Chapter 5

Maty

I can’t believe I’m doing this. Can’t believe I’m actually going on a date with Alessio fucking DeLuca.

A fake date, I remind myself firmly. A test run for my matchmaking service, nothing more.

We went through the motions, following the protocols I set up for the agency. Background check, psych eval, medical screening - we’ve done it all, just like any other potential matches. It’s a necessary step to ensure the safety and compatibility of our clients, even if it feels strange to subject Alessio to the same process.

But no matter how many times I repeat that in my head, no matter how hard I try to convince myself that this is all just business… I can’t ignore the butterflies rioting in my stomach, the electric thrill that zings through me every time I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

I look good. Alessio might prefer his women stick-thin and designer-clad, but I pulled out all the stops for our little “test run.” A figure-hugging black dress and sky-high heels that make my legs look a mile long. A swipe of red lipstick and a few extra coats of mascara. My natural curls tumbling around my shoulders in perfect spirals.

It’s not me, not really. I’m more comfortable in sweatpants, hoodies and a t-shirt, my hair thrown up in a messy bun and my makeup nonexistent. But tonight, I need the armor. Need the confidence boost that comes with knowing I look like a million bucks, even if I feel like a fraud on the inside.

I take a deep breath, smoothing my damp palms over my thighs. I can do this. I can get through one fake date with Alessio without losing my head or my heart in the process.

I hope.

A knock at the door startles me, and I feel my heart lurch into my throat. He’s here!

I open the door, and the sight of him steals the breath from my lungs. He’s dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, the dark fabric hugging his broad shoulders and trim waist like nobody’s business. His hair tousled, like he just rolled out of bed after a long night of hot sex. And his eyes… God, his eyes. They’re blazing with a heat that scorches me from the inside out, a hunger that threatens to consume me whole.

“Maty.” My name is a low rumble on his delicious lips, a sound that sends shivers racing down my spine. “You look… incredible.”

I swallow hard, fighting the urge to fidget under the intensity of his gaze. “Thank you,” I manage, my voice coming out in a purr. “You clean up pretty good yourself.”

The corner of his mouth kicks up in a smirk and he offers me his arm. I make myself reach out and take it, proud of the way my hand barely trembles against the warm strength of his bicep.

“Ready?” he murmurs, his fresh, minty breath ghosting over my cheekbone.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. And then we’re gone, my heels clicking against the pavement as he leads me towards the waiting car.

The ride to the restaurant is both too long and too short, the air between us charged with a tension that crackles like electricity. Alessio sits next to me, close enough that I can feel the heat from him bleeding into my skin, but he doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t even look at me, his eyes fixed on some distant point outside the window.

Part of me is grateful for the reprieve, for the chance to catch my breath and steady my racing heart. But another part, a dark and hungry part I try my best to ignore… that part wants him to look at me the way he did back at my apartment. Wants him to reach out and pull me into his lap, crush his mouth to mine and make me fucking forget my own name.

But he doesn’t. And by the time we arrive at the restaurant, some exclusive five-star place, I’ve managed to get myself back under control, and remind myself that this isn’t real, no matter how badly I want it to be.

Alessio is out of the car before I can blink, rounding the hood to open my door for me like a true fucking gentleman. I glance up at him through my lashes as his hand engulfs mine, big, warm and slightly calloused against my own.

How the hell did I get here? How did I go from hacking this man’s accounts to gazing up at him like he’s the answer to prayers I didn’t know I was whispering?

I shake off the thought as he helps me out of the car, determined to keep my head on straight. We’re greeted by a maitre d’ who practically falls over himself to usher us to our table, a secluded little booth in the back of the restaurant. I slide into the plush velvet seat, the skirt of my dress riding up to bare an indecent amount of thigh. I don’t miss the way Alessio’s eyes linger on my exposed skin, or the way his jaw tightens before he looks away. That sexy muscle jumping on his handsome face.

