by Nikki Chase
I take Jack’s hand as Matteo reaches for his other hand. Linked together, the three of us head back to the kitchen. I sit Jack down on his high chair at the table while I prepare his breakfast.
“When can we tell him?” Matteo asks in a low voice.
“As soon as it feels right,” I say, throwing away whatever stupid advice I read on the Internet earlier.
Those people don’t know my life. Matteo isn’t just my boyfriend; he’s Jack’s father, and he has a right to be in his life.
I’ve already denied him years of fatherhood. I can’t keep him a secret from his own son any longer.
Matteo
“Mommy, what’s that?” Jack points at a bowl made of thin sticks perching on a tree branch.
“That’s a nest, honey. It’s a home for birds.” Grace glances at me and smiles as we walk through the park. I’ve seen young families enjoying an afternoon strolling together like this before, and I’ve imagined me and Grace doing this with our child before, but I never thought it would happen this soon.
Jack squints at the nest, face upturned as he sits in his green stroller. “But there are no birds.”
“Maybe they’re working right now, looking for food. But there may be eggs in there. Those eggs would hatch and become little birds.” Grace looks beautiful in the sunlight, the bottom of her white sundress flapping in the wind as she stands still, letting Jack observe the nest among the tree branches as long as he wants.
This is much better than anything I could’ve imagined. Warmth spreads across my chest, making me feel like I’m about to burst with joy.
Jack remains silent for a few seconds. “Did I come from an egg too?”
I chuckle. I’ve heard about kids having an endless supply of questions, and I used to think it would be annoying. But coming from Jack, this feels like an opportunity to pass on knowledge, like I’m part of a ritual as old as time itself.
“No, honey. You didn’t come from an egg. I told you, you were in my belly before you were born,” Grace explains with a smile on her face.
“Why?” Jack asks.
Grace flicks her gaze to me. “You want to take this one?”
“Are you sure?” I ask in a low voice.
Grace grins and nods. No doubt she finds my apprehension entertaining.
It doesn’t make sense. I’ve answered a million questions in my life. I’ve led meetings with armed, angry, dangerous men who ask me questions that could end in disaster if I said the wrong thing. I’ve literally dealt with life-and-death questions.
But this feels like a huge responsibility of a different kind. Jack is an empty canvas, an absorbent sponge. Anything he learns can have a big impact on his understanding of the world. I don’t want to fuck it up.
I clear my throat. “That’s because people don’t lay eggs, Jack. We’re mammals.”
“Mam-mus?” Jack asks. “What’s that?”
“Mammals,” I repeat slowly. Is this too hard for a three-year-old? I glance at Grace, who observes us with a big, amused smile. At least I’m not doing anything wrong. “That means babies live in their moms’ bellies before they’re born and they drink milk from their moms as well. A mammal also has hair or fur instead of feathers.”
A tiny frown knots Jack’s little eyebrows. Maybe I should make it simpler? “Am I a mammal?”
“Of course you are.” I inhale fresh, fragrant air and realize I was holding my breath because I was too absorbed in watching Jack think.
“Are you a mammal, Mom?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Are you a mammal, Matt?” Jack asks. This morning, Grace gave me the go-ahead to tell Jack about how we’re related, but until it feels right, we both think it’s best that he call me by name. We should take this slow.
“I’m a mammal too.”
“Is Skippy a mammal?” he asks.
“Yes, he is.” Grace answers. To me, she whispers, “That’s Lily’s dog.”
Wow. My son is a genius. So young and he’s already figured out basic taxonomy.
“Why does he have hair all over?” Jack asks.
“We do too, honey.” Grace crouches down by the stroller, and I can’t help but notice the curve of her back as she takes Jack’s hand and runs her fingers over his skin. “Look. You have fine hairs all over.”
Jack stares, wide-eyed, at his own arm. A grin tugs my lips up; his face reminds me of my first time taking psychedelics. He studies Grace’s arm then looks up at me, eyes fixed on my forearms. With awe and wonder, he raises his eyebrows. “Wow. Matt is a mammal.”
