Page 34 of Forever Mine

“I’m not complaining,querida. On the contrary, this is a fantastic way to wake up,” I tease her.

“I’m mortified.”

“Don’t be.”

“Seriously? I basically took advantage of you and … and …” she trails off.

“And what?”

“Jesus, I’m still on top of you! Let me go.”

“I don’t want to,” I confess.

“What?”

“Querida. Just let me have this for one more minute. Please,” I whisper. I begin trailing my fingers up and down her spine, and she shivers. Monica moves her legs slightly, forcing the sheet to slide down slightly. I’m suddenly aware she’s only in a tank top and panties. “Jesus Christ, Monica.”

Monica doesn’t respond, but she also doesn’t attempt to cover herself. I take that as an opportunity to continue. With one hand still stroking her spine, my other hand slides down to cup her ass. I feel her heartbeat increase against my chest, mirroring my own. I squeeze her ass, and we both groan in unison. My other hand slides up into her hair, and as I’m about to move her head so I can kiss her, a cell phone rings.

Monica launches herself out of bed and grabs my phone, throwing it at me, before running into the bathroom and slamming the door. I hear the lock on the door click as she shuts me out again.

Fucking hell. I look at my phone and see it’s mymãecalling. It’s lovely still getting cockblocked at forty-five.

“Hello, mama,” I say after answering the call.

“Bom dia, meu filho,” my mother answers. She refuses to speak completely in English, and I refuse to speak completely in Portuguese. Our phone conversations are a mess. She proceeds to ask me about my real estate conference, who I’m attending with, and when I’ll be arriving home to visit her in a few days. Once she finds out Monica is here with me, she’s suddenly fully speaking in English, and I’m talking in Portuguese.

“Is she the one?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I answer.

Monica emerges from the bathroom wrapped in two towels, grabs her suitcase, and drags it back into the bathroom. I chuckle at her modesty.

“Will she be coming home with you this weekend?” my mother asks.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not like that, mama. We’re not there … yet.”

“Yet?”

“It’s a work in progress.”

“Is she worth it?”

“I believe so, yes. But it’s complicated.”

“Love always is, Gabriel. But the one you love, the one that completes you, makes it all worthwhile.”

“Is that how you feel aboutpai?” I ask, and she barks out a laugh.

“Yourpaiinfuriates me. But I’d never be happier with someone else,” she tells me with a laugh.

“I’ve been down this road before, mama. It didn’t end well.” My marriage was a disaster.

“You act as if all pussycats are the same,” she says with a snicker.

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