The Man of My Dreams: A Forbidden Box Set Collection

by S. E. Law

  I nod quickly.

  “Of course, sweetheart. With the coronavirus rampant in Italy, it’s not safe for a pregnant woman. And if he or she is born in the United States, he’ll have automatic citizenship. With the EU the way it is right now, that’s big. We’ll stay here, definitely. It’s no problem, cara.”

  But Melissa shakes her head slowly.

  “No, it’s more complicated than that. I don’t just want to stay here for the birth, and my reluctance to return to Italy isn’t just because of the pandemic either,” she says slowly. “I love being American. I love living in the United States, and I want my child to grow up here too. I want him or her to experience what it’s like to live in a country that reveres democracy, and which subscribes to the ideas of freedom and the pursuit of happiness. I want him growing up with a feeling of patriotism for my native country.”

  We stare at her.

  “You can pursue happiness in Italy,” says my friend slowly, his voice deep. “And aren’t you part Italian? Italy is your native country too.”

  Melissa looks down at her hands and pauses.

  “Yes, I am of Italian-American heritage, but it was a long time ago. My ancestors came to the United States at the turn of the century, and as far as I know, we stopped speaking Italian about twenty years afterwards. But it’s more than just a language issue. I want certain values for my child,” she begins slowly. “It’s hard to explain, but I’m American through and through, and well … I guess I can’t explain it,” she finishes helplessly. “I don’t expect you to understand, but I’m hoping you’ll consider my request.”

  Domenico looks like he has thunderclouds on his face, but I step in before he can reply.

  “Of course we’ll consider your request,” I say, shooting a warning look at my friend. “You’re a pregnant woman, so it’s not safe to return to Europe just now. Plus, we love America as well. We’ll have to talk about what becomes of the Milan Lodge if we’re no longer there, but that’s by the by. The Italian chapter of Dads and Daughters will survive without us. What’s more important is that you and the baby are happy. Nothing trumps that.”

  I shoot a warning look at my friend, and he nods.

  “Matteo’s right,” Domenico agrees in a low voice. “You mean more to us than any cuisine, language, or food. You and the baby mean more to us than Europe, America, and the rest of the world put together. You belong with us, Melissa, and where you go, Matteo and I will follow. You mean that much to us.”

  With that, Melissa begins to cry. Soft tears drop down her round cheeks, and she is so beautiful. My heart contracts with love and my throat tightens a bit.

  “Do you mean it?” Melissa asks in a choked voice. “Because I adore you, and I want us to be a family. All four of us,” she adds. “It wouldn’t be right for us to live on separate continents when there’s a baby in the mix.”

  “Of course it wouldn’t be right,” I growl, softly stroking those glossy brown curls. “We will be together no matter what, cara, because we adore you. You are our sun, moon, stars, and now with a child on the way, you are our entire galaxy.”

  Domenico takes a deep breath too.

  “Will you take us for who we are, Melissa? As the two, stupid, imperfect Italian fools who worship the ground your feet walk on? Who will sing ballads to you, just like Romeo declaring his love for Juliet?”

  Melissa laughs then, and I can feel the tension in the air resolve itself.

  “Yes, Domenico. Yes, Matteo. I accept you for who you are, just as you have always accepted me and made me feel wanted. I love you both, and with you, our romance will blossom forever.”

  With that, we gather the curvy girl into our arms while pressing feverish kisses to her mouth. After all, Melissa came to Italy to be the Milan Lodge’s First Daughter. But now, with a baby on the way, all of our plans have changed.

  But you know what? It doesn’t matter. Dads and Daughters will always have a supply of truckers and willing women, and the line will be out the window to join. Our eyes are fixed on more important things because the curvy girl is all we desire, and with Melissa in our arms, our world is complete.

  Epilogue

  Melissa

  Six months later.