I burst out laughing, and so does Grace. “Yeah. That’s what I told you, kid.”
If hairy arms are enough to impress Jack, this may not be as hard as I thought it would be.
But as we continue to walk around the park, Jack’s mood slowly sours.
It starts when Grace lets him get out of the stroller. He laughs maniacally as he runs toward a big bunch of pigeons, making them fly away in panic.
Seeing as the situation is in control and we’re pretty close to the public restrooms, Grace asks me to watch over Jack for five minutes.
How hard can it be, right? Famous last words.
As the sound of fluttering pigeon wings dissipates, Jack’s smile turns upside down. He spins around and around on the grass, looking for more birds to bully. Finding none, anguish contorts his face. It’s the end of the world.
“Hey, Jack. It’s okay, kid.” I crouch down and ruffle his feathers. “We’ll wait for Mommy to come back, and then we’ll go and find more birds, okay?”
“No birds,” he whimpers, his lips shaking.
Oh, shit.
“Hey, it’s okay. There are more birds, and we’ll find them. We just have to wait for Mommy first.”
“No birds,” Jack says as though he hasn’t heard me.
“No, no. There are birds, Jack. We’ll find them, and you can play with them again.” Even to my own ears, my voice sounds more desperate by the second.
Can a three-year-old sense that? He probably can, right? Shit. His eyes are already welling up with tears.
This is not looking good.
Jack’s wail pierces through the air, announcing his heartbreak to the park. His butt falls to the grass, his fists hitting the ground like his life has completely turned to shit. I don’t have to look around to know everybody’s staring.
Other families herd their kids elsewhere, afraid the weeping might be infectious. Couples glare at us as if swearing inwardly they won’t let their kids get so sad they turn into a blubbering mess.
I rub Jack’s back, telling him how sorry I am that he scared away the birds—why am I apologizing?—and consoling him with promises of more birds in his near future.
Those fucking birds. I’ll trap them in some big-ass cage so Jack can play with them whenever he wants. My housekeepers will whisper behind my back about it, and the neighbors will know me as the crazy guy who keeps pigeons as pets, but it’ll all be worth it.
“What happened?” Grace’s gentle voice asks from behind me, bringing me relief.
At the same time, I feel like I’ve failed my simple task of watching Jack for five minutes. Maybe fatherhood won’t be as easy as I thought after all.
Grace wraps her arms around Jack. That one simple gesture acts like a shroud that muffles Jack’s screaming, his volume shrinking and shrinking as Grace soothes him until he’s sobbing quietly, his little shoulders jerking up and down with his breaths.
I explain what happened with the birds, and Grace laughs as she hugs Jack a little tighter. “Are you ready to look for the birds now?”
“Yeah,” Jack answers quickly.
“Okay, we’ll go and find more birds, but you have to stop crying, okay?”
Jack nods as Grace grabs a Kleenex from her bag and wipes his face. It’s like magic. Other than the red eyes, Jack looks as sunny as this afternoon; no clouds in sight.
Jack waddles along the path that winds around the park as I push the empty s
troller. His little head swivels around as he searches for the promised birds, but soon he’s distracted by squirrels and rabbits instead.
“He can be a handful,” Grace says apologetically as we watch him squat close to the ground, talking to a cautious bunny. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone with him.”
Anger glows in my chest, but I try to stay calm. I know my immediate reaction isn’t logical. “He’s my son too, Grace.”
Surprise registers in her eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that. Of course he’s your son. I just . . . I’m not used to . . . I don’t know . . . sharing responsibility with someone, I guess. Sorry.”
Guilt clenches my stomach at the realization that Grace isn’t trying to put some distance between Jack and me. She’s trying her best too.
I check that Jack has his back to us and put my arm around Grace’s shoulders, squeezing her upper arm. We’ve agreed to keep physical contact to a minimum around Jack until he gets used to just having me around. “Stop apologizing. Things are changing, and that takes some time to get used to. For both of us.”
