Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 49490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
I pulled out and flopped next to him, pointing meaningfully at my erection. Mateo didn’t hesitate. He climbed on top of me and slid down my cock. With his hands on my chest and his strong thighs squeezing my sides, Mateo rode me like a fucking pro. I jacked him, timing each stroke with the rise of his hips, and holy shit…I hoped he’d come first ’cause I wasn’t going to last.
“Come,” I rasped.
And for once, he listened.
He threw his head back and roared with the force of his release, covering my lower abs and my fist with cum. It was too much. I couldn’t hold on.
My orgasm ripped through me, and Christ, it felt like an out-of-body experience.
I had little to no memory of the aftermath. I only knew I felt amazing.
We cleaned up, redressed, and muddled through a dance of cordiality in which Mateo offered to help tidy the kitchen. I declined, and we gravitated toward the front door for a round of awkward good-byes.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, leaning against the jamb with my arms crossed.
Mateo zipped his jacket, nodding as he turned away. I admired his broad shoulders and his—
He pounced from the shadows, grabbed my face between his hands, and stuck his tongue down my throat. His preternatural maneuver surprised me, but I caught up quickly, matching his fevered kisses before gently pushing away.
Mateo bit his bottom lip and regarded me thoughtfully. “We’re doing this again. Like, every day if we have to. Whatever it takes to get this out of our systems. You on board?”
“Yeah,” I choked out.
I stood on the porch long after Mateo’s taillights faded from view.
This was…unwise. A truly terrible idea. But we’d already gone too far, and it was ridiculous to pretend I regretted a single second. It might not be pretty, but it was scorching hot, and I was completely invested in taking this ride to the bitter, bumpy end.
11
MATEO
“You showed him how to make marinara? At his house? In his kitchen?”
Sal’s incredulous WTF look made his eyes bulge like a cartoon character.
“No fucking way,” Jimmy chimed in.
“Whoa! I think that’s sacrilege or somethin’. Does our ma know? She’s gonna kill you.” Vanni blew out his cheeks, giving his impression of a concerned cousin…who wanted to be sure he had a front-row seat when the shit hit the fan. “Hell, your ma’s gonna kill you first.”
“For sure. It’s Aunt Therese’s recipe. You might be her son, but it’s code or…like a commandment. Thou shalt not giveth of the sacred marinara to those outside of la familia. The only way out of that is a marriage clause.” Jimmy rolled back his sleeves casually, his lips quirked at one corner. “You gotta get him to marry your ugly ass, Cuz.”
“Can I be your flower boy?” Vanni chirped.
“Very fuckin’ funny,” I deadpanned as Jimmy and Vanni keeled over with laughter.
Sal wasn’t quite as amused. “All right, cool it. This is a little on the serious side. We don’t give away family secrets…ever. You know this. What’s going on?”
My temper flared red hot. “You know what’s going on! You agreed to that stupid bake-off, for fuck’s sake. Remember that?”
“I didn’t agree to—”
“What is this? Why are you all yellin’ like this? What’s a matter?” Aunt Sylvie pushed the kitchen door open, followed closely by my mother.
“Nice knowin’ ya, Cuz.”
“What is this about?” My mom pointed an accusatory finger at my cousins and me, and suddenly, I felt about ten years old.
I half expected my dad to materialize out of the blue with a stained apron, flour in his hair, and eyes ablaze with his special brand of no nonsense attitude and easy humor. And Uncle Sal would pop in, too. His hands would be covered with dough, and he’d be humming an Elvis tune, something sappy like “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” He’d chuckle at our familiar groan of embarrassment and say, “They don’t make ’em like that anymore.”
The stab of pain cut me to the core. I missed my dad and my uncle every day. They would have had big opinions about the bake-off. And Rob. I honestly thought they’d adore the guy on principle. A retired pro football player and a Haverton alum…automatic good-guy status. I had no doubt they’d remember Rob from his college days, too. They might even remember his order.
So yeah, they’d approve of him. Us…together? Not so much.
I swept maudlin thoughts aside and refocused on my family. “We were just discussing the bake-off. I met with Rob last night and—”
“He gave him our marinara recipe,” Vanni tattled.
My mother and aunt gasped on cue.
“No, I didn’t. I gave him basic information…no spices. Well, not ours. I swear.” I held my hand up like a Boy Scout, then gestured to my watch. “If we’re done with the inquisition, it’s time to get to work, huh?”