Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Matteo’s amused huff rustles my hair. “Connection?”
I lock eyes with him in the mirror, undeterred by his snarky tone. “If you want to pretend that while masturbating, you weren’t imagining me on my knees, sucking your dick, I can do the same, but that will just make liars out of us both.” I don’t sugarcoat it. “We have a sexual connection. I may not like that we do, but there’s no denying it.”
Matteo studies me, expression unreadable. I don’t flinch or look away, because this isn’t about us. It’s about Antonio and jealousy being a powerful weapon.
He doesn’t deny my claim.
He simply adds fuel to the fire.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re bossy when you’ve been denied?” My throat struggles to swallow as he flares his nostrils. “Did you come before you woke, or were you left hanging—”
“As you left me hanging yesterday?” I interrupt, refusing to let him push the narrative of our exchange. “I didn’t dream last night… and even if I had, it most certainly wouldn’t have been about you.”
“Liar,” he murmurs, moving toward the spacious dressing room. He squashes together a row of clothes, pulls them off the rod in one swift motion, and then dumps them onto an oversized chaise. “If that’s not enough room for your things, I’ll have a maid pack away my summer clothes this afternoon.”
For three heart-thrashing seconds, I do nothing but stare. I lived with Antonio for two months, and not once did I consider unpacking my suitcase.
“I don’t need any space. I’m happy to live out of a suitcase.”
“Living out of a suitcase is temporary.” I don’t know where to look when Matteo slings off his towel to pull on a pair of jeans sans underwear. “If you want people to believe this”—after tucking away his dick, he waves his hand between us—“you need them to believe it’s permanent.”
To stop myself from groaning in disappointment at the fast rise of his zipper, which hides the cropped hairs on his groin, I nod nonchalantly.
“That should be plenty of room.” Needing to douse the fire roaring through me from his pleased grin, I gesture toward the bathroom. “I’m going to shower and get ready.”
I take two steps before the memory slams into me—his fat cock, his scent, the spasms.
I stop dead in my tracks, my outfit for the day shuddering in my hand. “Is there somewhere else I can shower?”
Matteo smirks at the tremor in my words and shakes his head. “No chance. All the bathrooms on this floor connect to a bedroom. You want this ruse to be authentic, don’t you, micina?” I sheepishly nod. “Then you’re going to need to suck it up and shower in the scent of my cum.”
I roll my eyes so hard it hurts before entering the bathroom for the fastest shower of my life. I’m in and out in under three minutes. Barely enough time to breathe, much less drink in his delicious scent.
When I return to the room, towel around my hair, Matteo is waiting, expression smug.
“That was quick,” he says, grinning.
I shoot him a riled look. “Can you talk? How many strokes did it take you to finish? Two? Three, perhaps?”
His smirk doesn’t falter for even half a second. “Can you blame a man? Your mouth was open as if primed for my cum. Again. It was an extremely enticing visual.”
I gag, and his smirk shifts to a genuine smile.
Against my better judgment, I return his smile. Not for long, just enough to mentally mark a point on his side of the scoreboard.
I remove my towel to comb my hair, and Matteo’s hooded gaze drops to my outfit.
“Absolutely not.”
I drop my gaze to the cotton all-in-one pantsuit. It’s cute and practical, and since he will have to fully remove it to access an area I’m adamant this man will never see again, it’s the perfect ensemble for the first official day of our ruse. “What?”
“That.” Matteo thrusts his hand at my outfit. “No one will believe you’re with me dressed like—”
“If you say a nun, I swear, you cannot hold me accountable for my actions.”
A flare darts through Matteo’s eyes. “I was going to say, like someone who doesn’t want to be noticed. But if calling you a nun is all it takes to get you fired up, I can go that route.”
I whack him in the stomach before moving to the dresser to finish my hair. It’s wet since I had to dunk my head under the heavy stream of water to wash away his scent from my nose, so I don’t braid it like I usually do. I leave it to dry naturally. It will add curls to my normally straight hair, but I’ll take any coverage I can get if it hides my inflamed cheeks and dilated eyes.
“You need to be noticed.”