“Yeah, I know. Sorry.”
I grin.
“I just did it again, didn’t I?” Grace joins me in laughter.
Grace
“Where do you think you’re going?” Matteo asks when I enter the house and walk down the hallway instead of joining him on the couch in the living room.
“To the shower,” I yell out as I open my bedroom door to grab my clothes, picking something stain-free and decently cute. “Jack’s playing with Skippy now, but he could get cranky at any time and ask Lily to take him home.”
With a pair of black yoga pants and a tank top in my hands, I rush toward the bathroom, only to find Matteo standing in the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame with his arms crossed over his solid chest. He smirks, his stance relaxed although he’s so big there may as well be a brick wall blocking my path.
“Uh, excuse me.”
Matteo shakes his head. “That’s not the password.”
“What is this, a speakeasy?” A smile plays on my lips even though I know Jack could come home at any time, and I need to be quick. Like I told Matteo before taking Jack to Lily’s house next door, he likes to play there after coming back from the park, giving me time to unwind some.
“You said it could be hours until Jack comes home.”
“I also said it could be five minutes,” I remind him.
“Lily has a key, doesn’t she?”
I nod.
“And she knows how to look after Jack for a while, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah, but I already feel bad about asking her to watch Jack so often.” Jack’s my responsibility, and loading him off on someone else—even if that someone is Lily—makes me feel like a bad mom.
The skin around Matteo’s eyes crinkles as he touches my face. “You should let people help you, kitten. I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of doing everything yourself, but you should give yourself a break every once in a while. Having a well-rested mom can only be good for Jack.”
His words brush over me like a gentle caress. I’ll admit it – it’s been a while since I even thought about myself.
When I’m not busy with Jack or errands, I’m trying to get my design business off the ground. Even though I have some money saved up, it’ll run out eventually. I need to make sure I can stand on my own two feet while carrying Jack at the same time.
Is my exhaustion so obvious? Lily tells me all the time that she doesn’t mind taking Jack off my hands. She lives alone, and she says Jack makes the house feel lively. Maybe she’s not just being nice. Maybe she actually means it.
“The password is ‘Yes, Sir,’” Matteo says, snapping me back to the present. He’s just a breath away now, his chest so close I can almost hear his regular heartbeat. “As in, I tell you what to do, and whatever it is, the correct answer is ‘Yes, Sir.’”
“Matteo, I don’t think this is the right time.”
He raises a thick eyebrow. In one smooth move, he grabs my wrists and pulls me into the bathroom. The tiled floor feels cold under my bare feet as he pins me against the wall, his muscled arms like a sturdy cage around me. My heart thuds in my chest as he says, “Wrong answer. I’ll have to punish you for that. Now, if you’re in that much of a rush, don’t you have to take your clothes off?”
I swallow hard. What is it about Matteo? How can he make me forget about everything else with just a few dark words?
In the blink of an eye, I leave behind Grace the Mom and turn into someone else, someone who sneaked out of her parents’ house to visit a BDSM club a lifetime ago.
“Yes, Sir,” I say under Matteo’s watchful eyes.
“Good. Take everything off.” He doesn’t budge, standing so close I graze against him as I shed my clothes. His broad chest. His chiseled abs underneath his shirt. His hard cock tenting his pants.
He doesn’t even try to hide the lust in his gaze as the layers come off. He makes a low sound, and I swear it sounds like a growl. My body reacts as if by instinct, my center heating with expectation.
And yet, he doesn’t touch me.
Keeping his searing gaze on me, Matteo takes a step back and I immediately miss the warmth of his closeness. “Get into the shower, kitten.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Just as the water heats up enough for me to step under the shower, Matteo joins me from behind. For the first time ever, the dull sound of the shower door closing feels ominous.
Rivulets of hot water stream down my body, caressing every hidden nook of my body as Matteo’s hands roam all over my skin.