  I squeal a bit as Matteo and Domenico take turns using me from behind. There’s a blindfold on my eyes so that I can’t see who it is, but I can feel their big forms shifting behind me. One, two, one, two. The long pushes in and out are so titillating that I moan deliriously, loving the deep penetration.

  One man grips my hips, pushing in to his full length. I bite my lip to keep from crying out.

  “Can you tell who this is?” he groans.

  I giggle a bit.

  “It’s you, Matteo.”

  Then he pulls out, and Domenico takes his place. The second man is enormous and curved to the left. When his hardness hits my sweet spot, I squeal again.

  “Oooh, Domenico, that feels so nice,” is my breathy cry. “More!”

  The two men chuckle behind me.

  “Are you sure you can take more, cara?” Domenico asks in a low voice. “After all, you’re due to give birth any day now.”

  It’s true. My big belly is enormous, and it sways gently as the two men slide into me from behind. They’ve put a cushion beneath my stomach to absorb some of the movement, but I feel totally fine. If anything, the sensation of serving my men makes my pregnancy more pleasurable.

  After all, it’s been an interesting pregnancy. If anything, my two boyfriends coddle me a bit too much. Matteo and Domenico are constantly trying to get me to sit down or eat more. They pamper me non-stop, and the truth is that I love it.

  But I try to make them happy as well, because Matteo and Domenico have moved permanently to the United States. We haven’t worked out everything yet, and they’re still in the process of applying for a green card. But we moved into a suite at the local Lodge, and Matteo and Domenico have taken to driving trucks all across the continental U.S.

  It’s been wonderful, to be honest. We fit right into the community here, and I’ve joined the roster of daughters who are currently expecting. We’re all friends, and I’ve learned so much about nursing, baby bottles, and different strollers from just talking with the other mothers.

  But right now, my men are set on enjoying me. They pump in and out, low grunts and gasps escaping their deep throats.

  “Oh sweetheart,” Domenico moans. “You’ve always known who was who, haven’t you? It’s never been a mystery for you.”

  I giggle a bit through my breathy gasps.

  “I have,” is my admission. “I knew practically from the first time you two took me, way back when. Do you remember? It was while you were showing me the reverse cut-outs at the Milan Lodge.”

  “We remember,” growls Matteo as he probes my dark hole. “Shit baby. You knew all the way back then? Your kitty is so sensitive and tight, but let’s try your back hole just to be sure.”

  Somehow, Matteo gets himself positioned over me in front of Domenico, and I feel an intense pressure at my coffee spot. My cheek presses against the mattress and my hands grip the sheets with anticipation.

  “Oh, unnnh,” is my low wail, as Matteo invades my darkest channel. “Oooh!”

  With a lot of pushing and pulling, it’s finally done. My two holes are completely plugged full with men, and I’ve never been happier.

  “Oh oh oh!” I cry out as they begin a rhythm in me. “It feels so GOOD!”

  Matteo and Domenico grunt and groan, and the end comes quickly. Having meat in both my holes makes things extra-tight, and within minutes, we’re summiting to the peak.

  “Oh shit!” Matteo roars, spraying into my backside.

  “FUCK!” Domenico yells, pulsing into my ruby redness.

  Meanwhile, I dissolve into a haze of bliss, my kitty seizing and clamping with delight. I let out a long, guttural cry of pleasure, only stopping when the men have filled me full.

  “Mmm,” I sigh as they pull out. “I’m so glad
you didn’t go back to Italy.”

  They’re breathing hard from exertion, but both Matteo and Domenico are as handsome and fit as always. I’ll never get enough of their sculpted chests, six pack abs, and long, thick tools.

  “I’m so glad we didn’t either,” rumbles Matteo as he lies down beside me. “It would have been hell being away from you.”

  Domenico takes his place on my other side as he takes my hand.

  “You mean everything to us, Melissa. We don’t regret moving here at all. Not for one instant.”

  I smile gently at him.

