“I’m glad.” He nuzzles my neck and cups me between the legs. “I want to make you even happier.” He slips a finger into me, and I suck in a breath. “You’re ready,” he says.
I nod. After the night we’ve had, the high-highs and low-lows, the loss of what I thought was my identity, the possible gain of a family, I want to feel connected to Andrew more than anything right now.
He removes his hand to position himself against my entrance. He cups my head, keeping my eyes locked on his. Our mouths reach for each other as he pushes into me. I groan as he fills me—fully, completely, relentlessly, until he’s rooted as deep as he can get. And then, as promised, he makes love to me, his thrusts slow but firm, his mouth hot and greedy on mine. My body melts into the mattress for him, my eyes glued shut from pleasure. He overwhelms me, engaging all my senses—giving me his taste, his moans, his cock, his briny scent and, finally, he says, “Let me see you.”
I open my eyes and come first under his half-lidded gaze. He rolls me over on top of him. After an intense orgasm, I’m nothing more than a bag of bones, so I prop myself on his chest with my hands, but my arms nearly give. “I can’t stop shaking,” I tell him.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” He holds me up by my waist as he takes me. When his breathing shallows and his grunts intensify, he slides a hand up to grip my breast. He bucks up into me and erupts.
He fills me for the first time.
After what we’ve been through, it binds us in an irrevocable way.
THIRTY-FOUR
When I emerge from the guest bedroom in the morning, I’m embarrassed by how late it is. I normally leave for work around seven, but thanks to the large, cloud-like bed, the complete stillness of the suburbs, and the workout Andrew gave me last night, I overslept. I barely remember waking up at dawn to sneak back to the guest room. After a shower and dressing in my party outfit, it’s ten in the morning.
I follow the only noise in the house, which comes from the kitchen. Bell and Flora are surrounded by baking ingredients, from a heavy bag of flour to a carton of eggs to a colorful array of mixing bowls.
“Morning,” I say.
Bell whirls around, and her eyes double in size. “Mila!”
My heart drops. What was I thinking, wandering in here like this without considering how it might look to Bell? I should’ve waited for Andrew to come get me. I look hurriedly at Flora for direction, but she just shrugs, so instead I address Bell. “I hope you don’t mind that I stayed in your guest room—”
“You . . . look . . . beautiful.” She covers her mouth with both hands. “You’re wearing that to my party?”
“Oh.” I look down at my dress, a colorful DVF wrap from the spring collection with enormous, budding flowers in pink, orange and red. “Yes. Do you like it?”
“I love it.” She tiptoes toward me, holding out her hands.
“Bell, honey,” Flora says. “That’s an expensive dress. Wash your hands first.”
Bell has her father’s purple-blue eyes, and they’re saucer-sized with wonder. Her giddiness reminds me of standing in my mother’s impressive, Texas-sized closet, surrounded by glamorous pieces that always smelled of Chanel No. 5. As much as I shelled out for this dress, I’d rather spoil it than this moment—a young girl’s budding love affair with fashion. “It’s okay,” I say. “You can touch it.” I hold out the fabric. “This is Diane von Furstenberg. The fabric is silk. Flora’s right—it is delicate and beautiful, so you want to treat it with respect.”
Bell wipes her hands quickly on her pajamas and then gently takes it in her small hands, stroking one of the flowers.
I glance up at Flora, who’s smiling at us. “Where’s Andrew?” I ask.
“He and Antonio ran out to pick up some last-minute things.”
“Antonio?” I ask.
“My son. Pico.”
“Oh.” I nod. “Right. Should we start the cake?”
Flora hesitates and nods at Bell. “It could get messy, especially with this one.”
Bell goes rod straight, as if possessed by some great idea. “Daddy has an apron. I’ll get it.”
“You look very . . . put together,” Flora says while Bell rummages in a closet.
“You mean overdressed.”
