Page 12 of Tempting Tessa

I turn the water off and step out of the shower, not bothering with a towel. Water drips down my body onto the heated floor as I approach the mirror, my reflection growing clearer as the steam dissipates.

I look like a fucking animal—eyes dark with lust, muscles tense, cock jutting out obscenely. That’s what she does to me. Reduces me to my most primal self.

I resume stroking, watching my hand work my shaft in the mirror. The sight is filthy and perfect. I imagine Contessa watching me, those full lips parted in awe. Learning exactly how I like to be touched.

I slow my pace, twisting slightly at the head, collecting the pre-cum that’s already leaking. Using it to slick my way back down, I set a torturous rhythm.

I groan, watching my cock slide through my fist, imagining her mouth, her pussy, her ass—anywhere I can bury myself in her.

The fantasy shifts to her riding me, those tits bouncing as she grinds down on my cock. I’d hold her hips in a bruising grip, guiding her movements.

My pace increases, hand working furiously as my orgasm builds. I’m not gentle with myself. I never am. My grip is punishing, just shy of painful, exactly how I like it.

“Gonna fill you up, gonna fucking breed you,” I snarl, the words escaping without permission. The thought of her swollen with my child sends me over the edge.

My cock pulses in my hand as thick ropes of cum shoot across the bathroom counter. I keep stroking, milking every last drop as it spatters across the top, marking the pristine surface with streaks of white.

“Fuck,” I grunt, giving my cock one final squeeze, watching the last drop of cum ooze from the tip.

I stare at the mess I’ve made, breathing hard, muscles twitching with aftershocks. What a fucking waste. Next time this happens, it’ll be inside her tight little pussy, where it belongs.

Chapter 4

Contessa

I’ve learned two things about men like Matteo Marino: they get off on making you wait, and they fucking hate when you make them wait. That’s why I’m fifteen minutes late, strutting through the gleaming glass doors of Marino Headquarters like I own every inch of this tower.

“Excuse me, miss! You need to sign in!” The peroxide blonde receptionist jumps up from behind her desk, manicured hand reaching out like she might actually try to stop me.

I arch an eyebrow, not breaking stride in my burgundy power suit and black Louboutins. “Do you know who I am?”

Her mouth opens, then closes.

“If not, you should learn. I’m Contessa Gallo, and Matteo is expecting me.” I tap my watch. “I’m late, so I suggest you get out of my way before you find yourself looking for a new job.”

Her face pales. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Gallo. Please go right up. Mr. Marino’s office is on the top floor.”

“I know where it is.” I blow past her, my briefcase swinging with each confident step.

The elevator ride gives me thirty seconds to check my reflection. My hair is twisted into a high, messy bun, and my crimson lipstick is still perfect. I look like a woman who could ruin a man’s life with a smile. It’s exactly the image I need when facing Matteo.

I’ve spent two weeks avoiding this meeting. First, I tried sending him a detailed email about our progress. He replied with a single line.

Not acceptable.

Then I called, hoping to placate him with my voice. He let me talk for thirty seconds before cutting me off. “My office. Friday, 2 PM.”

And here I am, because when Matteo Marino summons you, you eventually show up—even if you make him wait just to prove you still have some semblance of control.

The elevator doors slide open to reveal his executive assistant, an older severe woman with a permanent frown. She’s been with him for as long as I can remember.

“Ms. Gallo,” she says, standing. “Mr. Marino has been waiting.”

“Traffic was a bitch.” I smile sweetly. “Is he in?”

“He is, and he’s⁠—”

I’m already moving past her desk. “Great, I’ll see myself in.”