Emilio's breath hitched as his back met the wall, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Matteo stood in front of him, so close, so warm, his deep black eyes drinking in every inch of Emilio's flustered face.
"You keep running from me," Matteo murmured, voice dripping with amusement. "But you always end up right where I want you."
Emilio swallowed hard. "You don't control me."
Matteo tilted his head, his smirk slow, lazy—dangerous.
"Don't I?"
His fingers ghosted over Emilio's wrist, so light, barely touching, but somehow everywhere.
Emilio's breath came faster.
He should move.
Should push him away.
But when Matteo's fingertips trailed up his arm, over his shoulder, up his throat—he didn't.
Matteo hummed. "I think you like this game."
Emilio shivered. "I don't."
Matteo chuckled, his lips brushing the shell of Emilio's ear. "Liar."
And then—his mouth was on his throat.
Hot. Slow. Teasing.
Not biting. Not kissing.
Just hovering.
Letting Emilio feel his breath, the heat of him, the unbearable anticipation of what he could do.
Emilio's fingers curled into fists. "You're—"
Matteo's lips brushed his skin.
Emilio gasped.
Matteo smirked.
"Sensitive," Matteo murmured. "I like that."
His hand dragged down Emilio's chest, fingers just barely skimming the fabric of his shirt.
Not enough to satisfy.
Just enough to torture.
Emilio bit his lip, his body betraying him, heat coiling low in his stomach.
Matteo saw.
And he liked it.
"You want me to kiss you, don't you?" Matteo whispered against his jaw.
Emilio's face burned. "Shut up."
Matteo chuckled. "Say it."
Emilio turned his head away. "I won't."
Matteo sighed—mock disappointment. "Such a shame. I could make it so good for you."
His fingers traced lower.
Emilio's pulse spiked.
"Tell me to stop," Matteo whispered.
Emilio couldn't.
Matteo's nose brushed his cheek, his lips a breath away from Emilio's own.
"So stubborn," Matteo murmured.
Then, just when Emilio thought he might give in—Matteo pulled back.
Just enough to make Emilio feel the loss.
Just enough to leave him aching.
"One day, Emilio," Matteo said, his voice soft but dangerous. "You're going to beg me for it."
And then—he was gone.
Leaving Emilio standing there, shaking, breathless, burning for something he shouldn't want.
But he did.
God help him, he did.