“Honey, we just said the L word for the first time. Don’t you think we should celebrate with hot nookie?”
“Nookie?”
“Bump and grind?”
Chuckling, I gently laid a hand at her hip. “Ah, no.”
“Rubbing and pumping, get our freak on, fucking?” My laughter died down instantly, nearly choking me. Like lightning, I vaulted over Meadow, coming down on the bed with a soft thud. Taking her face in her hands, I looked sternly into her wide, shocked eyes.
“We don’t fuck, Meadow. Nothing we do in bed or anywhere else for that matter, whether it be my office or on the antique couch in your shop, is fucking. Understand?” I was livid, wild at hearing her say that. “We make love every time. Wild and crazy, soft and sweet, dirty and sweaty. It doesn’t matter which one, it’s lovemaking. It’s us. And I love it.”
“I love it too, Luca, I do, and I am sorry for making light of our feelings just now, but until you told me you love me, I was questioning just what I am to you,” Meadow admitted to me quietly.
“What?”
“I’m ashamed to say it out loud, but yeah, I was wondering if this was just a passing fancy if I was a filler in time for you.”
Springing out of bed, with my hands on my hips, I gawked at Meadow stupefied.
“You thought what? Jesus Meadow, how much more can I do to show you that is bullshit?”
Meadow, too, moved quickly. She was struggling to get to her knees on the bed without the help of her wounded arm. Not able to help myself, and because I was so totally gone for the woman, I moved to the bed and held out my hand for her to take, helping her steady herself.
“Explain yourself, Meadow,” I demanded as soon as she was upright on the bed, then taking my hand away. I lived to feel her touch, but anger had taken hold and hurt a fuck tonne of hurt. “I told you I love you, and I don’t do that, I haven’t ever told another woman that except you.”
“Luca, I know that I do! But you can hardly blame me, we have been seeing each other for six weeks, give or take, and I haven’t met your family yet. We eat tea with Lennie and Trish at least once a week. You do work for my dad, go to car and truck shows with my brother, hell you even pick Spring up when Ace can’t. I don’t even know what you have told your mother about me because it never comes up!”
“You don’t suggest dinner, or even them coming here. Does your mum know about my shop? I have been expecting four women to come walking into my shop on a secret recon mission just to check me out. But there hasn’t been, so please tell me what else am I supposed to think?” Meadow threw one hand up in the air, tears streaming down her face. “You leave me to go out to dinner or a family function and don’t even consider inviting me. I can count on both hands and feet how many times you have done that since we started going out.”
Astounded, I felt my anger dissipate. How did I not see that she would think such things? When I insisted on meeting her parents, why wouldn’t Meadow expect it to be reciprocated? It had not been, and that was on me. Leaving it until tonight to set up a meet and greet was way too late—the look on her face when in the hospital came back to me in a rush. At the time, I couldn’t be sure what it meant or if I had imagined it, but hearing her now, seeing how upset she is, it made sense.
How could she believe that I was in love with her, when I had not shown her off to my family. I was truly failing relationship 101, make sure your woman knows how important she is to you, other than worshipping her. Dropping my chin to my chest, I sucked in much needed fresh air. She was definitely right, and how could I blame her for thinking that shit?
“Baby, fuck. Fuck, I am a dickhead, and I just keep fucking up, don’t I?” Not waiting for her to confirm it because knowing Meadow she would, I moved swiftly to the bed, getting on my knees, shuffling to her, and taking her hand, holding it tightly.
“My mother is not like Trish,” I said, stating the freaking obvious. “She is very old school, very proper, and sometimes she speaks her mind without so much as thinking of the other person and how it might come across.”
“So does Trish,” Meadow countered.
“Yes, but Trish is funny when she does it, and there is no real barb in her comments. Mum, on the other hand, doesn’t have a problem with telling a person their hair is horrible or that they are wearing too much make-up. She judges a person by their job or social standing; in a nutshell, Mum can be very rude. My sisters are the same.”
