Chapter 27
Sydney
Stepping out of the shower, I pat myself dry wishing the hot water and Eucalyptus aromatherapy gel had turned my mood around. But the heaviness I’ve carried with me throughout the day lingers despite the deep scrubbing I gave myself.
“Fine. I’ll put my playlist on and focus on something positive,” I say to my reflection over the sink. Reaching for my phone, I scroll through my music to find my aptly titled Shake This Shitty Attitude playlist.
Hitting the shuffle feature, I smile when I hear Florence + The Machine start. I love her haunting melodies and her rich vocal style. This particular song has an upbeat dance vibe to it. Heading into my bedroom with the notes of the song reminding me of the dance floor at The Zone, I retrieve a pair of drawstring pajamas and a tank before sitting at the edge of the bed to dress. My feet tap along with the beat as I place one leg in and then the other.
However, as I pull the thin material of the top over my head, a heaviness I can’t explain descends upon me. Then the words become clearer.
While the melody may be buoyant, it’s misleading. While I’m uncertain of the deeper meaning of her lyrics, I’ve become fixated on the chorus.
My heart clenches as I listen to her repeatedly asking, where does she put her love? Wondering if she should wait for it, her love, to do what it does. All of a sudden, this has me wondering the same.
I haven’t heard from Matteo since that odd night he came to my door, wanting to take me out to dinner. Had something happened? Had he decided I was too much work? Or was this simply our love doing what it does?
Going round and round without making one lick of sense.
As if this chorus of questions isn’t enough, then in the post chorus Florence sings about how her arms are emptied, the skies are emptied, the billboards… I’m certain she’s referring to something headier than my love life, but when her chorus repeats asking where she’s supposed to put her love, I have to choke back a sob.
Dropping onto my bed, I roll onto my side, clutching my pillow. Squeezing it tighter into my chest, I can’t help but wish I could still cling to my husband. For years he’d come home to me, night after night, wrapping me in his all-encompassing affection. Matteo revered my heart as much as he worshipped my body.
Considering the possibility of another chance for us is ludicrous. I’m playing a losing game. And given he seems to hold all of the cards, I need to take Kenny Rodger’s advice and know when to fold ’em. Because there’s no way I come out on top if I give him my heart again.
A tear trails down my face. But therein lies the problem. There’s no giving my heart to him again . He practically plucked it from my chest and claimed it the day I met him.
Reaching for my phone, I turn off the music, vowing to move Florence to a different playlist in the morning. I might as well try to get some sleep. Tomorrow brings an early surgical schedule. And my mood isn’t interested in anything beyond pulling these covers over my head and having a good cry.
Shifting beneath the blankets, my eyes flick open, and I notice an overwhelming warmth surrounding me. I’m not sure how long I slept for. Had I accidentally turned the thermostat up? God, I’m not coming down with something, am I?
Yet, as I attempt to sit up, I realize there’s a warm, muscular arm draped around me, and I tense. But it’s short-lived. In no time at all, I recognize the familiar weight and scent of my husband. Scratch that. Ex-husband. His unmistakable masculine cologne, and his intoxicating pheromones are swirling about me like Love Potion No. 9. Why I’m relaxing at this knowledge after the night I’ve just endured, is a mystery.
Matteo nuzzles my neck, stirring further confusion into this pot of ambiguity.
“What are you doing here?”
He stills. When he speaks, his voice comes out sounding as broken as I felt when I cried myself to sleep last night. “I can’t bear seeing you cry.” His tender words pull at my heart.
Until it hits me.
And now I’m seeing red. I again struggle to sit up, but his strong arms keep me pinned against him. “You’ve been watching me?” I shout.
Nothing. Not a word.
“I know you’ve been here!” I yell, elbowing him in the ribs.
“Umph.” His hold grows tighter. “You never changed the locks, Tesoro mio.” ( My darling .)
“Ahhh! An error I will correct first thing tomorrow.”
