by LK Farlow
Mateo holds me against his chest and strokes my hair. “It’ll be okay.”
I sniffle. “What if—”
He tilts my head up and captures my lips in a kiss so tender it makes my insides feel like jelly. “Come what may, Seraphine, we will be fine.”
“Are…are you sure?” I ask, because how could he possibly mean that?
“Eres mi vida,” he whispers so quietly I’m not sure if he even really spoke at all.
“What?”
“Nada—it is nothing for you to worry about.” He moves me from his lap to the mattress and stands. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He takes my hand in his and ushers me into the bathroom. I’m grateful for his guidance, because my mind is currently like the ball in a pinball machine—it’s rocketing around, bouncing violently off every what-if imaginable.
He releases my hand and kneels in front of the tub. I tie my hair up into a bun as he starts a bath, adding a healthy squeeze of his own bodywash for bubbles. “In you go,” he quietly orders.
The warm water soothes my skin and the scent of his soap tickles my nose and calms the ricocheting thoughts of my brain.
“Can I wash you?”
His question surprises me, but I guess it shouldn’t; Mateo is a gentleman through and through.
“Sure.”
He grabs another washcloth and wets it before squirting a dollop of his bodywash onto it. With a softness that belies his size, he washes me from head to toe, taking special care between my legs.
“Are you sore?” he asks when I wince.
“Only a little.”
He looks troubled at the thought of me being in pain—even if it is minimal and oh-so-worth it. “Hey, it’s okay. I don’t have any regrets.”
As soon as the words leave my lips, the truth of them settles over me. Even though we didn’t use protection, I have no regrets. Sure, it was a reckless mistake and could have some pretty intense consequences, but Mateo said we would be okay no matter what, and maybe it makes me foolish, but I believe him.
“Tonight, what you gave me,” he says, “was a gift. Thank you.”
“Thank you for taking such good care of me. Under your touch, I feel cherished, loved even.” My cheeks heat. “Not that I’m saying you love me or anything, just that—oh, God. Talk about ruining a good night.”
I cover my face with my hands and contemplate sinking under the water to hide.
“Hey, no.” Mateo pulls my hands away from my flaming cheeks. “Don’t hide from me.”
“I am so embarrassed.”
“Why?” He truly sounds puzzled.
“Because I…I implied you love me!”
Just like in the parking lot at my father’s funeral, he skims his index knuckle down beneath my jaw to my chin and tilts my gaze up to his. “Because I do—I do love you, mariposita.”
Slack-jawed, all I can do is stare.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” His lips tilt up into a teasing grin.
“I…you love me?” I search his eyes, looking for any hint of deception. But they’re as open and honest as ever. “You really love me.”
“Sí, I do.”
I swallow roughly as happy tears wet my cheeks. “I love you, too.”
His grin morphs into a megawatt smile. “Say it again.”
“I love y—” He leans down and captures the end of my sentence in a hotly passionate kiss.
Water sloshes as he feasts upon my lips, our tongues slide together in a sensual dance until we have to break apart to breathe.
My chest is heaving and so is his.
“You relax,” he tells me, rising to his feet, not even trying to hide his massive erection. “Your lips are too tempting and you need to rest.”
“Where are you going?”
“To shower.”
I sink down into the hot water, letting it lull me as I reflect on all that’s happened not only tonight, but over the past couple of months.
Mateo turns the knob for the shower and steps under the spray. Unabashedly, I watch him, taking note of the way his sudsy hands move over his body. He’s poetry in motion, taut and toned perfection, so much so that even something as banal as cleaning himself is mesmerizing.
Too bad for me, the show’s over and he’s wrapped in a towel before I can truly appreciate it.
“How do you feel?” he asks, running a smaller towel over his hair.
“Really good.” My voice sounds sleepy to my own ears.
Mateo smiles. “I’ll be right back with a towel.”
He returns dressed in a pair of fresh boxers. “Let’s get you back into my bed.” He switches the lever to drain the tub before helping me up and out. I allow him to dry me off and lead me back into his bedroom, stark naked.
It’s kind of crazy how comfortable I feel around him. But it’s undeniable, too; something in him calls to something in me. Mateo Reyes feels like home.
“Are you ready for bed?” he asks right as a huge yawn escapes me. “I guess that is a yes.”
I shrug. “What can I say? You wore me out.”
A look of pure, masculine pride overtakes his features. “Damn straight. Now, let me get you a shirt.”
“I packed pajamas.”
“I want to see you in my shirt though.” He crosses the room to his dresser and pulls out a threadbare t-shirt. “Arms up.” I comply and he slides the shirt over my head. It’s softer than silk and smells like him.
“Thank you.”
“No need to thank me; everything I do for you is my pleasure.”
I press up onto my tiptoes and kiss his cheek before getting into the bed.
Mateo crawls in after me, pulling me into his side so he’s wrapped around me big-spoon style. “Buenas noches, mariposita, te amo.”
“Good night, Mateo, I love you, too.”
