never pounded so goddamned hard.

  We’re not supposed to do this.

  I know the rules.

  We stand outside of my room door. I’m towering over her, pressing my raging heart – and my throbbing erection – into her back and that round ass that I’ve ached to get my hands on.

  She doesn’t say anything. The only sound pouring out of her is the rasp of the tiny, strangled breaths flowing out of her mouth. My hand slides up from her hip to her breast and I can feel her heart pounding as hard as mine is.

  She wants this, too.

  What we decide in this moment changes everything. We both know that. Once we enter my hotel room, we cross forbidden lines, we break all the rules.

  But we both want to do it so badly.

  “This is wrong,” she mutters as my lips graze the flesh behind her ear.

  I smile against her skin. “It doesn’t have to be right – it just has to feel good. And I can guarantee that it will.” I feel my erection bulge against her spine and she shivers all over.

  I push my clammy left hand into the pocket of my sweatpants and pull out my keycard. I slide the card into her grip and I feel her fingers tighten around it.

  “It’s up to you, Ms. Parker. Whatever happens after this point is entirely up to you.”

  I know it’s not fair to place the responsibility squarely on her shoulders. But I can’t participate in making this decision because if the choice was solely up to me, it’s clear what would come next. Clothes would be ripped off. Bodies would be sweaty and pressed together. I would be driving my cock into the depths of her while she clings to me, screaming my name.

  After a long moment, she takes a shallow breath and steps forward. Her hand shakes as she swipes the card through the reader and the tiny lights blink green.

  I growl and my hand jumps to the door handle. I turn the knob and shove the door open. Her captivating gray eyes are wide as she spins towards me, throws her arms around my neck and hastily steals my bottom lip into her mouth.

  Chapter 15

  His lips taste like whiskey and sugar. Sweet and addictive and bad for me. So, so bad for me.

  But I want him. I want his hands on me, his lips on me, every inch of his skin on me. I lose myself in his kiss. His lips are so soft and his tongue is pure velvet.

  His hands slide into my hair and tug at the roots, sending bolts of lightening down my spine. Flushed and out of breath, I pull away to watch him. In the darkness of the room, all I can make out is his tall, broad-shouldered silhouette.

  But I can feel him.

  Every one of my nerve endings is alive and aware of him. I feel the tickle of his breath against the top of my lip. I feel the brush of his fingers along my neck. I feel the bulge of his arousal pressed up against my stomach.

  He makes me ache. A nervous, aroused, delicious kind of ache. I want him so badly it scares me.

  He slides the sleeves of his sweatshirt down my arms before it falls to the floor. His fingers trail up my back and find the zipper of my dress. “From the minute I first saw you, I wanted to fuck you,” he mutters bringing his lips to my ear as my dress lands on the floor.

  Those lips. Those plush, cushiony lips. I’ve craved them all night and now, here they are, tracing a path down my neck.

  His hand settles on the curve of my back and my heart lurches into overdrive. He lowers his face till his lips cover mine again. I groan, instantly electrified and aching to taste even more of him.

  His tongue slides into my mouth, the warmth and softness of it causing a stir between my thighs. He kisses like a man who knows what he’s doing. There’s no denying his skill.

  I rise onto my tiptoes and slide my fingers into his hair. His hands splay across my back and he presses me into his body. I can feel his heart raging beneath his perfectly sculpted muscles.

  “Take it off,” I mutter as I tug at the hem of his t-shirt. I feel him smile against my lips.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he says as he takes a step back and yanks the flimsy material over his head.

  My hands run eagerly across his chest. His skin is hot under my fingers. He wraps his arms around me and kisses me deeply, passionately and I feel like I’m drowning. His presence is a force field. It curls around my body, pulling me in and swallowing up my defenses. My skin grows hot. I feel a single bead of perspiration roll down my spine.

  I lose my breath when he palms my ass and slides his fingers under the hem of my panties. “Oh god,” I moan softly as his index rolls back and forth through my wetness.

  His touch is soft but competent; he uses just the right amount of pressure, he knows just the right speed, he knows when to pause as a form of torture and when to show mercy by restoring his touch.

  I sink my teeth into his flesh to keep from screaming. My restraint only seems to stoke him on. He walks me backwards in the dark until I feel myself stumble gingerly onto the mattress. The alcohol is still working its magic on me.

  I fall onto the bed linens and he slithers on top of me. He kisses me again; heated lashes of his tongue stroke into my mouth. Then, his lips are on my neck, leaving a wet trail behind as he works down the middle of my chest. Each of his hands find a breast and he thumbs my tight nipples as he kisses my s
tomach…and then my pelvis…and then the soft, wet, sensitive danger zone between my legs.

  A moan cracks out of my throat as my head whips to the side and I press my face into the bed sheet. He drops to his knees on the carpeted floor as he yanks off my panties, grabs hold of my ankles and throws my legs over his shoulders. He groans into my flesh. “It’s like honey. It’s...It’s…”

  I want to respond. I do. But goddamnit – I’m drunk. The only sounds pouring out of me are bellows and roars and moans. His tongue caresses me, massages me and I strain against the urge to thrash about on the bed. I fist the sheets with every iota of strength in me. My jaw clenches tight as I repress the screams. He nibbles on the lips of my pussy as one finger slides into me, tender and slow.