Page 77 of Matteo

Capturing her mouth I taste her words on her lips. Her kiss is chocolate sweet and scotch neat, intoxicating as it sets fire to my veins. I finally understand addiction in a way I never did before. I’m addicted to this woman’s mouth, the smell of her, her little moans and whimpers, her soft body against mine, her tight pussy around my cock, and the taste of her juice on my tongue.

It takes four seconds to get the sundress she’s wearing off. I need to see all of her. Fucking hell, I could come just looking at her. “You bad girl, running around without any panties.”

She moans. “I didn’t want to waste any time.”

I undo her bra and spin her around so her back is to me. Cupping her breasts, I weigh their precious weight in my hands. I’ve never been a breast man, but she makes me one. I love how responsive she is when my mouth is on them.

Fuck. She is soaking wet, her juice running down her inner thighs. I send my fingers into her and find her clit. All it takes is a few swipes of my fingers for her to shatter in my arms.

She’s clinging to my arm to hold her up. Now she’s ready. The island is too far away. I press her down so that her breasts meet the wood of the dining table.

I undo my pants and free my cock. Just one quick taste. I can’t resist. I’m down licking the cream of her come. So fucking delicious. Her juice is sweet, like a strawberry to me, with a hint of tartness that only makes me want more. But her come—fuck. My cock is leaking as I suck deep to swallow as much as I can.

I’m a bastard for loving how incoherent she is in her begging for me to fuck her. It’s exactly how I need her to be to take me. I line up my cock to her weeping pussy and thrust into heaven.

Tight, so fucking tight. Her body is still fighting me. I grip her hips and surge deep until we’re skin to skin. Closing my eyes, I muster all my strength to keep from coming.

I suck deep on her neck as I begin moving. Christ. Her already tight pussy clings to me. Pulling back, I smack her ass.

Thank fuck all she does is moan and squeeze me again.

“Don’t grip my cock, bad girl.” I grit out as I spank her ass again.

“I’m sorry, Matteo. Please don’t stop. I’ll be good.”

What she does to me. I’m so fucking close, but she’s not, and that won’t do. Gripping her hips tight, I give her everything she’s begging for—fucking her hard, fast, and as deep as I can go.

It could be four minutes or four strokes, I have no idea, I’m simply thankful when she comes with a gasp of my name. I follow her into heaven as her pussy milks my cock for every drop of come.

“I love the way it feels when you come inside me.” Is a breathy little moan that escapes her.

Pulling out of her has her pouting. “I want you inside me all the time. The better for you to knock me up.”

I pick her up and take her into our bedroom. “Don’t worry, baby. We’re just getting started.”

She giggles, and it goes straight to my chest.

Amy

I answer the delivery with excitement. I’m grateful the store was willing to deliver the enormous canvases since they wouldn’t fit in the SUV. After the last week of working on the smaller canvases and feeling limited by their size. With the memory of how free I felt with the three-foot by four-foot canvas, I went into the art supply store and asked for more in the same size.

For once, I followed Matteo’s edicts of refusing to think of price and bought everything my heart wanted. They had two of the three-foot by four-foot and offered to deliver them. While I was waiting for them to confirm how long it would take to produce more, I found paints in colors I didn’t have and added them to my purchase. I spent a small fortune and didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for doing it.

Doris, our nanny and housekeeper, keeps ahold of Layla as I direct the man to my studio. It really feels like a studio now, with several canvases done and drying throughout the room.

Thanking the man for the delivery, I give him a twenty-dollar bill because it’s the only cash I have on me and wonder if it was enough to Doris.

“Oh, sweetie, yes. It was just right for what he delivered.” Doris reassures me with a pat on my shoulder.

Relief fills me. I’m so grateful we found Doris. None of the applicants the elite agency sent us felt right. Matteo gave in and changed the requirement that the nanny have Spanish as their first language. His wariness was that school-taught Spanish was different from Spanish learned and spoken in Mexico, the way his grandfather spoke and taught them.

As a former middle-school teacher who taught Spanish, Doris understood Matteo’s concern about the differences in Spanish. Since she taught in an area with a majority of students whose parents came from not only Mexico but many Central and South American countries, she understood the differences. She spoke Spanish easily with Matteo and assured him she would teach me and Layla the Spanish he spoke.

Matteo liked her willingness to teach me Spanish because he wanted us to speak Spanish with Layla and our children. Doris would be the one who spoke English with them. For now, with Layla, we would speak both languages within our comfort zone.

I loved how Doris also understood my concerns about having a nanny. I liked that she didn’t tell me how she was going to nanny Layla—the way the others had when I explained I had never had a nanny before and wasn’t sure how it would work.

Matteo butted in to lay down the law of me getting at least two hours a day to myself. I would have time to spend in my studio or doing whatever else I needed. However, I was adamant that it would include my therapy appointment time on Wednesdays.

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