Wasn’t even sure I could.
Mouth agape and unable to form a complete sentence, I gawk at the man with the golden tongue—and the extremely large bulge. Falling to my knees, I reach for his sweats and shove them down his muscled thighs along with his boxer briefs. Taking the base of his cock in my hand, I pump the length before bringing my tongue to the tip.
A moment later, I take the first few inches of him into my mouth, opting to take it slow because this is no Mr. Big I’m dealing with—this is Mr. Huge.
With his fingers tangled in my hair, he guides himself deeper into me, until the taste of pre-cum hits the back of my throat. Swallowing his length again and again, I pump the base of his cock, stopping every so often to drag my tongue along the underside.
Fabian groans as he fucks my mouth, the pace quickening as his breathing comes in short breaths. Tugging fistfuls of my hair, he releases a muffled groan before his veined cock spurts hot streams of cum down the back of my throat.
I swallow, wiping my lips and rising to meet him.
Everything happened so fast, so unexpectedly.
And my body is still reeling … weak knees, tingles everywhere, confusion. The aftereffects of a mind-blowing sexual exchange with Fabian Catalano are suspiciously similar to those of a mild concussion.
“So—” I attempt to fill the silent space between us with a witty quip, something to make light of the insanity that just took place.
Only Fabian silences me with a tender kiss.
And maybe I should, but I don’t protest.
Scooping me up, he carries me to my bed, climbs in beside me, and pulls me into his arms.
A million words come to mind, but before I have a chance to utter a single one, his eyelids drift shut, his breathing slows, and his hold around me relaxes.
While the double orgasms are definitely ones for the history books and the man’s hot, sweet kisses alone are enough to silence even the loudest of thoughts, this was a one-time occurrence.
Doing this again would be reckless and irresponsible.
And I’ll tell him that first thing tomorrow. Maybe I’ll casually work it in after breakfast, dropping it like a “no biggie” kind of thing before nonchalantly moving on to the day’s itinerary.
If we don’t make a big deal about it, it won’t become a big deal.
Naked, our legs intertwined, I stare at the ceiling and listen to him breathe. A minute later, I roll to my side, perched up on my elbow, and watch him sleep. I study his features, matching them up with Lucia’s, marveling at their perfection. The symmetry alone is remarkable.
Yawning, I stop gawking and settle in for the night.
If I fall asleep now, I’ll get a solid six hours before Lucia’s up.
But before I close my eyes one last time on this insane day, I steal a final glimpse at the painfully gorgeous man in my bed, the one who threw my “casual and cordial” rules out the window without so much as a second thought—but now that I think about it, what good are rules to a man who’s never had to follow them off the courts?
Chapter 16
Fabian
* * *
My head pulsates as I shuffle down the hallway Sunday morning. The house is quiet—save for Lucia’s faint cries. Rossi looked so peaceful this morning sleeping next to me, her dark hair splayed out on her pillow and her lips slightly swollen from last night …
I didn’t want to wake her, so I crept out the instant I heard the baby.
Only now that I’m standing outside Lucia’s door, I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do.
“Lucia,” I whisper when I step in. “Shhhhh.”
Her eyes widen—fear? Shock? Impossible to know. I’m sure she was expecting her mother, but I’ll have to suffice.
“It’s okay,” I say, scooping her up and carrying her to the kitchen.
Placing her in her high chair the way I watched Rossi do several times yesterday, I buckle her in and head to the fridge. I distinctly remember Lucia eating yogurt at one point yesterday—a yellow container, laughably small and covered in cartoon bananas. I manage to find one, as well as a baby spoon from a drawer, and take a seat across from her.
She pounds on the high chair tray, eyeing her breakfast and licking her lips.
“I feel like we’re missing something …” I scan the surroundings. “But I have no idea what that would be.”
My daughter giggles, reaching as I peel off the yogurt top and load her first bite.