“Don’t you know by now I can hold my own, Luca? I just want to meet them, not move in with them. It’s weird that I don’t even know what she looks like, and if I am being honest, because that’s what we promised, it is insulting that you haven’t introduced us.”
Measured and found wanting, I nodded in agreement. All that was left was a tattoo on my forehead announcing to the world that I was the worst boyfriend in the world.
“If it gives me any points at all, I sent a group text at the hospital asking Mum and the girls to be here tomorrow for brunch to meet you,” I offered hopefully.
Meadow pursed her lips, bringing her fingers to her chin, and made a big show of pondering.
“It does, just.”
Pushing my luck … again, I reached out and wiped away her tears with my thumbs.
“I make you cry too much.” Admitting it was just as bad as silently knowing it, I discovered ashamedly.
“Yes, you do, but lucky for you, I am not the type to hold a grudge or prolong the guilt. But Luca,” Meadow paused, her hand grabbing me by the waist of my boxers and pulled me closer, “I don’t like second-guessing myself, and I don’t like arguing with you when we can’t have make-up sex.” She smiled through her tears and the heavy weight in my heart lifted.
“I will get it right baby, after tomorrow you will never feel unwanted or that I am ashamed of you ever again,” I promised … again—Meadow’s forgiving nature my saving grace.
“Yeah, you will Spunk, now settle me back in bed and cuddle me.”
“More mushy and less drama?” I enquired jokingly.
Meadow pecked my lips before delivering a semi stinging bite.
“Yeah, something like that.”
To say I had a mob of galloping horses in my stomach was an understatement. In the past hour, I had changed my outfit twice and redone my hair and my make-up. Thank god I had a supply of clothes and toiletries at Luca’s; otherwise, I would be meeting Mrs Donatella and the three Donatella sisters wearing ripped jean shorts and a Bon Jovi tank top–covered in blood!
Critiquing my reflection in the mirror, I was finally, kind of, sort of happy with my choices. A day make-up, with a touch of smoky eye for effect, hair in a half up half down style, which went perfectly with the white corset top that had off the shoulder balloon sleeves in a filmy see-through material. The top also was perfect for my bandaged arm. Wearing a full sleeve like a jumper or a shirt didn’t appeal. The stitches were still very uncomfortable, and getting the thin balloon sleeves over my bandage had been difficult enough. The bodice was tight due to the lace-up detail down the front and the shirred back. I topped it off with a pair of very distressed denim jeans. Rips travelled down the length of both legs, with one knee completely showing. I forwent shoes opting to paint my toes a bright red and adding two toe rings on both feet.
“Not bad, not bad at all,” I hummed, doing one more turn to check that everything was in order, then headed out of Luca’s room and to the kitchen where an aroma of freshly baking pastries beckoned me.
“Hey, Spunk, what ya cooking?” I asked, sliding up to the kitchen island and plopped myself down on a stool, placing the sling that I remembered to snag on the way out of the bedroom, on the bench beside me.
“Croissants with jam and cream cheese, crêpes with Chantilly rosewater cream, and a charcuterie of cheese, Parma ham, prosciutto and hard-boiled eggs,” Luca announced standing at his stove, his back to me. Pursing my lips, I glanced at the huge quantities of breakfast foods with a critical eye.
“For breakfa
st?” During the past six or so weeks, Luca had come to learn my weird food habits and happily accommodated them. Breakfast for me was not a grand affair, more of a fast food on the go meal with lots of chocolate and very little nutrition.
“Don’t worry baby, I have your Nutella and mini pancakes—” Luca turned around and faced me, his knowing, indulgent smile dropping as soon as he saw me sitting at the island. His eyes zeroed in on my breasts; the corset was tight for a reason and Luca’s reaction my reason for wearing it. I didn’t lack in the boob department, nor was I overflowing, so the girls were perked up just enough to give him a hard-on and not enough that they were sitting under my chin and in turn traumatising his mother.
Smirking and feeling rather clever, I pretended not to know where his dirty mind was going. “And my can of whipped cream?”
“Ah, you’re what?” Luca stammered, still gaping at my chest. The corset also revealed my belly button, which he would find out very shortly.
