Emilio knew he should leave.
He should step away, put some damn distance between them.
But Matteo had him trapped.
Not physically—no, Matteo hadn't even touched him yet.
But his presence? His heat? The way his dark, knowing gaze devoured Emilio, like he already owned every breath in his lungs?
That was enough to make Emilio's knees weak.
Matteo leaned in, his voice a low murmur. "I can feel you trembling, Emilio."
Emilio's pulse spiked. "I'm not—"
Matteo's hand brushed his wrist, the touch barely there, and Emilio swore he felt it everywhere.
Matteo smirked. "You were saying?"
Emilio swallowed. "You're insufferable."
Matteo chuckled, low and dangerous. "And yet, here you are."
He lifted his hand again—slow, teasing—until his fingers traced the line of Emilio's throat.
Soft. Barely skimming.
And yet, devastating.
Emilio's breath hitched. "You don't—"
Matteo's thumb brushed his pulse point.
Emilio shuddered.
Matteo hummed. "Interesting."
He didn't move away. Didn't stop. Just stood there, his fingers exploring every inch of Emilio's heated skin with excruciating patience.
Not giving him anything.
Just building the tension.
Pushing.
Teasing.
Dragging Emilio into hell one whisper-soft touch at a time.
Matteo's mouth brushed his ear. "How much can you take, Emilio?"
Emilio's fingers curled into fists. "You're—"
Matteo laughed—soft, amused, deadly.
"I'm what?" he murmured.
His thumb swept lower, down Emilio's collarbone, tracing the edge of his shirt.
Not touching.
Just hovering.
A silent, infuriating promise.
Emilio was burning.
Every inch of him screamed for more, but Matteo? That bastard?
He just smirked.
Watching. Waiting.
"I hate you," Emilio rasped.
Matteo's lips brushed the corner of his jaw.
And then—he pulled back.
Completely.
Leaving Emilio standing there, breathless, shaking, aching—and wanting.
Matteo's voice was smug as he walked away.
"You'll beg me for it soon enough."
And the worst part?
He was right.