Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 107265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
As he thrusts in and out, his tongue mimics his pattern fucking me at the same time.
It starts to build.
The feeling inside me rising to a crescendo.
His movements become more erratic.
The force of his hips is more punishing.
He pulses inside me, and then I fall. We both fall over into a crazy abyss we can only find in each other’s arms.
Matteo’s head is cradled in my neck as we both try to catch our breath. After a few minutes, we do.
Then he is standing and walking over to the sink to grab a towel. He wets it with warm water, and then he’s back to clean me.
That’s a sweet gesture I wouldn’t expect from him. But I like it. Once I’m clean, I put my robe back on, tying it at my waist, and then I excuse myself to the bathroom. After I do my business, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are rosy, and my hair a disheveled mess. I look like I just had sex on the kitchen island.
I can’t help but laugh. Who would’ve thought that I’d be this girl? I walk back to the kitchen, and I see that although he was going to wait to prepare the lasagna, he started to heat the noodles.
“You never did tell me where you learned this.”
“My mother taught me a little, but really, my father taught me everything. He told me the way to my mom’s heart is through his stomach.”
“That’s cute,” I tease.
“Not exactly what I was going for, but okay.”
“So were you gonna tell me why you sometimes like to cook?”
He stops his movements, and I can tell even by watching the muscles in his back that he tenses. Then he turns around and looks at me. His eyes are soft. Softer than I thought they would be. The color like moss after the rain.
“When I cook, I think of them. I think of my family. Spending time together . . .”
He leaves it at that. Not saying more. But I can read between the lines, or maybe in my heart, I’m hoping these are the lines. But in my head, his answer is as follows: I am his family now. And that’s why he wants to cook for me.
25
Matteo
* * *
I don’t know why I tell her that. I don’t know why I open up to her at all. It’s crazy. I’m letting her in when I probably shouldn’t. The truth is, she’s proven her worth to me. She’s proven her loyalty, but still, I need to keep a little distance.
Fucking her on the kitchen island was not exactly how I planned my evening, but I have to admit, I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Now I’m back to cooking, and she is sitting down drinking wine and enjoying herself. I think she’s enjoying the view too because every time I turn around, I catch her gawking at me. It’s kind of cute.
It’s a good thing Lorenzo and Roberto are nowhere to be found because they would yell that I’ve given up my man card. I haven’t, of course. When the time comes, and I need to be the enforcer, the boss, and the murderer, I will.
But I would be lying if I didn’t enjoy this right here, the quiet of it, the peace.
I probably shouldn’t have mentioned my family, but she asked, and I found I can’t withhold from her for some strange reason. Maybe it’s because she didn’t withhold from me.
Once the sauce is prepared, I make the lasagna. It doesn’t take very long, seeing as most of the food prep was already accomplished, but still, it’ll taste just as good. I sit next to her on the island and grab a glass of red wine instead.
Normally, I drink scotch, but tonight, wine will work.
“If you wanted red, why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve drunk some.”
“I remember that you liked white,” I say.
“Did you have that bottle in the fridge for me?”
“I did, actually.”
She lifts the glass to her mouth and takes a sip.
“Well, it’s delicious, so thank you.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes before she opens her mouth.
“Well, we never did finish our game of Twenty Questions, so maybe we should do that. We didn’t have a typical relationship where we got to know each other before we got married, so this could help.”
“Ask away.”
“You said you never brought a girl here . . .” She nibbles on her lip.
“Is there a question, Viviana? Or do you just want to know about my history?”
“Does that mean you’ve never been serious with anyone?”
“Yes, Viviana. Before you, I was never serious with anyone.” I stress the word anyone. Throughout my life, I have never wanted to marry at all. Even now, my marriage serves a purpose. Yes, Viviana is beautiful. Yes, I love to have sex with her, and eventually, she will be the mother of my children, but as much as I see these things in her, it doesn’t mean I will ever love her.