The tension between them clung to the walls of the dim bedroom like smoke—thick, hazy, electric.
Vinny leaned back, his legs draped over Matthew's lap as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His fingers were playing lazily with the strands of Matthew's damp hair, still tousled from his post-shower state. The scent of his cologne lingered between them—clean, sharp, intoxicating.
"You're warm," Vinny said, tilting his head just a little, lips brushing against the shell of Matthew's ear.
Matthew didn't respond right away. His hand gripped the curve of Vinny's thigh, tight enough to be felt, but not enough to leave bruises. His eyes were on Vinny's mouth, watching the way his smirk pulled at the corners—like he was winning some silent, dangerous game.
"I could say the same about you," Matthew murmured, voice low, husky. "You're practically melting on me."
"Hmm." Vinny's voice was a purr. "Maybe I just like being on top."
Matthew chuckled under his breath. "Don't push it."
Vinny didn't back down. His fingers slid beneath the collar of Matthew's shirt, nails grazing against skin. "What if I do?"
Matthew shifted suddenly, pulling Vinny closer, chest to chest. His arm wrapped around Vinny's waist, firm and unrelenting. "You really like playing with fire, don't you?"
"I like the way you burn," Vinny whispered, his breath ghosting over Matthew's lips. "Hot. Relentless. Like you're trying to brand me."
Their mouths collided—not soft, not tentative. It was messy, teeth and heat and gasps swallowed between them. Vinny's fingers curled in Matthew's hair, tugging him closer, as if closeness was the only way to keep breathing.
When they broke apart, barely catching their breath, Matthew leaned in again, slower this time, dragging his lips down Vinny's jaw, tasting him. "You always this mouthy when you're sitting on someone's lap?"
"Only when it's yours."
That response earned him a bite on the neck—sharp, quick, and utterly possessive. Vinny's body arched into him, eyes fluttering shut for half a second before they snapped back open.
He didn't want to lose control. Not yet.
Matthew read that in him, could feel it in the way Vinny tried to keep his breathing even, tried not to give in too quickly.
But Matthew also knew he was winning.
"You like it when I call you mine," Vinny murmured. "Don't pretend you don't."
Matthew's grip tightened. "Say it again."
Vinny smirked. "You're mine."
Something in Matthew cracked. Or maybe it uncoiled—whatever it was, it pulled him deeper, closer. His hand slid up under Vinny's shirt, tracing skin like he was memorizing it, learning the language of each breath.
Vinny didn't stop him. Didn't resist.
But just when the moment began to tip—when it threatened to spill into something neither of them could walk away from—Vinny's phone buzzed.
He groaned, rolling his eyes. "You've got to be kidding me."
Matthew didn't move, his hand still warm on Vinny's waist. "Don't answer it."
Vinny glanced at the screen. "It's Kieran."
"Definitely don't answer it."
That earned a breathy laugh. "He only calls when there's chaos brewing."
Matthew finally let out a sigh, letting go—reluctantly. "Fine. Answer it. But this better be damn important."
Vinny slid off his lap, reluctantly, and tapped the screen. "What, Kieran?"
"You might want to check the group chat," came Kieran's lazy voice. "Tom's up to something."
Vinny's expression shifted instantly—like a stormcloud had passed over him. "What now?"
"Something about digging up the past. He's being cryptic, but... I think he's planning something. Something big."
Matthew's jaw clenched. He could hear Kieran's voice and the underlying concern beneath his usual sarcasm.
Vinny met Matthew's gaze. "We need to move."
Matthew stood, already pulling on his hoodie. "Where is he?"
"Last pinged somewhere near that stupid café Eliza used to work at. You think he's going to drag you into public drama?"
"I think he's trying to bait me," Matthew said coldly. "Again."
Vinny touched his arm. "Let's go."
By the time they got to the café, Tom was gone. But his presence lingered—half-spilled drinks, a ripped note, a sneer carved into a napkin with angry words:
"You'll regret choosing him."
Vinny read it twice.
Matthew didn't bother reading it at all. He took one look and said, "He's losing it."
Vinny folded the note and tucked it into his back pocket. "No. He's planning something. This isn't just jealousy. This is obsession."
Matthew's lips twisted. "He crossed a line when he sent his men after me."
Vinny glanced over sharply. "What?"
Matthew froze. Shit.
But it was too late. The words were out.
Vinny stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean his men?"
Matthew looked away. "Forget it."
"Matthew."
"I said forget it." His voice had an edge—one that Vinny rarely heard from him.
Vinny didn't push, not right then. But his expression said he wouldn't let it go for long.
That night, back at Vinny's place, everything felt off-kilter. The teasing was gone. The tension had shifted—from flirtation to something sharp-edged and heavy.
Vinny poured a glass of water, silent as he handed one to Matthew.
They sat on the couch, side by side, but not touching.
"I'm not going to let Tom ruin this," Vinny finally said.
Matthew stared ahead. "He already has, hasn't he?"
"No." Vinny turned to him. "He hasn't. You're still here. I'm still here. That means something."
Matthew finally looked at him, eyes unreadable. "Then say it again."
Vinny leaned in, brushing his fingers over Matthew's knuckles. "You're mine."
This time, when their mouths met, it was slower—no less intense, but filled with something different.
Claiming.