The storm hadn't stopped.
It rolled through the night like an uninvited guest — wind howling against the glass, rain tapping a rhythm too fast to be soothing. The world outside was chaos, but inside Matthew's mansion, the silence after their confrontation felt even louder.
Vinny hadn't slept.
He sat by the fireplace this time, legs folded under him, watching the flames shift and curl. They reminded him of Matthew — beautiful, consuming, impossible to touch without burning.
The door creaked open behind him.
Vinny didn't turn. "Can't get enough of locking me up, huh?"
Matthew's voice came quietly. "You're still angry."
Vinny gave a dry laugh. "That's the understatement of the year."
Footsteps. Slow, deliberate. The familiar warmth of his presence filled the room before Matthew even spoke again. "I don't want to fight tonight."
"Then why are you here?"
"To remind you," Matthew said softly, "that not everything between us is a lie."
Vinny turned then — ready to throw the words back at him — but whatever comeback he had died on his tongue.
Matthew looked… undone. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway, collar loose, eyes darker than usual. He looked nothing like the careful, composed man who ruled this house. He looked human. Tired. Vulnerable.
And that, somehow, was more dangerous than his control.
Vinny swallowed hard. "You shouldn't be here."
"I could say the same."
Vinny stood, the firelight brushing gold across his skin. "You don't get to play gentle now, Matthew. Not after everything."
Matthew's lips twitched faintly — not a smile, something heavier. "I'm not playing."
He took another step forward. The air between them thickened, electric.
Vinny's pulse stumbled. "Don't—"
Matthew's hand came up, hovering near Vinny's cheek but not touching. "Tell me to stop," he murmured.
Vinny's breath hitched. "I should."
"But you won't."
The distance vanished. His fingers finally brushed Vinny's jaw — slow, reverent, as if trying to memorize the shape of his defiance.
Vinny hated how his body leaned into it. Hated how warmth spread from the single touch like static beneath his skin.
"You drive me insane," Vinny whispered.
"I know."
"Then why—"
"Because you make me feel alive."
Vinny's throat tightened. "You sound like every red flag I've ever ignored."
Matthew's thumb traced the corner of his mouth. "And yet, you're still here."
Vinny's heart beat too fast. "You don't deserve me."
"I know that too."
The honesty in his voice made Vinny's chest ache. He should've pulled away. He didn't.
When Matthew leaned in, his breath ghosted against Vinny's skin — not yet a kiss, just proximity, tension, want.
Vinny's voice came out barely above a whisper. "You think a few soft touches can erase what you did?"
"No," Matthew murmured. "But maybe they can make you forget for a little while."
Vinny's eyes fluttered shut as Matthew's hand slid to the back of his neck, drawing him closer. The air between them shimmered — a heartbeat away from collapsing entirely.
And then, the kiss.
Not gentle. Not hungry. Something in between — the kind that made Vinny's breath catch and his resolve slip through his fingers.
Matthew's other hand found his waist, pulling him in until there was no space left to hide. The fire crackled behind them, shadows dancing against the walls as if the house itself was watching.
Vinny's fingers curled into Matthew's shirt. "You ruin everything you touch," he breathed against his lips.
Matthew smiled faintly, lips brushing his. "And you keep coming back."
The kiss deepened — a slow burn, full of unsaid things. Vinny could taste the apology Matthew would never say, could feel the tremor beneath his perfect composure.
It was too much. Too real. Too close.
Vinny broke the kiss with a sharp breath, forehead still resting against Matthew's. "This is wrong."
"Then stop me," Matthew whispered.
Vinny hesitated. His heart screamed run, but his body leaned closer instead. "You're impossible."
"And you're addicted."
Vinny's lips curved faintly. "I'm not."
"Prove it."
His hand trailed down Vinny's spine, slow and deliberate. The sensation sent shivers through him — not fear, but a dangerous kind of surrender.
Vinny exhaled shakily. "You're not forgiven."
"I don't need forgiveness." Matthew's voice dropped, low and rough. "I just need you."
Vinny's chest ached at the words — part truth, part manipulation. Maybe both.
He looked up at him, eyes glassy with frustration. "You're not supposed to make me want you."
Matthew's gaze softened. "Then stop wanting."
Their eyes locked — both of them daring the other to blink first.
Vinny's hand came up, resting against Matthew's chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath the surface. "One day," he said quietly, "I'll walk away. And you won't be able to stop me."
Matthew leaned in, voice brushing his ear like a promise and a threat all at once. "Maybe. But not tonight."
And just like that, Vinny's last thread of control snapped.
Their mouths met again — fiercer, heavier, the kind of kiss that didn't ask permission but still begged for it in every breath. Matthew's grip tightened around him, possessive, grounding, dangerous.
The sound of rain against the windows faded into white noise. The only thing that existed was touch — fingers in hair, the slide of heat, the muffled sound of a sigh that neither could tell belonged to whom.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathing hard, eyes dazed.
Vinny's voice trembled when he spoke. "This doesn't fix anything."
Matthew brushed a strand of hair from his face. "It doesn't have to."
Vinny stared at him — at the quiet intensity in those silver eyes, the softness that didn't belong to the man who'd locked him away.
He wanted to hate him. He wanted to hurt him. He wanted him.
So he did the only thing he could — he pressed his hand against Matthew's chest again, right over his heartbeat, and whispered, "You're going to regret this."
Matthew smiled faintly. "I already do."
The words hung between them like smoke — dangerous, fragile, beautiful.
Vinny turned toward the fire again, trying to steady his breathing. He could still feel Matthew's warmth behind him, his gaze heavy and unrelenting.
They stood like that for a long time — two silhouettes framed by firelight, too close to be safe, too far to be whole.
Vinny knew this wasn't love. Not the kind that healed.
This was the kind that burned — slow, consuming, inevitable.
And as the storm outside finally began to fade, Vinny realized something terrifying.
He wasn't sure if he wanted it to stop.