“Just a touch. The heels alone—you’ll sink in the backyard.”
There are jeans, a t-shirt, and sneakers in my duffel bag, but I purposely chose this dress. It may be a party for a seven-year-old, but it’s a party nonetheless. I wouldn’t wear anything more casual if it were in the city, after all. This is who I am, whether New Jersey likes it or not.
Bell finds the apron and brings it to me. “Here you go.”
“Do you think I should change, Bell?” I ask, taking it from her.
“No,” she says. “Please don’t!”
“Me neither.” I tie the apron around my waist and neck. “I can’t think of a better occasion to dress up for.”
Flora chuckles to herself, muttering, “It won’t last.”
Bell squeaks. Her face is bright red with exertion, and I quickly figure out she’s doing her best to hold in a laugh.
“What?” I ask, following her gaze. I hold out the apron and crane my neck to see it upside down. There’s a silhouette of a man with a spatula next to a grill. I read it aloud. “I Like Pig Butts and I Cannot Lie.”
Bell bursts into a fit of giggles, wheezing from her effort to keep it in. Her glee spurs my own. Laughter travels up my chest, and soon, I’m no better than her, an immature pre-teen laughing at a butt joke.
“Now there’s a sound I could get used to,” I hear from behind me. I turn around. Andrew fills the doorway in a black t-shirt and jeans, his muscles straining as he holds several canvas shopping bags. My already big smile widens. “Hi.”
He looks me over, hair to shoes, then fixates on my chest. “Nice apron.”
“It was that one or World’s Best Dad,” Bell says.
“You have a point,” he says, winking at her. “That title’s reserved.”
Another man comes into the kitchen, shouldering Andrew out of the way to slump groceries on the island. “Good God. Your dad went a little crazy at the store.”
Andrew shrugs a shoulder. “Don’t want to run out of food.”
“They’re first graders, not wild animals,” the man says.
Andrew arches an eyebrow at me as he sets his bags down too. “You’d be surprised.”
I
return his stare, and suddenly, I forget anyone else is in the room. With just a look, last night’s lovemaking rushes over me. He promised me all sorts of naughty things in his bed, yet all he did was treat me like a princess, give me an orgasm, and let me fall asleep on his chest.
I like being here in his kitchen, with his friends and family, but I also want to be alone with him. Can there be romance with a young child in the house?
“Bell, Antonio,” Flora says. “Let’s get the rest of the groceries.”
“There’re only a couple more bags,” the new person—Antonio—says. “And is anyone going to introduce me to the city girl?”
I put out my hand. “Amelia. Nice to meet you.”
He wipes his palm on his jeans and takes it. “Call me Pico.”
Andrew glares at him. “Listen to your mother and get lost, a-hole.”
“Oh,” Pico says, nodding with a sly grin. “Got it. Come on, Bell. How about a piggy-back ride?”
“Yes,” she screams and hops on before he’s even at her level.
The three of them disappear, and not a second too soon. Andrew closes the space between us and gathers me in his arms. “You disappeared on me this morning,” he says in my ear.
“I told you I would.”
“It’ll be the last time.”
“But—”
“But nothing,” he says. “You sleep under my roof, you’re in my bed. Understood? I’ll have a conversation with Bell first chance we get.”
“Okay,” I relent. What’s he doing to me? I used to be immovable when I wanted my way, and suddenly my argument is a simple “but” followed by my submission?
“What’re you smiling about?” he asks.
I shake my head. I can’t explain, so I just say, “You.”
“You look sexy as hell, by the way.”
“Is it the pig butts that do it for you?” I tease.
“It all does it for me—apron, dress, heels, hair. You’re way too beautiful for a kid’s party.”
“This is me,” I say. “City girl. Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it.” He kisses me on the lips, then the corner of my mouth, making his way to underneath my ear. Sliding his hands down my backside, he takes two handfuls. “God, I love this ass. It’s enough to get me worked up again.”