I snuggle in deeper to his embrace, feeling lighter than I have in God knows how long, and within minutes, I’m lulled to sleep by the steady rhythm of his heart, knowing that right now, it’s beating for me.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Mateo
The feeling of soft, supple flesh moving against my own wakes me. Seraphine is curled into me with her head nestled into my chest, her arm around my middle, and one of her legs is hiked over my own.
In short—I’m in paradise.
She shifts, mumbling nonsense as she rubs her face against my chest. At some point during the night, her hair escaped the confines of her bun. Dark strands tickle my nose and hide her face from me.
I brush the wayward locks out of the way. She looks so completely at peace here in my bed; I don’t want to move.
As gently as possible, I crane my neck to peek at the clock on my nightstand. It’s half-past seven, making a good hour and a half later than I usually get up.
I’d lie here with her all day if I could. Lie here, love on her, make her come a few times, and then do it all over. Again, and again.
However, that’s not an option, so I’ll settle for the next best thing—waking her up with breakfast in bed.
It physically pains me to leave her—or maybe that’s my morning wood aching—but I disentangle myself from her and roll to the edge of the bed. I linger for a moment, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest and press a kiss to her temple before heading to the kitchen and getting to work on breakfast.
After starting a pot of coffee, I realize it’s our grocery day and the fridge is damn near empty—save for a takeout container of limoncello cheesecake.
Here’s to hoping she doesn’t mind sugar for breakfast.
I arrange a tray with two mugs of piping hot coffee, our sweet treat, and two spoons and head back to my room. She’s still sound asleep. I place the tray at the end of the bed and perch on the edge near her.
“Buenos días, mariposita—wake up.”
She hums softly and pulls the blanket over her head.
“I brought you breakfast.”
“Coffee?” she asks, still buried
beneath my comforter.
“Of course.”
She sits up and pulls the blanket down. Her hair is a mess and I can’t help but grin as I pass her mug to her. She inhales deeply before taking a sip. “Ooh, so good.”
I join her fully on the bed, sitting with my back to the headboard and for a moment, we just exist together as we sip our coffees in the early quiet.
“How do you feel this morning?” I ask, hoping she gets my drift.
“Good; I feel really good.”
“You’re not sore?”
Her cheeks turn a sweet shade of pink. “I mean, not really.”
My dick twitches. “Good.”
Seraphine ducks her head and changes the subject. “You mentioned breakfast?”
Chuckling, I nod to the plate. “It’s more like a really late—or early—dessert.”
She passes me her mug and shucks the covers off. “Yum!”
Seraphine stretches forward, elongating her back and lifting her hips. The shirt I gave her to sleep in is bunched around her middle, giving me a jaw-dropping view of her delectable bare ass.
A low, sensual groan escapes me as my dick rises to the occasion. “Good enough to eat.”
She glances back at me over her shoulder and flashes me a coy smile. “Then come get a bite,” she whispers, bolder than I ever imagined her to be.
Coffee sloshes over the mug rims, but I couldn’t care less. Fuck. How can I be expected to even form coherent thoughts with her wriggling her hips in the air, showing off her pretty pink pussy?
I lunge for her. Her position leaves her open and exposed perfectly for me, and like a man possessed, I bury my face between her legs and feast like she’s my last meal.
After a handful of orgasms—for her, not me; I had some making up to do from last night—and a shower, Seraphine and I are curled up on the couch watching old episodes of Roadkill.
“The Draguar is the best,” I argue, referring to the 1974 Jag they beat to hell and back on the show. “It did the most epic burnout!”
Seraphine scoffs but stays wrapped in my arms. “Puh-lease, the Rotsun is where it’s at!”
“That clunker broke down constantly!”
“Well, duh.” She laughs and it warms me from the inside out. “All of their cars either break down, overheat, or plain break! That’s what makes it so good.”
I nuzzle my nose into the top her head, breathing in her scent. “True, true.”
The sound of the garage door opening has Seraphine tensing in my arms. “Shh, it’s just Desi.”
Seraphine cuts her eyes in the direction of the laundry room.
“She knows, and it—” is all I get out before my daughter bounds into the room.
“Ohhh, y’all look cozy,” Desi says, plopping down into my chair.
I refuse to take her bait. “Did you have fun?”
“Yes! Renee’s mom made homemade cinnamon rolls for breakfast; they were the s-h-i-t.”
“Don’t cuss,” I reprimand her as Seraphine covers her smile with her hand.
“I didn’t; I spelled it.” Desi smirks, looking proud of her loophole.
“Smartass.”
“Dad!” Desi feigns shock. “How could you use such language in the presence of ladies?”
Seraphine giggles, and I drop a kiss to the top of her head.
“What do you have going on today, pollito?”
Desi shrugs and trains her eyes on her lap.
“Talk to me,” I urge her.
“I…it’s just, um…”
The way she’s bumbling around has my hackles raised. Des is the kind of kid who goes after what she wants wholeheartedly. I’m two seconds away from asking Seraphine to step out when she finally spits it out.
“I was hoping Seraphine would wanna hang today? Like…just me and her.” Desi adds an apologetic shrug as she turns her eyes to the woman in question. “But it’s cool if you’re too busy.”
Seraphine smiles wide, wiggling out of my hold. “I’m free all day—what did you have in mind?”
