24. Matteo
24
MATTEO
F our hours—and countless 'gifts from God,' as Esmé liked to call them—later, she stretched out with a yawn.
After our impromptu window peep show, I’d picked her up and carried her to her bedroom. We’d taken the opportunity to get to know each other on an entirely new level, and right now we lay wrapped around each other in her bed.
We’d talked, and laughed, but mostly, we explored each other. There wasn’t much we didn't know about each other’s bodies now.
I feathered my fingers over her ribs with a smile. I’d never been with a woman like her. One minute she was gentle and quiet, the next wild and free. And I made it my night’s work to please her. To satisfy her.
She told me about her ex-partner. Esmé described him as a selfish lover—strictly a “bare minimum” man. I was determined to give her the absolute opposite.
The pale light from the streetlight made it through her tiny window, bathing her face in its silvery glow. Her lips drew together as she stared into the distance. Her skin looked muted, soft and smooth, like she was a statue. I leaned in to kiss her shoulder. “What are you thinking?”
She huffed a little breath, and her lips curved. “You mean besides whether I’ll be able to walk in the morning?”
I grinned. If I had anything to do with it, we’d be locked away in her bed forever.
She shifted in my arms. “I was wondering what you meant last week.”
I raised a brow. “When?”
We’d talked so much and now, played so hard, that all my memories of time with Esmé blurred into one beautiful mess of heat and togetherness.
“You said I should let myself go more.”
I fell silent, running a hand down her arm. “You should. You hide behind your art gallery persona. And I understand why, but you never allow people to see how funny and adorable you are.”
“Adorable?” she asked, as if I’d likened her to puppies or baby goats in pyjamas.
I laughed. “You know you are. And beautiful, too.” I ran my fingers over her belly, eager to pick up where we’d left off.
“Okay,” she breathed. “I admit I can be a little uptight, but why do you crave excitement all the time? Don’t you want to slow down sometimes? Read a book. Drink a glass of wine beside a fire instead of throwing yourself out of a plane or diving off a cliff?”
I mulled her words over. I enjoyed stopping and taking it easy sometimes, but after a while, an itch would grow inside me, and I’d get the urge to do something crazy.
“Don’t you just want to relax?” she asked.
I kissed the spot just behind her ear. “An old friend once accused me of running away from my real life. Those words stuck with me. He said I was trying to fill a void by racing off on adventures. Maybe I am. ”
I pulled Esme’s white duvet over, tucking her in against the chill of dawn. “I come from a traditional family. Even when I was young, I felt a tremendous sense of responsibility.”
“To be what your father was?”
I nodded, an ache settling in my chest. “Growing up, I tried to become everything my family wanted. All they expected. But some days the responsibility suffocated me.
No matter how hard I tried, it was never enough. I was never enough. I didn’t sit straight. I’d fidget at dinner. I didn’t want to spend hours visiting galleries or learning about the art business. Finally, I gave up the need to prove myself.”
Esmé’s breath stilled for a long beat. “But they love you,” she whispered.
Her soft voice caressed my ears, and something tugged at my heart. “And I love them , but they’ve never taken anything I want to do seriously. My grandfather says I have no direction. I'm almost thirty. It’s like they still see me as a child.”
“And are you … directionless, I mean?”
Her quiet words opened a cavern in my chest, and I sighed. I didn’t want Esmé to think I had no plans. She was so focused and driven. I couldn’t bear the thought of her thinking the same as my grandparents.
I hugged Esmé tight, kissing away strands of hair at her temple. “A friend and I are working on something amazing.”
She turned to face me, and I told her about the chalet. About mine and Antonio’s plans for our heli-skiing company. About how I’d finally discovered how I could spend my days doing something I loved. Something that truly made me happy. My own path to follow—one not needing a rubber stamp from my grandfather.
When I finished, Esmé stared at me, wide-eyed. “And Gio has no idea?”
I shook my head .
She gripped her bottom lip in her teeth. “But why not? Surely, he’d be supportive. He’d want to help.”
I rolled away from her, staring at the ceiling. How could I make her understand? All I craved was my freedom? But the burden I carried was of my making. I’d always been too afraid to let the great Gio Romano down.
“I have money,” I said. “I don’t rely on my family for that. I just hate that they’ll see me as even more of a disappointment when I tell them.”
Esmé turned to face me, wrapping her arm around my body. Her warmth and the featherlight touch of her fingertips on my shoulder brought a smile to my lips. But something nagged at me.
I knew she thought of me as younger. And I was, but only by a few years. She’d done so much with her life—made such an impact by following her passion, she’d made herself a success. I scanned her face, looking for pity or regret.
As if she knew the sadness and doubt enveloping me, Esmé snuggled into my neck, a smile lacing her voice. “So, your family thinks you're all about having fun. Are you?”
I grinned into the light of the dawn making its way through the window. “Maybe,” I said, turning into her, bringing my lips close to hers. “Right now, I can unequivocally say I am. And to answer your earlier question, if relaxing looks remotely like this—like we do right now—I’d happily consider taking my foot off the pedal.”
She brushed her lips against mine with a small sigh. “I need to sleep.”
“I don’t think I can sleep,” I whispered, nuzzling her neck, pressing my hardness against her hip.
Her eyes flew open. “That was quick.”
I chuckled. “What can I say? I have great stamina, and right now, I want to use it to make you happy.”
I brushed the back of my hand over her breast and her breath caught. I moved closer, whispering words at her neck. “Do you want to go again, or bail?”
I’d asked her the same question earlier, on the zip line. Then, she’d chosen the first option and, as far as I could tell, I hadn’t disappointed.
Esmé ran her fingertips over my cheek before trailing them across my chest and down to my stomach. My muscles jumped under her touch.
“Go again,” she whispered, bringing her hand to close around my dick.
I smiled, curling my fingers through the hair at her nape. “I was hoping you’d say that.”