“My ready whipped cream, the chocolate flavoured one.”
“Oh, yeah … um … fridge?”
“Are you telling me or asking me, Spunk Rat?”
“Telling,” he affirmed, finding his brain.
“I’ll get it.” Hopping off the stool, hissing at the impact that jolted up my body to my arm, I sauntered around to the fridge, aware that I was being closely watched.
“Where is your sling, Meadow?” Luca’s voice was deep and rough.
“On the bench, Luca,” I replied, my head poking inside the fridge, my bum pushed out. He had to know what I was up to, pretending to take my time looking for the cream when he and I both knew it was just inside the door on the first shelf.
No reply came from Luca, and as I was just about to stand up and look at him, his muscled and warm front plastered to my back, his hands sliding through to cup my breasts.
“The doctor said you have to wear the sling when not in bed or sitting down,” he murmured, his lips resting at the back of my neck.
“No, you said that. We compromised, remember? No sex last night, and I don’t have to wear it sitting down or in bed, but I have to wear it to work and no driving until my stitches come out.” I tried and failed not to moan when his fingers slipped down the front of my top and found my breasts bare. Bent over this way gave him good access under the tight corset.
“I don’t remember seeing this top before.” His fingers inched lower and lower until one finger brushed my nipple.
“Bought it yesterday,” I hummed again, “I don’t need to wear a bra with it.”
“So I see.”
A fire burned in my belly, sliding down to my core, my pussy reacting the way she always did when Luca played with my nipples.
“Are you wet for me, baby?” His mouth brushed my ear and caused a flutter of sparks in my stomach.
“Achingly wet.” My response whimpered and breathy. Last night Luca stuck to his guns and only cuddled me all night, refusing to let me move the lower half of my body by banding one arm around my midriff and one firmly holding onto my hip. I had to admit I was sore and extremely tired after the adrenaline of the accident wore off, and the meds took hold, but still having Luca in bed and no access to his dick was just wrong.
“Stand up and let me check.” Bringing my upper body up, he slowly and carefully turned me in his arms.
“I thought we couldn’t?”
“We aren’t, I am making sure my girl will be ready for me tonight,” he smirked as his hands went to my jeans and deftly unbuttoned and unzipped them.
His long, thick fingers traced lazily inside the opening of my pants, stilling briefly when he discovered I forgot to put an article of clothing on.
“No bra, no panties. Don’t think for a second that you are leaving the house without underwear, Meadow,” Luca growled, slipping lower to rub my clit with agonisingly slow circles.
“You haven’t found out if I am wet or not,” I moaned, pumping my hips and standing on my toes to get him to stop teasing me and get that finger where I needed it.
“Oh, I can feel how wet you are baby, your juices are everywhere.”
“Yeah, but if you go inside, you will really confirm it,” I argued, desperate for more.
“Does my stunner need to come, does she?” Luca murmured again, now his lips at my neck, sucking deeply on the tender skin and leaving a mark, no doubt.
Luca’s mark.
“Yes, she does!” I cried out when suddenly one beautiful thick digit breached my entrance all the way to the knuckle, my soaking wet channel sucking it in deep.
“Fuck Meadow, you are so responsive, so fucking sexy creaming all over my hand.” Luca’s voice deepened to the point where I was having trouble understanding him. Blood roared in my ears, making it harder to concentrate on listening for the arrival of Luca’s mother and sisters.
“Please, please let me touch you,” I begged pitifully. Luca had me positioned, so my sore arm was folding between our chests, my other one gripping onto the opened fridge door for support.
“Feel what I am doing to you, Meadow, give me what I want, and later you get my cock. Any way you want it.”
My body stilled at his promise, loving the possibilities floating around in my head.
“Any way?”
“Yeah baby, whatever and however you want. Now focus on coming for me, beautiful.” Luca continued his fingering, slipping another digit in to join the other one.
So full and so close, I ramped up my hip thrusts, his palm smashing against my clit.
