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Alessio’s grin widens, and Halie bites back a laugh.

“Yup. Definitely, unresolved tension.”

I shove the fridge door closed a little harder than necessary and shoot him a look. “Shouldn’t you be...oh, I don’t know, wearing a damn shirt?”

Alessio shrugs, utterly unbothered. “You don’t seem to mind most mornings. I figured we’d graduated past formalities.”

“ Graduated ? You’re on probation, not graduating elementary school.”

He takes a long sip of his smoothie, eyes locked on mine. “Well, professor, maybe you should give me some extra credit.”

Halie chokes on her coffee.

My jaw tightens so hard I could snap a pencil between my molars.

Alessio turns to Halie, tone casual. “So, how long are you in town?”

“Long enough.” She gives him a slow smile. “Though I might extend my stay depending on the... local scenery.”

My stomach does an Olympic-grade somersault.

“I’m sure Soph would love that.”

He’s not even trying to hide the way he’s provoking me.

Halie gives me a side glance. “Would she, now?”

Before I can throw something, possibly the blender, Halie sets her cup down and grabs her bag. “Well, I should go before I spontaneously combust in this sexual pressure cooker.”

She hugs me tightly, whispering near my ear, “You better hit that before I do.”

I glare. “Out.”

She just laughs, sauntering out with the smugness of someone who knows exactly the chaos she’s left behind.

Once the door clicks shut, I turn and find Alessio watching me with a lazy amusement that makes my skin itch.

He has one brow raised. “Jealous?”

“Of what? Watching you flirt with anything with a pulse? Please.”

He moves closer, not touching, just hovering near enough to short-circuit my nervous system. “You’re cute when you lie to yourself, dolcezza .”

And then he walks away, leaving me breathless, fuming... and far too aware of every inch of my body.

***

I can’t sleep. Just toss and turn in bed, limbs tangled in too-hot sheets, my brain refusing to shut the hell up.

Alessio’s voice still echoes in my head, like he’s in here with me, grinning, smug, cocky. You’re cute when you lie to yourself, dolcezza.

And worse?

He’s right. I am lying. To everyone. Especially myself.

Because every time I close my eyes, I see his face. The teasing lift of his eyebrow. The way he looked at Halie... and then at me. That damn confidence that makes me want to throat-punch him and climb him at the same time.

I flip onto my back with a frustrated sigh, the cotton of my tank top riding up my stomach.

My body is on edge. Humming. Hungry.

God, I hate this.

I try to think of anything else. Emails, deadlines, Bratva threats.

But it all dissolves into one thing: him .

The smirk on his lips. The heat in his eyes. The way his sweatpants hung low on his hips, revealing just enough to keep me sleepless and stupid.

I squeeze my thighs together, as if that’ll help.

It doesn’t. Not even close.

My fingers ghost over my exposed mid-section, then just above bottoms. Grazing slow and tentative at first.

The images keep coming.

Alessio above me, skin hot and hard against mine. His hand tangled in my hair, lips dragging over my throat, teasing, owning. The rough edge in his voice when he growls my name. The way his thumb traces my hip, brushing the butterfly tattoo he never got to finish discovering that night.

My hand slips under the waistband of my panties, and I let out a soft breath as my fingers find the ache.

I circle slowly, eyes shut, thighs parting further as my hips begin to move.

I bite down on a moan, remembering how it felt when he touched me there.

God, his hands, big and rough, the kind that make you feel delicate even when you’re not, knowing exactly how to unravel me.

His mouth everywhere at once.

That dirty whisper against my ear. “You want it rough, don’t you, baby?”

I close my eyes and let the memory pull me under.

His voice in my ear, husky and rough.

His hands gripping my hips like he owns me.

I bite my lip, stifling a moan as I pick up the pace. My fingers rubbing tight little circles on my clit.

The pleasure builds between my legs, my panties soaking with arousal.

As soon as I'm wet enough, I plunge my two fingers deep within my pussy, not waiting to ease it in.

I stroke harder, faster, legs tensing, head thrown back into the pillow as heat builds low in my belly.

Pressure, sharp and sweet, spiraling with every glide of my fingers.

I imagine his tongue, his hips driving into mine, the scent of his cologne on my sheets.

I cry out, my breath hitching as the climax slams into me, sudden, electric, and overwhelming.

It's blinding and toe-curling at the same time, and maybe I'm a bit too loud. But as the waves of pleasure wash over me, it's hot and humiliatingly satisfying, and instantly laced with guilt.

I ride it out, breathless and trembling.

My chest heaves, my skin flushed, and heart still pounding.

I lie there in the afterglow, staring at the ceiling like it holds the answers I don’t want to face.

What the hell is wrong with me?

This can’t happen again. I know better.

But apparently, my body didn’t get the memo.

It was a mistake then. And it’s a mistake now.

Alessio Marchetti is dangerous.

But right now, he’s all I can think about.