  “We can go back anytime, you know. Not until after the baby’s born of course, but Sienna told me that they found a new daughter for the Milan Lodge named Lacey. She’s going to be the new First Daughter, and they say there are already a few Milanese truckers eagerly awaiting her arrival.”

  The two men chuckle deep in their chests.

  “Well, I can see why they’d be eager. Are they going to share her?”

  I cock my head.

  “I think so. There’s no other way because she’s the only one, but I heard Lacey is into that. She likes being taken by multiple men simultaneously, and in fact, prefers to be shared that way.”

  Matteo and Domenico’s blue eyes flare.

  “That’s good because Italian men can be very demanding, as you know,” growl my lovers. “The Milan Lodge will be fine, and we don’t have to worry. It’s not our responsibility anymore, and Dads and Daughters is a very flexible group. But Matteo and I do have something to ask you,” Domenico rumbles, his manner turning serious.

  I smile at him.

  “Oh, does this have to do with the shower head that’s leaking? It’s okay. I already called maintenance, and they’re going to send a plumber over.”

  My two men share a look and smile.

  “No, cara, it has nothing to do with the leaky shower, although thank you for calling maintenance for us. You should let us handle these things, Melissa,” says Matteo. “You’re pregnant and we don’t want you to stress yourself out so close to your delivery date.”

  “I’m not stressed out about making a phone call!” is my laugh. “It’s so easy.”

  But the two handsome truckers press on.

  “No, what we’re saying is that we’d like to have an Italian wedding, sweetheart. We’d like you to marry us, if you’re willing.”

  I stare at them, my hands resting gently on my enormous belly.

  “You mean with a ceremony and all?” I ask hesitantly. “And a white dress and cake?”

  The two men nod, their blue eyes serious.

  “Yes, baby. We’re very conservative, and as you know, Italian men can be possessive as well. We’d like you to wear our ring. One for each of your ring fingers,” Matteo growls. With that, Matteo and Domenico each pull out small jewelry boxes, and I gasp as the covers flip open. Inside, are two diamond rings: one carat for my right and left hands.

  “Oh wow,” is my breathless sigh, my eyes growing round as a stare at the sparklers. “These are gorgeous.”

  Domenico and Matteo grin.

  “Then is that a yes?” they ask.

  “Yes yes yes!” I laugh, throwing my arms around their wide shoulders. “Of course I’ll be your wife.”

  With that, the Italian stallions slip the diamonds onto my left and right ring fingers, and I gaze with admiration at the stones. I look up at them with tears in my eyes, and then turn to kiss each handsome alpha male in turn.

  “Thank you,” I murmur. “I love you so much.”

  “Thank you,” they reply while stroking my rounded belly and gazing into my eyes. “You are everything to us, Melissa.”

  With that, I lie back and let out a sigh of contentment. When I volunteered to go to Italy, I figured I’d have an Italian adventure. There would be pasta to eat, Italian men to romance, and escapades to be had. What I didn’t expect was an Italian wedding, but the best things in life are often unexpected. Now with a baby on the way, I can’t wait to become Matteo and Domenico’s wife.

  THE END

  More in the Sweet Treats Series

  The two cherry farmers are plucking Courtney’s cherry this season in Her Juicy Cherry, available here.

  It was a Prom Night gone wrong, but the handsome alpha male came to my rescue in Forbidden Fruit, available here.

  Italian stallions know just how to please Melissa in this tale where the meat meets the pasta. Her Italian Wedding is available here.

  Who falls in love with her friend’s dad and stepdad? Read Marni’s story in Her Honey Pot, available here.

  If you like washing machines that go thump and MMF bisexual romance, then you’ll love Naomi’s story, Please and Tease, available here.

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  Sneak Peek: My Fiance’s Dad

  Cora

  I fell in love with a man who’s off-limits because he’s my fiancé’s dad.

  I sit at my vanity table and stick yet another bobby pin into my long, unruly brown hair, determined to tame it, if only for the next few hours.