“I want to suck your cock, and I want you straddling my chest and feeding me your monster shaft fucking my mouth until you spill all your cum down my throat.” My scream muffled the last word, my orgasm barrelled through my core. Luca groaned, mumbling into my neck how much he loved me and my dirty mouth. Both of us were so lost in each other neither of us heard the front door open until it was too late.
“Luca Massimo! Your mother is here, son.” A slightly accented voice tweeted like a snobby bird.
Luckily my back was to the kitchen island, making it easy for Luca to pull his finger out of my pussy, his mouth slamming down on mine to muffle my moan, then gently pushed me back behind the fridge door so I could fix myself up without being seen.
Staring at his glossy wet fingers, I saw his internal debate whether to lick them but hearing the sounds of high heels clacking on the hardwood floors, he dashed to the sink and turned on the tap. Looking over my shoulder while trying to do up my jeans one-handed again, I giggled at the mournful look on his face as he washed away his handiwork.
“Don’t panic, Spunk, you will get plenty to taste late,” I teased him in a hushed whisper.
“Minx. Mum!” Luca changed his tone from devilishly sexy to something I’d never heard from him before.
“Hello darling son, oh how I have missed you.” Still hidden behind the Kelvinator and still quaking from my orgasm, I couldn’t see the face to whom the voice belonged.
“Don’t be silly, Mum, you saw me two days ago,” Luca answered in that weird and disturbing good boy voice.
“Yes, but I am accustomed to seeing you regularly, every day, but apparently, you have other plans that keep you occupied and unavailable.”
Accustomed? Unavailable? Did this woman use a thesaurus, or was I just more of a commoner than her?
“Luca, your refrigerator is open,” another voice joined the conversation sounding closer than his mother’s.
“Oomph!” Without warning, the door pushed hard against my hip, thankfully not on my injured side, my mumbled shout alerting the newcomers to my presence.
“Fuck, baby!” Luca rushed over to me, his hands taking hold of my waist pulling me back to lean on him. “Did you hurt your arm?”
“No, it’s fine, my hip caught the brunt of the door being slammed on me,” I grumbled, annoyed. Who the hell walks into another person’s house and closes the fridge door without being asked?
“This side?” Luca rumbled, rubbing my hip, his face b
ack in my neck.
“Mmmm, getting there.”
“Luca? Who is this?” Yet another voice piped up, this one sounding snippy and annoyed.
“What the fuck?” That came from the voice I knew extremely well, Luca’s normal voice back and quite pissed off.
“Naomi? What the hell are you doing here?” Luca pulled me away from the cold air and closed the door soundly, without me in it this time.
“I came for brunch, of course, you haven’t been at breakfast once this week.”
“That doesn’t answer why you are here in my house this morning. I invited my family, not you.”
“Luca Donatella!” his mother reprimanded, “do not use such a tone or language when speaking to a lady.” I swear her nose lifted and sniffed when Mrs Donatella glanced briefly in my direction. One five-second look and I felt a target forming on my forehead.
Not good.
“Mother, I did not invite Naomi. This was meant for you and the girls to meet and get to know Meadow without Naomi.” Luca stressed his grip on my hip, now more bruising than pleasurable.
“Spunk,” I hissed under my breath, nudging him.
“Fuck, sorry baby.” Immediately he loosened his hold but didn’t let me go. That was good, and he was showing his mother that I was important to him, unlike this Naomi chick who was staring daggers at Luca’s hand holding me.
“I do not care for your language, young man. If you want, we can reschedule for another more appropriate date and time when you can be more civil to your guest and when you don’t have … company.” Again she sniffed, casting her eyes at my arm that was covered in tattoos, her eyes widening.
“Mum, Meadow is the lady I wanted to all to meet. You asked Naomi, not me,” Luca repeated and I could feel his annoyance that his plans had been messed up.
“I did not ask to meet this person, Luca. Kayla has already informed me of the type of person she is, and what I don’t understand is why you would be so mean to Naomi in preference to this.” Mrs Donatella fluffed her hand at me as if she was swatting a fly.
Dramatic, Mushy, Complicated Love Page 14