Page 62 of The Cost of Corruption

Matteo, though, was done playing around.

“Come here.”

It was impossible to deny that commanding tone.

With a sigh, I turned toward him but kept my head down as I crossed the room.

“What’s going on with you tonight?” he asked the moment I was in front of him.

“Nothing.” Under the best circumstances, I was a terrible liar, but tonight, even I could hear how pathetic my words sounded.

Matteo’s hands glided over the swell of my hips, pulling me in closer before sliding up my back to the top of the zipper.

“You haven’t been yourself since we left the club.”

“I told you,” I said, trotting out yet another lie. “I’m not feeling well.”

With deliberate slowness, he pulled down the zipper, and the dress fell open, skimming over the rises and falls of my body before drifting down to the floor.

“You don’t look sick,” he said, taking in the sight of my flushed skin. My lips might be able to lie to him, but the rest of me couldn’t help but tell the whole truth. “You look sad.”

“I’m fine.”

His chin tilted up as his head fell rakishly to the side. “Well, which is it? Are you unwell, or are you fine?”

I shook my head—not to dismiss his question but to try to shake off the intoxicating sensation of his hands roaming over my hips… and the top of my thighs…and the small of my back.

“I’m just tired,” I said.

His dark smile grew. “Well, then I’ll help you wake up.”

It would have been the perfect time to protest. If I had, if I’d insisted that what I was feeling sleepy and not sexy, then he probably would have let up. He might not have been happy about it. He might have had to duck into the next room totake care of himself, but he wouldn’t have forced anything.

Of that, I was certain.

But the problem wasn’t with Matteo’s resolve.

It was with mine.

The truth was that I wanted this.

I wanted it so badly. It didn’t matter that this intimacy would only make my life a thousand times harder come morning. I still couldn’t resist.

I was a few inches taller than him when he sat in this chair, and I was able to run my fingers through his thick, dark hair as I looked him in the eye.

“Just kiss me,” I said.

I didn’t have to ask twice.

In an instant, his arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me forward onto his lap. My knees slid over his thighs until I sat, straddling his legs.

The fine material of his suit brushed against my bare skin as I curled my hands into fists in his hair. With a not-so-gentle tug, I angled his head back to deepen the kiss.

He let out a growl that only made the flames inside me burn higher and hotter. “You’re a hungry little thing tonight, aren’t you?”

“And what if I am?” I surprised myself by asking.

Apparently, the mixture of depression and desperation had burned away any remaining trace of self-consciousness inside me.

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