The chime of the doorbell echoed through your quiet apartment. You padded across the cool floor, the skimpy silk of your nightdress whispering against your thighs. You’d ordered takeaway, your mind on the long day and the quiet, imposing presence of Matteo that still seemed to linger in the air.

You pulled the door open, a casual greeting on your lips. It died instantly.

Dennis.

His grin was unsteady, his eyes too bright. “Surprise. Missed you, baby.”

Dennis stood there, his eyes bloodshot, a frantic, possessive grin spreading across his face. “Missed me?” He slurred, his hand snapping out to grab your wrist before you could react. The smell of cheap whiskey washed over you.

“Dennis, no—!”

Dennis shoved against the door, his strength fueled by desperation and something else. “We need to talk,” He grunted, his body forcing the opening wider, his other hand grabbing for your waist.

Panic tightened your throat. You pushed back, but he was heavier, stronger, insistent.

Then, a large, immaculate hand clamped down on Dennis’s shoulder from behind. The grip looked effortless, but Dennis cried out, his own hold on you breaking as he was wrenched backward like a ragdoll. He stumbled, falling hard onto the hallway floor.

Matteo Bianchi stood in the doorway, a wall of tailored black wool and cold fury. The hallway’s dim light glinted off his glasses, obscuring the storm in his grey eyes. He didn’t even look at Dennis, who was scrambling to his knees. His gaze was fixed on you, taking in the nightdress, the fear, the dishevelment.

Without a word, he stepped forward, his hand coming to your waist. He pushed you back, firmly, over the threshold and into the apartment. He followed, one hand reached behind him, and with a definitive click, he locked your front door, shutting Dennis and the world out.

You could hear Dennis’s muffled swearing and pounding on the other side of the wood, yelling your name.

Matteo didn’t even glance back. His gaze was fixed on you, a fierce, possessive heat burning through his usual stoic ice. In one fluid, dominant motion, he spun you and pinned you against the very door Dennis was beating on. The cold wood met your back, but the front of you was seared by the heat of him.

Matteo's hands caged your head, his body pressing you firmly in place. He leaned in, his breath a hot whisper against your lips.

“Let him hear.”

The command was a low growl, barely audible. Then his mouth captured yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was wild, claiming, a deliberate performance of ownership fueled by a jealous, furious fire. It was the hidden, dominant side of him, unleashed and undeniable. You could taste his anger, his possession, his stark, unyielding need.

He broke the kiss just enough to speak, his lips brushing yours. His voice was dangerously quiet, meant only for you and the man listening through the door.

“Tell me.”

Another bruising kiss.

“Tell me you only love me. Who's your man, hm?”