Desi perks up. “Really?”
“Heck yes. Girl time sounds like the perfect Saturday to me.”
I grumble under my breath, pretending to be mad over not being included. Truthfully, I am ecstatic that two of the most important females in my life get along so well.
“Oh-em-gee! This is going to be the best day ever!”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Well, there’s that new pottery place but we could get our nails done?”
Seraphine thinks on it for a few. “How about we do both?”
“Really?”
“Def. But, we gotta stop for food first. You people have nothing to eat here.”
Desi grins. “It’s grocery day.”
Seraphine leans back into me. “Perfect. We can have a girls’ day and your dad can grocery shop. It’s a win-win.”
“For who?” I ask, laughing.
Desi rolls her eyes. “Us, Dad. Duh.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Seraphine
“What color do you want?” Desi asks, eyeing the rows of nail polish before us.
“Hmm. I don’t know.”
She slants her eyes up at me. “Dad’s favorite color is blue.”
I breathe out a laugh. “And you think I should get blue for him?”
Desi shrugs. “I mean, I bet he’d like it.”
“Are you picking your color for a boy?”
My teenage companion scoffs. “My only love is basketball—ooh! I’ll get my team colors!”
“Good choice,” I murmur, still taking in the colors, specifically the blues. Finally, I cave and ask, “What shade of blue?”
Triumphant, Desi reaches past me and grabs a bottle of pale shimmering blue-gray polish. “Like this.”
I shake the bottle a few times before flipping it and reading the name out loud. “Check Out the Old Geysirs.” I snort out a laugh, and so does Desi.
“Oh-em-gee!” she wheezes. “That is perfect. Because he’s so old and you’re not!”
“If you two could follow me,” an employee says before I can reply. But her words loop in my mind while we get situated. “Would you ladies like anything to drink?”
We both order a soda and tell our respective nail techs what we’d like. Once they get started, I turn to Desi and word vomit all over her. “Are you okay with me and your dad being together? I know he is a lot older, and it’s been just the two of y’all for a while. I really love your dad but your opinion matters, too, Desi. And I don’t want you to ever think or worry that I’m trying to or even want to replace your mother. I know she is important and special and I promise to always try and honor her memory. And—”
“Spazaphine, chill.”
“Did you just call me…Spaz…aphine?”
She snorts out a laugh, earning her a glare from her nail tech. “Stay still!”
“Sorry.” She ducks her head. “And yeah, I did. You just went all crazy on me.”
“Ugh.” If my nails weren’t being polished, I’d bury my face in my hands. “I guess I did.”
“You love my dad?”
“You caught that, huh?”
Desi nods.
“Yeah, I love him.”
“He loves you, too, you know?”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I just know. And I know you aren’t trying to replace my mom. I wasn’t ever worried about that. You’re good people and you make my dad happy. He deserves to be happy. And as for the age thing—I’ll tell you what I told him; it’s just a number.”
“You’re a wise kid.”
“Duh.”
“You wanna get coffee before we go to the pottery place?”
“I will never turn down coffee.”
“Same, girl. Same.”
I pay for both of us once our nails are dry and then we walk the block to Dream Beans, chatting mindlessly as we go. We place our order and retreat to a small table near the front window.
/> “Can I ask you something?” Desi asks, toying with the straw of her drink.
“Always, anything.”
She sucks down a sip of coffee. “Why did you leave the salon to work with my dad?”
“Well.” It takes me a minute to gather my thoughts. “Total honesty? I kind of went off the rails after my dad died. I wasn’t making very good choices.”
“Like that night at the fair?”
“Yeah, like that night.” A weary sigh leaves my lips. “You know, I don’t think I ever thanked you for stepping in and helping me. You calling your dad”—a full body shiver runs through me— “saved me, in more ways than one.”
Desi’s eyes slide around the coffee shop before returning to me. “I could tell you weren’t you. I couldn’t leave you with them.” She spits her last word with such acid, I can almost feel the burn.
“I mean it, Des. You and your dad saved me. I’ll be grateful forever.”
“There’s a way you could repay me,” she hedges.
“How’s that?” I’m almost scared to hear her answer.
“You can love my dad. Treat him right; make him happy.”
Tears cloud my vision. “I…I can definitely do that, Desi.”
Her solemn face transforms to one of pure happiness. “Good. Now, let’s go make some ugly vases.”
Side-eyeing her, I say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about; my vase will be gorgeous.”
I lied.
My vase looks more like an ashtray…that was left out in the sun and hit by a car…twice.
Desi’s on the other hand is perfectly formed and she’s not being a bit humble as she gloats.
“Look, don’t feel bad, Spaz”—yes, the nickname stuck— “you did your best.” She holds her department-store-worthy creation up like a trophy. “We can’t all be artists.”
“Yeah, yeah. Brag a little more.”
“Um, hello? Of course, I’m gonna brag.” She thrusts her vase toward me. “Look!”
“For real though, you’re really talented, Des.”
She beams. “Thanks. My mom was an artist, too. And Silvi! So, I guess it runs in the family, because what Dad does is art, too—just a different medium.”