  I’m definitely hiring a professional hairstylist for the actual wedding, I muse as I stab myself for the fifth time in an hour.

  “Ouch!” I yell to my empty bedroom. I take a moment and sit back in my chair. Frustration will get you nowhere, Cora, I calmly tell myself.

  I take a few quick breaths and then resume my task. After several more minutes of wrangling, cursing, and dousing my wild mane with hairspray and more bobby pins, I sit back to take in my handiwork.

  “It looks pretty good,” I murmur to myself as I turn my head side to side, impressed with my own skill. It had been risky to forgo my usual ponytail and try out the deep side part weaved into an intricate French braid, but I feel… sophisticated.

  And even pretty.

  “Well, a girl should feel pretty for her own engagement party,” I declare out loud while I pull a few strands of hair out of the delicate braid to frame my face.

  I certainly don’t think I’m unattractive, but I sometimes have to remind myself that a lot of people, including my fiancé, find me to be pretty. I have deep, dark brown eyes and nice, full eyebrows. My eyelashes look longer thanks to hefty coats of mascara, and I have a smaller nose that some have described as “cute.”

  And tonight, I actually feel sexy. As a larger woman, it’s not a common feeling for me, so I decide that I’m going to hang on to that sensation throughout the entire night.

  I smile as I slip into my dress for the dinner. It’s snug, but the zipper doesn’t pinch, so I count the small victories. The fabric hugs my bust without being trashy, and the skirt stops right above my knee. It’s perfect for my engagement dinner.

  I slip on my black wedge heels and stand back to examine myself in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of my closet door.

  Hair, tame. Dress, pretty. Cora? Happy.

  I shake my head at my nonsense. It’s a game I’ve played since I was a little girl. A checklist to make sure I feel confident and to let myself accept whatever emotion I might be feeling.

  Across the room, my cell phone hums and I know immediately from the ringtone that it’s my mom.

  “Hey Mom,” I greet.

  “Hi sweetie. I just got to Frankie’s. The place looks lovely and they have the back room set up and ready for us.”

  “Great! Thanks again for going early so I could finish getting ready.”

  “Anything for you, sweetheart. Are you on your way?”

  “I will be, in just a few minutes. I also need to see if Marky wants me to pick him up or not.”

  “Okay, drive safe and text me when you’re on your way.”

  “Will do.” I hang up the phone and laugh a little. I’m twenty-five years old but my mom still likes me to tex
t her whenever I drive anywhere so she knows how long to wait before she should start to worry. I want to be annoyed, but I love how much my mom cares.

  Leaning against the bed, I call Marky to check in about carpool plans. I smile as I wait for my fiancé to answer, thinking about his pretty blue eyes and infectious laugh. The phone rings but then a beep sounds.

  “You’ve reached me, but I can’t pick up. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I can,” Marky’s voicemail greets me.

  Huh. Marky is usually pretty good about answering, but I shrug and head to bathroom to grab my perfume. He’s probably just rushing to get ready since he had to stay at work late.

  Marky is a junior architect, and he’s doing quite well for himself. He works for his dad, Matt Harrison. Matt founded Harrison Architects about twenty years ago and made quite a name for himself and his firm over the years. But the hours are long and it’s been frustrating because it seems that Marky has been working a lot recently, and often those hours run late into the night.

  I shouldn’t complain, I scold myself. I’m lucky to have someone like Marky, who is kind and generous and who works so hard for us.

  I smile. Marky is a real-life Prince Charming.

  From my spot on the bed, I look out the bedroom window and take in the beautiful yard so carefully tended by my mother and, beyond that, the magnificent Appalachian Mountains. From my third-floor view, I really do feel like a princess in a tower, surrounded as I am by trees, singing birds, and wearing this elegant dress.

  I rub my fingers along the deep blue velvet. It cost more than I wanted to pay, but Marky insisted that I wear something to our engagement dinner that would make me feel fabulous.