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I know that journalists do all kinds of insane shit to get the details of a proper story. I’ve met people who have stayed in crack dens for a week straight, interviewing people who were in various stages of drug addiction. They said they were concerned about being exposed to some kind of pathogen while they were there, and it kept them up at night for months after.
By comparison, staying with Matteo feels much safer despite the implications. I could certainly still be killed by his rivals while I’m here, but so far, all I’ve done is take long showers, sleep in expensive sheets, and eat incredible food.
Today though, I’m curious about the tennis court. It’s been years since I played, and I was getting good at it before my family had to move states for my dad’s job. I hadn’t ever picked it back up due to how inaccessible it was in my city, but I never stopped wishing that I could jump back into it.
The only issue, of course, is that I have to ask Matteo where the equipment is.
I’ve faced embarrassing situations before this so much more grace than I am now. I’ve bled through my pants at work and still managed to save my ego somehow despite how dickish and immature my coworkers can be. However, this time, the idea of confronting Matteo even casually makes me want to curl up and die.
The worst part is that I just know he’ll get so much satisfaction out of watching me struggle. He’ll be listening so closely to the way my voice wavers with anxiety and uncertainty. Just like any man, he’ll soak in the self-righteous glory of making a woman nervous, and as soon as I notice it, I might just scream and run away. What would be the point of even trying once I realize how much of a fool I’m being?
It takes me hours to leave my bedroom and ask him for the location of the equipment. I consider asking someone else, like Leonardo. However, I don’t want to risk someone thinking that I’m trying to be sneaky around Matteo’s belongings, and I’m certain that he’s had issues with people trying to steal from him in the past. I’m willing to bet that any random item in his house would be worth quite a lot of money in a trade, and people are more desperate than ever these days.
When I’m finally feeling brave enough to leave my room, it doesn’t take long for me to find Matteo, sipping a cup of coffee in one of the kitchens. He’s reading something intently on his phone, so I consider just leaving and going back up to my room, but he spots me right before I turn around.
“Didn’t know if I was going to see you today. You slept pretty late. Must have worn yourself out with all the noise you were making last night,” he remarks, taking a sip of his coffee before setting his phone down.
I blush hard, but I take a deep breath in order to control myself as I begin to speak. I’ve been trying to come up with the words for hours now, and all I have to say ishey, can you show me where the tennis court is?
“I need the tennis court,” I stammer, already berating myself for fucking up such a simple request.
He raises an eyebrow, amused. “Wow, first you’re feeling bold enough to play with your pussy in my house, and now you’re going to make demands of me? Brave girl. I like that.”
I nearly scream in frustration, but another deep breath is enough to keep my suppressed anxiety at bay. “I’m sorry, I could have worded that better.”
“Nah, it’s fine. Actually, I’d like to go out to the tennis court myself. It’s more fun to play with someone else anyway. I mean, if that’sokaywith you,” he replies.
I hesitate at first, uncertain whether he’ll be trying to trap me into a conversation about what happened last night. Even though I’ve been mentally preparing for a confrontation, I know I’ll freeze up when the moment actually arrives.
“Uh, yeah, I guess we could do that,” I relent. “You’re right, chasing after tennis balls by yourself can be so undignified.”
He smiles deviously, and I know exactly what he wants to say.
Not more undignified than getting caught masturbating.
My face turns red as I wait for a snarky comeback, but he chooses to spare me instead.
“Alright, let me just lead you out to where the court is and I can go get the equipment once you’re over there,” he says. “I’m going to go change quick first, though. I’d hate to try playing tennis in grey sweatpants.”
This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed that he’s wearing grey sweatpants, but I’ve been trying not to look before my urge to jump his bones begins to take over again. It’s not a secret that men with large dicks tend to show more in light-colored sweatpants, and Matteo is no exception. Being able to see the subtle imprint of his cock against the fabric has me so stunned by arousal for a moment that I forget what it is we’re even talking about.
He leaves the kitchen to head up to his bedroom, one of the rooms in this mansion that I still haven’t seen and am tempted to sneak off to once he leaves again.
This all feels so unprofessional and unorthodox, even for a journalist. The fact that he’s taunting me by putting his dick on display feels like a game, but he doesn’t seem to understand what’s at stake for me here. I suppose that his career goals are a bit... different from mine, so I doubt that I’d be able to explain it well if I tried. But he’s showing no mercy, and I love to hate the possibility of more teasing.
When he comes back down from his room, I’m immediately weak in the knees. He’s wearing white shorts that show off his bulge even more than the sweatpants do. It’s impossible not to stare, and I feel a growing sense of urgency as I try and fail to pull my eyes from him.
“Do you still want to go out, or are you having too much fun inside your head right now?” he asks sarcastically. “I can stand here all day if you need me to.”
I break my eyes away from him, forcing myself to look into his eyes. If his eyes weren’t that damn icy blue color, it might be easier to feel like I’m on the same level as him, but he could command me to my knees with just a glance. I’m playing a losing game.
“No, really, it’s fine,” I squeak.
He smiles again, motioning for me to follow him out the screen door into the courtyard.
I hadn’t even had a chance to notice how beautiful and lush the gardens were on this estate. How can one person possibly afford to even keep such a meticulously groomed garden? I know he makes a ton of money, though the exact number I couldn’t even begin to quantify in my mind. I know it’s far more than anyone I know, maybe more than anyone I’ve ever met in my life.
It feels like a dream, the kind you have in the dead of winter when your body is craving the warmth and beauty of the summer. I’ve spent time in so many different environments and climates throughout my life, both as a child and as an ambitious journalist, and this is the first time I’ve ever felt like the world around me was just a littletooperfect.
