Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 135364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
My cheeks burn as he lowers his knees, his movements unnervingly gentle as he leans over my waist and dampens the paper towels with some warm water from the sink before he cleans me up.
Oh my god.
I stare at the ceiling, at the gilded trim along the mirror -
Anywhere but at him.
“Stop looking so horrified,” Matteo mutters.
His voice is teasing but low, still rough with lingering desire.
“I’m not going to bite you.”
I huff out a breath, still refusing to look at him.
“That’s debatable.”
He lets out a low chuckle but doesn’t comment any further.
Once he’s finished, he straightens up, hands slipping under my arms to help me off the counter.
I wobble slightly as my heels hit the floor, my legs unsteady. I reach down hastily and yank my panties back into place, discreetly adjusting my dress while trying to regain some sense of control over myself.
But it’s impossible.
Because no matter how much I try to will this away, it’s still there, burning hot and impossible to ignore.
The fact that I just let Matteo Rossi - Matteo fucking Rossi - touch me like that.
Kiss me like that.
Make me fall apart like that.
My stomach twists as panic surges up my throat, threatening to choke me.
This can’t have just happened.
Mark tried to hit on me, Matteo had to step in, and instead of walking away like a sane, rational person, I let this happen.
I let him have me.
And what’s worse, I wanted it.
A heavy silence stretches between us, and Matteo leans back against the counter, watching me with an unreadable expression.
I clear my throat, crossing my arms tightly over my chest and trying to pretend like my world isn’t currently tilting on its axis.
“I - I’m on the pill,” I blurt out.
The words tumble out so quickly, I barely even process them.
Matteo blinks, caught off guard. Then, slowly, a smirk tugs at his lips.
“Good to know.”
I nearly groan aloud.
“Right. Okay. Well. I should go.”
I turn on my heel so fast that I nearly trip over my own feet.
I don’t dare look back as I push out of the stall, my heart hammering as I move swiftly through the bathroom, towards the exit.
I just need to get out of here.
Away from him. Away from my own mortifying decisions.
I shove open the door and step out into the dimly lit hallway, my pulse still thudding in my ears.
I don’t even know where I’m going - just that I need to be anywhere but here.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Matteo
I let her go.
I don’t follow.
Instead, I count to ten in my head, inhaling sharply through my nose as I hear the rapid click of her heels against the marble floor, the faint rush of air as the bathroom door swings open, then shut.
She’s gone.
The only trace of her left behind is the ghost of her touch on my skin, the sharp taste of her still lingering on my tongue, the scent of her perfume in the air.
I exhale slowly, pushing a hand through my hair as I straighten up from where I’m still leaning against the bathroom counter.
Well, fuck.
That didn’t go the way I thought it would.
I drag my fingers down my face, trying to make sense of what just happened. What I thought would happen.
For weeks, she’s been under my skin, burning at the edges of my thoughts, taking up space in my head that no one else has ever occupied. And I told myself that if I could just have her - if I could just fuck her - it would solve everything.
I told myself that it would get her out of my system.
But I don’t feel any better.
In fact, I somehow feel worse.
I push out of the stall and into the empty bathroom, adjusting my shirt, smoothing down the mess she made of me. I glance at my reflection in the mirror, at my mussed hair, my slightly swollen lips, the faint scratch marks she left at the back of my neck.
I smirk.
She wanted me. That much is undeniable.
But then I think of the way she bolted out of here, her green eyes wide with something that wasn’t just post-orgasm bliss.
The way she looked like she was seconds from passing out - not from pleasure, but from panic.
She fled.
Usually, it’s the opposite. No woman ever flees from me - I’m the one who leaves. I’m the one who untangles myself from limbs and sheets and painted lips whispering for me to stay just a little longer.
But Daphne Sinclair?
She was out the fucking door before I could even get a word in.
It’s unnerving. Frustrating.
I yank open the bathroom door and step into the dimly lit hallway.
I make my way to the entryway, ready to turn into the hall -
But then my gaze instantly sharpens as I catch sight of her.
She’s leaving - stepping into a sleek black car. Her shoulders are stiff, her auburn hair is still tousled from my hands, and her dress slightly wrinkled from where I’d gripped her hips like I couldn’t let go.