I want to shrink and hide myself from him. After giving birth to Jack, I snapped back to my old weight easily but my body isn’t what it used to be. I have stretch marks and loose skin now.
But then, I hear that sound again; that low growl declaring Matteo’s intention. His breathing grows heavy—I can hear it underneath the splattering of water around us.
“You’re so sexy I can’t stand it. You know what you’re doing to me?” Matteo pulls me back against his skin. As the shower pelts us with water, something hot and hard presses against my ass. “Can you feel how much I want you?”
“Yes, Sir,” I sigh.
My mouth fills with saliva. Matteo has eaten me out, but I haven’t had a taste of his magnificent cock. I’ve been fantasizing about it, which is weird because I’ve never enjoyed giving a man a blowjob before. But with Matteo . . . I don’t know. The idea of being on my knees with his cock between my lips . . . It makes me wet—and not the kind of wet I get from the shower.
“May I please suck your cock, Sir?” I ask.
For a second, all I hear is the sound of water hitting the tiled floor and the transparent shower walls. Doesn’t he want me to do it?
“Get on your knees,” Matteo orders, his hands tangled in my wet hair as I sink to the floor until his cock is right in front of me.
It’s thick. So thick it’s hard to believe I ever managed to take it inside me. Drops of water cling to it before dripping down to my chest. Pre-cum beads at the tip, clear and—I lightly lick it off—salty.
Matteo groans as he tightens his grip on my hair. “Fuck.”
His voice urges me on, and I step it up. I lick the vein running along the shaft. I swirl my tongue over the head. I slide it between my lips.
Matteo’s cock feels potent and powerful inside my mouth as I bob up and down its length. But as he jumps and twitches on my tongue, his thighs shuddering, I realize the power I hold despite being on my knees.
Slowly, Matteo moves his hips, sliding in and out of me. “Look at me,” he demands.
I meet his gaze. Lust is etched into his features, his forehead creasing with concentration. At the sight, I feel my pussy clench as my juices drip down my thighs.
“Do you like this?” he asks, placing both hands on my head as he keeps thrusting.
“Yes, Sir.” My voice is muffled by his dick in my mouth.
“Fuck. Yo
u’re so fucking sexy, kitten,” he says, gripping my hair. “You like it when I fuck your mouth?”
“Yes, Sir.” I nod.
Matteo’s face contorts with pleasure as he picks up his pace, trapping me with his gaze. “Play with yourself.” His voice is hoarse.
I slide my hand between my legs, finding my pussy slick and dripping. I match the rhythm of Matteo fucking my mouth, making tighter and tighter circles around my clit as Matteo reaches a frantic pace.
“Stop touching yourself,” he says just as I’m about to come.
Before I can even let out a disappointed whimper, I feel his cock growing harder and bigger. Then, he spills his cum on my tongue and down my throat.
He locks his gaze on me as he shoots his warm, thick orgasm inside my mouth. “You’ve done good, kitten. But you’re not coming yet. I want to be the one to make you come.”
Darkness surrounds me. With the blindfold over my eyes, I can’t see anything. My hearing is sharpened, my ears continuously searching for any signs of Matteo even being in the same room.
I rock from side to side on the bed, trying to keep my limbs from becoming numb.
After the shower, Matteo carried me into bed, then blindfolded me and told me to get on my hands and knees.
He spread my legs apart and tied my ankles to the bottom of the bed frame. Without any warning, he pulled my wrists under me until my cheek was squished against the bed, then he tied them to the bed frame too.
Lastly, as he chuckled, I felt something cold being squirted on my ass and something hard being inserted. He murmured soothing words as I whimpered, telling me to relax.
I knew if I had said my safe word, Matteo would’ve stopped. He would’ve removed my restraints and asked me what was wrong.
I could’ve stopped this. But I didn’t.
What does that say about me?
Every time I wiggle, the plug in my ass slides around inside me. I thought this would feel painful or at least uncomfortable but it’s actually . . .
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying it’s pain-free or totally comfortable. This is dirty and wrong, but above all, it feels sensual.
