Fatal Alliances [✓]

36

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

MALIA

THE ENTIRETY OF MY BODY WAS SORE as I rolled over and came to the terms with what had happened only hours ago, sun-blinding me as I breathed a sigh of relief to find the pillow by my side empty, though it was quite obvious I hadn't slept alone.

I stood up and tiptoed into the washroom, hoping not to garner his attention wherever he was. Once inside, I concealed behind the slightly tinted panels, away from the glass, and soaked in my own reflection in the wide lit-up mirror.

As a result of him fisting clumps of my hair, while slamming into me, I now noticed my unkempt locks, acting as a reminder of his fingers sliding and gripping through it. Even now, his fierce and ardent kisses had left my lips inflamed. My nipples protruded from beneath the T-shirt he handed me, and I was aching and alive all over again at the memory of every inch he gave and filled me with, leaving me to clench my thighs.

Before my thoughts could become any more rabid, I washed my face and freshened up, rinsing my mouth and momentarily picturing his immense length, which had been slamming into the back of my throat with such force that tears welled up in my eyes.

Cleaning my hands, I headed out, tip-toeing once more, however halfway across the room. I peered out the door and saw that Mateo was nowhere to be seen. My brows knitted as I traveled along the narrow path leading to the lounging area, only to discover him shirtless and executing push-ups right by the skylights.

It was obvious that I was in awe as I observed his back muscles relax and tense as he counted under his breath, the veins in his arms becoming more and more noticeable as I rounded the corner and doused in the very faint scars that spread across his lower back, scars so subtle and pale that I would have missed them if the sunlight wasn't entirely focused on him.

Mateo became aware of my presence and stopped his actions, rotating to sit up. I swallowed as I took in the sight of his rippling arms and sculpted abdomen, which was flawlessly contouring downwards to his V-line, a simple but dominating tattoo sat there —the Costello crest— surrounded by many others.

Even better, he was dressed in grey sweatpants, which I had not anticipated to see him in —ever— given that he lived in his tailored suits and ties. He knew he looked good in it, he had to, because he was undoubtedly smug in the face as I stared at him, hazily.

"Take a picture, Sofia." Mateo gruffly said, humoured.

"Go to hell, Izaac." I burst out stammering almost.

He laughed, and I wondered for a moment why the sound was so natural and silky, like it took him no effort to bring it out from deep within himself, "So the attitude returns?"

"It never quite left." I replied, pacing around the coach, as his eyes followed my legs and lingered between my thighs. A pleasant, sweet and homely scent seeped through the air as well, but it came from behind me in the pristine kitchenette, and my lips parted in wonder. "What's cooking?"