The car ride back from the party was suffocatingly silent. The hum of the engine was the only sound between them, but the tension in the air was thick enough to choke on. Emilio sat on the far side of the backseat, arms crossed tightly, face turned toward the window as the city lights danced across his golden eyes. Matteo sat beside him, rigid, brooding, a storm barely contained under his skin.
"Say it," Emilio finally muttered without turning. "Say what you've been dying to say since we left."
Matteo didn't respond right away. His jaw clenched, eyes burning red in the dim cabin light. "You let that man touch you."
"He touched my hand, Matteo," Emilio snapped, twisting to face him now. "It was a greeting. A polite gesture. What did you expect me to do slap him in the middle of a party?"
"I expected you to remember who you belong to."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Emilio's mouth opened in disbelief. "I don't belong to anyone." His voice trembled not from fear, but fury.
Matteo's eyes flared, but he didn't argue. He simply leaned forward, closing the space between them like a predator with prey. "Then why," he whispered, "do your knees shake when I touch you? Why do your lips part when I get this close?" His breath was hot against Emilio's cheek, his words soft but electric.
Emilio's heart was pounding. He wanted to shove him away. He wanted to lean in. Instead, he stayed still, defiant even as heat licked up his spine. "That doesn't mean I'm yours."
A soft, dangerous smile tugged at Matteo's lips. "You're right. But it means you could be."
The car slowed to a stop in front of Matteo's penthouse, and before Emilio could react, the door opened. Matteo stepped out and held his hand out for Emilio.
"I'm not going inside with you," Emilio said, crossing his arms tighter.
"I didn't ask," Matteo replied, velvet-smooth. "But you will."
And damn it, he was right. Emilio took his hand.
The penthouse was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of the city through the towering windows. Matteo walked behind Emilio like a shadow, silent but ever-present. When Emilio paused in the living room, unsure of his next move, he felt arms snake around his waist.
"I wanted to kill him," Matteo said against his ear. "The way he looked at you. Like you were something he could taste."
Emilio tensed. "You're being dramatic."
Matteo's hands tightened. "I don't care."
He spun Emilio to face him, and without warning, he kissed him. Not soft. Not sweet. This was a claim possessive, devouring. Emilio's hands pushed against Matteo's chest but faltered, caught in the fire. He gasped against Matteo's mouth, and Matteo took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue sweeping in, stealing all his breath.
"Tell me you didn't want this," Matteo growled between kisses.
"I hate you," Emilio breathed.
"Liar."
Matteo walked him backward until his legs hit the couch. They both fell, Emilio under him, caught in the weight of everything they'd been avoiding. Matteo's hand gripped his jaw, tilting his head. "I'll take you apart piece by piece," he whispered, "and by the end, you'll beg to be mine."
Emilio's breath caught. "And if I don't?"
"Then I'll start all over again."