Page 35 of Matteo

“A calligraphy book and different types of nibs. These are cool quill pens. Hmm, scrapbook making stuff, no thank you. Dance classes—this is so cool. Matteo, we have to do this. Pretty please. It’s also private, just you and me learning to dance. I’ve always wanted to do something like this.”

Holy shit, my cock jumps at the idea of holding her close in a dance class. I should be saying no for that reason alone. Instead, I’m nodding. I think I’m mouthing the right words. I’m not sure because my brain seems to have short-circuited.

Amy yawns so wide she almost falls back. Damn it, I’m not taking care of her. My cock goes limp at what might have happened if she fell into the tree. She barely caught herself.

“Come on, you both need a nap.”

Pouting, she gets up slowly. “I already took a nap. And it wasn’t a short one.”

“Okay, you don’t have to take a nap. Why don’t you grab your sketchbook and spend some more time in bed?” I cajole her. I’m certain she needs more time doing nothing more stressful than switching positions for her nap.

“I will if you let me draw you.” I’m getting lost in her melting chocolate eyes.

“I’d love to.” She doesn’t have to ask twice for me to be close to her.

It takes almost twenty minutes to change Layla out of her banana-covered dress and into a new diaper. She needs a bottle. I fix this one with a little oatmeal cereal, hoping it will help her sleep longer. I’m impressed by how quickly she finishes her bottle. I wonder if I made the hole in the nipple too large to allow for the thickening of it with oatmeal. After a burp that startles us both, she’s out like a light.

I’m working to keep my cock down as I go into Amy’s room, only to find she’s also asleep. She’s adorable with her sketchbook clutched to her chest and a smile on her face.

Sighing, I gently take the sketchbook from her and set it and the pencils on the bedside table. Then I cover her with the throw blanket. Turning out the light, I make sure the door is left open a little.

Like a fucking pervert, I fast walk my ass into my bedroom to jack off—for the third time today.

Christ. I haven’t needed to do this in forever. Sex was something I viewed as necessary. At the same time, I didn’t need it often. Once or twice a month was enough for me. Would I have liked it more? Some weeks, yes, but most weeks, no. My low libido seemed about right, considering how depressing my work was.

If I needed sex, my only requirements were the woman understood it wouldn’t lead to a relationship, she didn’t work on my floor, and she wasn’t married.

My longest relationship was with a nurse in cardiology. We were on and off for almost four years. It ended when she became a travel nurse.

For the most part, I had no-strings relationships lasting around a year. The moment they wanted to get serious, I ended things. It was just sex I wanted from them.

With Amy, it isn’t just sex I want. I want every day and night until I take my final breath. I brace a hand against the cool wall of marble. Remembering her in my arms, she fit me just right. The smell of her skin drove me to distraction. I wanted so badly to taste her, to discover what made her moan, whimper, and plead for more.

The way she melted into me in her sleep—my cock jerks in my hand. Soft and delicate, her curves had my cock raging for her. Thank fuck she was asleep because there was no way I could have hidden how badly I wanted her.

Shit, it takes minutes before I’m coming hard. This is the most embarrassing part of it all. I could fuck for hours. It was important to me my partner was always satisfied—and I needed to ensure the woman was positively soaking wet in order to take my cock. Yet the mere thought of Amy has me coming in minutes.

Out of the shower, I throw on clean clothes that are basically the same thing I was wearing—hoping like hell she won’t realize I changed if she wakes up again.

Back in the formal living room, I shake my head at the amount of discarded wrapping paper. My mom and the twins outdid themselves. I’d worried the twins would spill to Rafe and Carrie about Amy and Layla. They promised they wouldn’t. Even though I know it’s wrong to ask them to keep any secret from their parents, they knew how wary Rafe was of anyone new to the family. His protective streak would have Amy on edge far more than my mother ever could.

Once I’m done cleaning everything, I study the wooden chest. Running my hand over mine and Amy’s name in the wood. I’m not sure why it feels so momentous to see our names together—as a couple.

I take the chest into Amy’s studio. It fits on one of the shelves of the bookshelf. Remembering Amy’s interest, I grab a jigsaw puzzle of one of Monet’s paintings. This might be fun.

Amy

I wake up cranky because I fell asleep. Rolling over, I snuggle into the throw Matteo covered me with. I sigh deeply as I remember opening all the presents. Not only were there things for painting and sketching, but beautiful things for my hair, tote bags, and two beautiful designer handbags that cost more than I’ve made so far in my life.

As much as I loved the handbags, it’s the amazing studio that gives me goosebumps. Matteo told her he wanted to give it to me. Yet he was listening when I told him that I wanted to get more comfortable with art by just getting a sketchbook and pencils first. He couldn’t have known it was about me being overwhelmed by the idea of creating art again after not doing any for so long.

Danny had shaken his head when he saw me with my sketchbook. He laughed and agreed when I shrugged once, saying I knew it wasn’t as though I’d ever be an artist. After he laughed, I never again pulled out my sketchbook when he was around. Gradually, I stopped opening it altogether.

Yet Matteo encouraged me to draw and paint. He didn’t give me effusive encouragement, telling me that I could be a successful artist. There is only support for me to do something I love.

A wail of pain gets me out of bed so quickly that I almost fall. I’m in Layla’s room fast. Matteo is right behind me. Layla’s little face is mottled in red as she chews on her hand. She’s in my arms. I turn to find Matteo in her bathroom closet and returning with baby Orajel.

Uncapping it, he’s at my side. “I know, sweetie. That tooth is finally breaking through, isn’t it?” He squeezes a pea-sized amount onto a finger. “Please open for me. It will help, I promise.”

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