Only the instant the yellow goop slides down her face and lands on her pink pajamas, I realize exactly what I’d forgotten: a bib.
Hopping up, I make my way around the kitchen in search of the bib stash—locating a slew of them in the drawer beside the sink.
A minute later, we’re back in business.
I load up another bite, this one smaller, and I move her hands aside as I spoon it into her mouth.
“I know,” I say, “food is exciting. But when you reach for it, it tends to go flying and I’m going to be the one stuck picking up the mess, so …”
She bounces in her seat as I load up the next one.
It’s weird, talking to a baby.
And I’d never be caught dead using one of those vocally fried baby voices.
But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thoroughly enjoying this one-on-one time. Not that Rossi makes me feel judged, but there’s more pressure when she’s around. This is one of the rare scenarios in my life where I’m the amateur being watched by the professional.
The sound of heavy, shuffling footsteps signals that our alone time is officially over.
“Morninggggg, Baby Daddy.” A froggy, pseudo-whining voice says. I don’t have to turn around to know it’s Carina. A cabinet opens and slams shut. “Thanks for letting me sleep in your room last night. Hope the couch didn’t suck.”
“Slept like a dream,” I say, giving Lucia her last bites before chucking the container in the trash and rinsing the spoon in the sink.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Rossi lumbers into the kitchen in her pink satin robe, her hair a tangled mess. “Is everyone hanging out without me? In my own house?”
“Thought I’d let you sleep in,” I say.
Rossi keeps a careful distance, planting herself at the opposite end of the kitchen island.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Rossi says.
“Oh my god!” Carina shrieks and Rossi clutches at her robe.
My stomach drops. “What?”
“The guy from last night.” Carina slides her phone toward Rossi. “He texted when I was passed out. Look at this—he posted a picture from the restaurant and he asked if I was still coming. And then he texted me ten times before he finally left. He says he was running late and he couldn’t tell me because his phone died. He had to borrow a charger from the bartender. By the time he could text me, I’d already left. I wonder if he was there the whole time?”
Rossi folds her arms. “Do you believe him?”
Biting her lip, Carina says, “I want to? I don’t know. I need to talk to him again. See if he’s full of you know what.”
Within seconds, Rossi’s kid sister flits around the kitchen, gathering her phone, purse, and keys before locating her shoes by the back door.
“I’ll see you chickens on Monday,” she says, stopping briefly to kiss Lucia on top of the head. “This little chicky too.”
With that, she’s gone.
Arrived on a breeze, left on one too.
Rossi makes her way to the high chair, pulling up the seat beside Lucia before leaning in to kiss her cheek.
“Good morning, sweet girl,” she says in a tone fit for a Disney princess.
“I fed her some yogurt … not sure what else she eats for breakfast … or if that’s enough …” I say.
“I can’t believe I didn’t hear her this morning …”
“You slept pretty hard,” I say, adding, “Must’ve needed it.”
“You really didn’t have to do that.”
; “Just say thank you.” I give her a wink. I get the sense she’s not used to asking for help. She’d mentioned before that it “takes a village” and that she’s got friendly neighbors and parents a phone call away, but other than her sister helping out, this woman does it all.
Crossing her legs, her attention migrates from Lucia to me. “Last night was … fun.”
“To say the least.”
Her lips inch into a two-second flash of a smile. “But I think we got a little carried away. For Lucia’s sake—and for the sake of making sure these next few weeks go smoothly—I think we should promise each other it won’t happen again.”
Frowning, I stay quiet. I’m not in the habit of making promises I can’t keep.
Rossi Bianco is the perfect woman. She’s all curves and honesty, tender and selfless, independent, successful, and down to earth.
The mother of my child …
“So you didn’t enjoy it?” I ask.
“Of course I did.” She rights her posture, tucking her robe tighter as if it could possibly keep me from undressing her with my eyes.
I’ve seen what lies beneath all of that and it’s fucking magnificent.
