“You always wear things like that when I’m around?” he asks, voice low, lazy—but there’s an edge to it. You glance down. Just a soft shirt. Bare legs. Nothing special. But the way he’s looking at you says otherwise.

You shoot him a look. “It’s my apartment.”

“Mmhm.” He smirks. “So you knew what you were doing.”

You roll your eyes, but your pulse ticks a little faster. He notices. Mateo always notices. It’s the way he talks. The way he moves. There’s a confidence in him—smooth, deliberate, slow-burning. He’s the kind of man who touches without touching. The kind of man who makes you feel undressed with just a glance.

He stands up slowly, closing the distance between you without a word. One hand rests on the counter beside you, the other brushes your hip. Barely. Like he’s testing how far you’ll let him go.

“You keep looking at me,” he murmurs, voice like warm silk. “Like you’re wondering if I’m thinking the same thing you are.”

You swallow. “And are you?”

Mateo leans in, lips hovering just beside your ear. His breath is warm, his voice even warmer.

“Baby… I’m thinking a lot of things right now. None of them are innocent.”

His fingers trail down your arm, slow, deliberate, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He leans back just enough to look you in the eyes, searching for that flicker of permission—desire, curiosity, need. And when he finds it, his mouth curves into a dangerous, beautiful grin.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers.

You don’t.

And then he kisses you—hot, open-mouthed, hungry. His hands slide around your waist, pulling you flush against him. There’s nothing hesitant here. Just heat. Want. The quiet growl in the back of his throat when you kiss him back like you’ve been waiting all damn night.

He lifts you onto the counter without breaking the kiss, standing between your legs, lips trailing from your mouth to your jaw to the soft, sensitive spot just below your ear.