I gripped her ass and guided her down my length at the speed I liked. I was eager to come, and I wanted it fast. I moved her body until her tits shook like crazy. I moaned and panted with her, my cock hardening to such a degree it actually hurt. “Here it comes…”
She reached her hand behind her and stroked my balls as she continued to sit on my length. “I’m ready.”
I gripped her hips as I released, filling her pussy with all the come I’d been storing for the night. I dumped all of it inside her, moaning uncontrollably as if I hadn’t gotten laid in months. There was something about her pussy that made me addicted to a frightening degree. “Fuck…” I pulled her hips down harder so she wouldn’t miss a single drop.
She leaned over me with my cock still inside her and pressed a kiss to my lips. “You’re an amazing man.” She pressed kisses along my jaw and down my neck, moving to my chest and shoulders. Her soft lips sprinkled her affection everywhere, making my ego inflate as this gorgeous woman worshiped me like I’d done something to deserve it.
“You’re the one who makes me amazing.”
11
Rome
We’d visited Theresa nearly every day for the past three weeks. Sometimes we skipped the visit because we were both tired or busy. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like it mattered how many times we visited her.
She still didn’t remember us.
We checked in with her nurse then met her on the back patio. Now that I’d spent so much time with her, I realized I’d never seen her in any other location. She was never inside her apartment, always outside—rain or shine.
Calloway introduced himself with a smile even though he’d done it at least a thousand times now.
Now that I’d made the same introductions, listened to the same Harry Potter book, and listened to her ask the same questions every single time, I understood why this was so difficult for Calloway. Not only was it repetitive, but it was meaningless. His relationship with his mother never grew. It was permanently stuck in the same routine.
Calloway read the first chapter as Theresa and I listened. I’d heard this story so many times that I concentrated on Calloway’s voice and the way his mouth moved instead. I noticed the way he held the paperback with ease, the veins in his hands powerful and noticeable. I paid attention to the man I’d fallen so madly in love with, oblivious to everything else in the world. He was the first man who was worth my trust, worth my loyalty. Now I hardly had any more walls around my heart.
Theresa stared over the edge of the balcony and to the garden of flowers below. She played with a pendant on her necklace, gliding it back and forth so she had something to do with her hands. I noticed the traits she shared with Calloway—the blue eyes, the natural intensity, and the innate intelligence. I couldn’t thank her enough for making a man like him.
Calloway kept reading until Theresa slowly closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the rocking chair. Her fingers stopped playing with the necklace as her hand relaxed. Her breathing was deep and even, showing that she drifted off to a peaceful place.
Calloway stopped reading once he noticed he’d put his mother to sleep. He rested the book on his knee and watched her with a soft expression he never showed for anyone else. As cold and hard as Calloway was, he definitely had a soft spot for his mother.
I thought it was sweet.
He leaned back in the chair and turned my way, obviously noticing my stare. “Hmm?”
“Nothing.”
“You were staring at me pretty hard.” He talked quietly so this mother wouldn’t stir.
“Because you’re handsome.” I ran my hand up his arm, feeling the muscles of his powerful physique.
The corner of his mouth rose in an involuntary smile. “That’s a very good reason.” He set the book on the table beside him and rested his arms on the armrest. Like a draft of melancholy swept over the balcony, Calloway turned to the garden outside.
“Are you sure Jackson wouldn’t come and visit?” Having another son present could pull Theresa out of her memory loss. Sometimes the most unpredictable stimuli could make all the difference in the world.
He rested his fingertips against his chin, where the stubble was thick. “Yes.”
“Have you asked him lately?”
“I’ve asked him more than once,” he said coldly. “He wants nothing to do with this. Says she’s dead in his eyes.”
That was the harshest thing I’d ever heard. “But she’s not dead. You can still talk to her and enjoy spending time with her. Most of the conversations are repetitive, but she’s still here. That’s a very selfish thing to say.”