“Good, that’s all that matters,” I say. “Go grab a shower, I’ve got this.”
“What? What are you doing now? What is this?”
“I’m taking care of you.” I wipe Lucia’s mouth with the corner of her terrycloth bib.
“Why?”
“Because someone should. And as long as I’m here, that someone should be me.”
She tries to speak again, but I silence her with the swipe of my hand before pointing toward the hall.
“I don’t want to see you for at least an hour,” I tease.
Without a word she rises from the chair, pours a cup of coffee, and shuffles out of sight. Only three seconds later, she pops her head around the corner and says, “You should probably change her diaper. And maybe give her some mashed banana.”
Chuckling, I wave her away. “I’ve got this.”
Can’t say I’ve ever changed a diaper before, but that’s what Google is for.
Not like it’s rocket science.
“I can do it really quick if you’d—”
“—go,” I cut her off.
Her pretty lips lift up at the side as her blue eyes flash in the morning sun. Our gazes hold for an endless second, as if we’re each attempting to capture this image for the rest of our days, and then she’s gone.
I honestly don’t know what’s happening between us, but I’ve never felt more at ease—or at home—with anyone in my entire life.
Lucia kicks in her high chair, arms stretching out for me to lift her. Unfastening the buckles, I pick her up and carry her to the window overlooking the backyard, where a couple of robins are building a nest in the tree off the patio.
For some reason, I think of my house back in Malibu. Statuesque and grand, sitting empty next to the ocean shore. Filled with trophies, memorabilia, Italian sports cars, and a handful of priceless art works, but also filled with things that don’t matter.
A rare two-point-six acres of ultra-private, ultra-exclusive water frontage.
Cedar ceilings, granite walls, and automated glass partitions.
A chef’s kitchen personally designed by Alain Ducasse.
An infinity-edge pool, state-of-the-art tennis court, and grotto spa.
An architectural triumph with which I have no one to share.
Things you can’t take with you in the end.
Maybe it’s human nature to complicate things, to constantly wish for the next best, brightest, shiniest, newest thing. My entire life I’ve been grinding toward various goals, convinced that the second I got there I’d finally get to rest, and I’d finally get to be happy.
But standing here, watching these robins build their nest one branch at a time, my infant daughter in my arms and her mother in the next room—I’m flooded with a peace I’ve never known before.
Could it be this is the happiness I’ve been chasing all this time?
Chapter 17
Rossi
* * *
“Okay, I’m confused,” Dan says over lunch Tuesday. At the last minute, he invited me out to this new café walking distance from our neighborhood, and since Carina has the baby all day and Fabian was at practice then an afternoon of meetings, I figured I might as well.
Only I’m certain the invitation had less to do with the fanfare about this place and more to do with Dan’s curiosity over my current situation.
“So you know Fabian Catalano from a long time ago,” he says. “And you recently reconnected.”
I nod, taking a swig of still water. “Basically.”
“And he’s in town,” Dan continues, “but instead of staying at some fancy hotel downtown … he’s living with you?”
“Exactly.” I spread the white linen napkin over my lap before folding it in half. A black Range Rover passes, stealing my attention, only it isn’t him.
Ever since we messed around Saturday night, things have been … interesting.
He’s been keeping his hands to himself—and his gorgeous lips too—but I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve caught him staring at me, either lost in thought or lingering on a part of my body he knows he can’t touch.
“How is he with Lucia?” Dan asks.
“They adore each other. Two peas in a pod,” I say.
“Nice.” His tone is flat. He wants to be happy for me, I’m sure. But this has to be difficult for him.
Our server drops off a fresh bread basket. “Your food will be out shortly. Here’s a little something to tide you over.”
“Thank you,” I say, diving in.
“What kinds of food does Fabian eat?” Dan asks.
“What?” I chuckle.