The meal is torture, small talk and heated glances that last too long to be strictly for show. But Alessio perfectly plays his part. He’s all deep chuckles and clever jokes that have me laughing despite my nerves. I’ve never even suspected this aspect of his personality. He asks about my life, work, as if he didn’t already know everything about me. He tells me funny stories about his life.

But under it all simmers a tension that threatens to boil over at any moment, a need that pulses between us like a living thing.

By the time dessert arrives, I’m ready to crawl out of my own skin. My thighs are clenched under the table, my pussy wet, hot and pulsating at every brush of Alessio’s fingers against mine.

“So what’s the verdict?” I ask, cutting through my fog of burning desire. “Is this matchmaking thing a terrible idea?”

“I don’t know,” he answers softly. “I think the hardest part is gonna be making sure they have a spark.”

We stare at each other for a long moment. The air thickening between us. With want. With all the unspoken words that have built a wall between us through the years.

Then we both jolt when the waiter appears to clear the table and offer hot beverages.

* * *

The ride back to my place is filled with more loaded silence. Stolen heated looks that scorch me. Hands that almost touch but don’t. I want him like fucking crazy. But I’m terrified to reach out.

When Alessio walks me to my door, I know this is my chance for him to complete his role of bad boy book boyfriend. Take me and ravage me. Fuck me senseless into the wee hours of the morning.

But he doesn’t. He lifts my hand to his lips. Brushes a whisper-soft kiss across my knuckles. Just a graze of sensation that still brands me to the bone.

“Goodnight Maty,” he murmurs, releasing my fingers.

I stare at him, throat dry and heart jackhammering. “G-goodnight Alessio.”

One last blazing look. Then he’s gone. Striding down the hall without a backwards glance as I fumble with my keys.

I slam the door behind me, locking it with shaking hands before falling back against the wood. I’m trembling, flushed and needy. I press my thighs together but it does nothing to temper the painfully delicious ache.

I want to rip my dress off and bury my fingers between my slick, swollen folds. Rub my clit and fuck myself to a soul-shaking orgasm while screaming his name.

But I don’t. I stomp to the bathroom and blast myself with an ice cold shower until my teeth chatter and my skin puckers with goosebumps.

I can still feel him. His heat. His presence. His power over me. The woodsy scent of his expensive cologne, mixed with his own masculine musk. But I won’t give in. Won’t surrender.

Because that’s what this is. What Alessio DeLuca is. Complete and utter madness. He’s the book boyfriend of my wildest fantasies come to life. But the problem with book boyfriends is… No matter how hard you wish, no matter how badly you burn… In the end, they’re just fiction. Another fairy tale that vanishes in the harsh light of day. And I can’t afford to forget that. Can’t afford to believe in happily-ever-after. No matter how much I want to.

* * *

Alessio

Maty looked like a fucking dream. A fantasy made flesh with her gorgeous curves all wrapped like a fucking Christmas gift.

And I wanted nothing more than to shove that scrap of a dress over her hips, bury my face between those fucking thick thighs…

But I didn’t. The whole car ride, the whole goddamn long meal… I kept my hands to myself like a fucking saint. Let the tension hike up between us.

I played my role. The perfect fucking gentleman. Charming and attentive. I don’t let her see the caveman clawing at my insides, howling to claim, take and possess his mate.

I don’t let her see how her husky laugh and sharp mind make me want to spread her across that white linen tablecloth, and feast on her till she’s a sobbing, shaking mess in my arms.

And when I drop her at her door, when I brush my lips across her knuckles in a fucking poor excuse of a kiss goodnight… I don’t let her see how the taste of her skin almost brings me to my fucking knees.

I wait till I’m standing under the spray of my shower, one hand braced against gleaming black tile and the other fisted around my long, thick, hard cock. Hand slippery with soap, blood pulsing through the thick veins, pumping up and down, fast, hard, squeezing myself with my eyes shut tight, images of her flashing through my mind’s eye. I grind out her name through gritted teeth, filthy curses tumbling from my lips as I paint the wall with thick spurts of cum…

I wait until I’m away from her to let the beast out.