“What does a world-famous athlete eat on a daily basis? I’ve always wondered. I know they do those magazine interviews sometimes, but I’ve never believed them. They always seemed too perfect.”
“He’s pretty disciplined,” I say. “Lots of protein shakes and superfood smoothies. Lots of fish and chicken.”
Granted, it’s only been less than a week since he moved in …
Though it feels longer.
It’s the strangest thing—he’s been in my life less than two weeks, but I swear I’ve known him my whole life, that’s how comfortable I am with him.
“You’re glowing,” Dan says.
I swallow a hard lump if bread. “Glowing? How?”
“I don’t know, you just seem radiant or something. Did you change your hair?”
I shake my head. “No?”
“You’re smiling more …”
Frowning, I say, “No, I’m not.”
“Every time a black SUV goes by, you glance out the window,” Dan adds.
“What are you getting at?” I grab another slice of bread while it’s still warm.
He hasn’t touched a single one.
“I think there’s more going on between you than you’re letting on.” Disappointment colors his face, and my chest squeezes.
I hate keeping secrets from Dan when he’s become such a good friend to me, but I also don’t want to hurt him. And if the truth behind Fabian’s visit ever got out, it would hurt both Fabian and Lucia.
“I can assure you it’s nothing,” I say.
And that’s the truth.
Sure my heart flip-flips every time he walks in the room. Sure I pass the hall bath after his daily shower just to catch a whiff of his intoxicating body wash. And maybe I replay last Saturday in my head more times than I should. But it’s still nothing.
We got carried away after a few of Carina’s appletinis—and after the stressful week we’d each had, we needed a release.
I’m not falling for him.
And he’s simply trying to show that he’s worthy enough to stay in Lucia’s life, that’s why he’s being so helpful and accommodating.
“Anyway, how’s your new supervisor?” I change t
he subject. “What was her name? Janet?”
Dan’s wide shoulders loosen as he tells me about the woman who replaced the last woman who replaced the guy who knocked up his secretary who was half his age …
And meanwhile, I make a mental note to call around this afternoon to find a good medical malpractice attorney, someone who can review the settlement the clinic offered. I’d be stupid to walk away from free money, but I want to make sure they’re not trying to pull one over on me. I’d be remiss not to ensure I’m getting the best possible deal for Lucia’s future.
After lunch, we head to the alley parking lot, stopping at my car. Since Dan was working from his actual office today, we drove separate, though he offered to swing by and pick me up. Typical Dan—always going out of the way for people.
“You know you can’t lie to me,” he says as I unlock my door. “I can see through all of it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You and Fabian.” He speaks softly and lifts a hand in protest. “And I get it. You don’t have to confirm or deny it. You’re allowed to be with whoever you want, and it’s none of my business. But someone like him, Rossi? That’s heartbreak waiting to happen. And not just yours, but Lucia’s, too. And it isn’t a matter of if, but when.”
“Seriously, Dan, it’s not like that between us.” The words taste bitter on my tongue, as if my head and my heart are at odds over the statement.
“Maybe not yet,” he says. “But think about it. He’s got this big, fancy life back in California and he packed it all up to live with you for a month? He’s trying to sweep you off your feet.”
I stifle a laugh, wishing he could know it has nothing to do with me.
“He might say the right things and promise you the world,” he says, “but at the end of the day, people like that … people like him … are always going to be looking for the next new thing.”
I take a step back, digesting his words, tucking them in my pocket should I lose my footing with Fabian again.
“If you ever want to talk to me about anything,” he says. “I’m your man.”
Without hesitation, I throw my arms around him and wrap him in a hug. Never mind that he’s a whole foot taller than me and I have to rise on my toes just to reach his shoulders. When I pull away, he’s smiling, though it’s a tight, sad sort of smile. I’m sure the gesture meant more to him than I could possibly know. He’s lonely, and the one person he wants is giving all of their time and attention to someone else.
The Match: A Baby Daddy Donor Romance Page 13