“Well, now that you mention it.” He pauses. “I’m glad you brought that up. A security company is dropping by in the morning to install an alarm system while you’re at work.”
This man has lost his ever-loving mind. “What?” I nearly crack my teeth, snapping the t at the end of the question.
“You need to be safer. I can’t trust you to make sound decisions if you’re going to dance around in your underwear with the curtains open. Then there’s the issue with entertaining men you barely know at the backdoor.”
Grrrrr! The nerve of this man. I take a calming breath in and then release, trying to focus on all of the patients I have yet to help. So, I don’t end up in jail for strangling this asshole.
This time, I use both hands to claw and slap at Matteo until he breaks his hold on me. Spinning to face him, I try to speak around the uncontrollable anger that’s taken over me. “First.” I hold up a finger. “I’ll entertain whomever I like. Second.” I raise another finger. I’m so incensed they’re actually shaking. “You have absolutely no right to tell me how to live my life, Matteo. No right. You left.” I again snap the t. “The days of you having an opinion about me are long gone.”
He grabs my chin, rolling on top of me. Our noses are practically touching, his face is so close to mine. A small sliver of light trickles in from the bathroom, illuminating his infuriatingly handsome face. His voice is low and unnerving. “I love you. I will never stop loving you. I made a commitment to love and protect you when I married you. And whether you like it or not, you’re still my wife.”
Whether I like it? Gah! Can’t he see? It’s all I’ve ever wanted. But I want the marriage we had. Not whatever dance this is.
I turn my face away from him, so confused by his proclamation I can barely think straight. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing.”
“I’m not playing with you, cara mia.”
“You are.” I look back at him. “What on earth would you call this then?”
He looks at me with such reverence it almost transports me to a happier time. But I refuse to let that happen. I’m tired of these games.
“You hurt me,” I cry out. The tears won’t stop now. “I’ve suffered for years. Years, Matteo! Now you come waltzing back into my life. Pushing and pulling at my heart. What, were the other women not enough for you?”
His jaw becomes noticeably tight, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “There has been no one else. No one. If I can’t have you, what would be the point?”
“But that woman at Luigi’s.”
“Ahhh,” he grits out, shaking his head in disgust. “She was no one. It was a ploy to have you think I’d moved on. Nothing more.”
A deep frown pulls at my lips. But none of this makes sense. If he loves me, why would he do that? “I don’t understand.” More droplets tumble down my cheeks.
He leans into me, cupping my face. “Don’t cry, baby. Please don’t cry,” Matteo’s voice breaks. The sound of his wobbly words causes the dam to break. I can barely see through the ocean of tears splashing against my cheeks. But it’s not until he’s leaning his forehead onto mine that I realize I’m not the only one crying.
“Matteo,” I whimper.
His mouth covers mine in a kiss that feels like a plea. This isn’t the physical chemistry from the other night. This kiss is raw, affected. The kiss a soldier gives a lover before leaving for war. The type of kiss you replay on a loop if you’re separated by time and space.
While there’s no doubt this man is passionate, there’s a tenderness as his tongue dances with mine that’s unmistakable. From the gentle way he cups my cheeks as he angles my face to deepen the kiss, to the perfect little nibbles along my lower lip, he’s showing me how much he loves me as only Matteo can.
I don’t begin to understand what is happening. But in all of the time I’ve known this man, I’ve never felt him pour his heart and soul into me as he is right now. Rocking his forehead back and forth over mine, he places chaste kisses along my temples.
“Ti penso ogni giorno. ( I think about you every day .) Non vedi? Sei il grande amoredella mia vita. ( Don’t you see? You’re the love of my life.) Ti amo. (I love you.) Ti amo. Ti amerò sempre. ( I’ll always love you.) Sei tutto per me.” ( You’re everything to me .)
Okay, I have a lot more studying to do. I missed most of that. I managed to catch Ti amo. He loves me. I need him to understand that whatever is happening, we can handle this together.
His tongue plunges into my mouth, his hard body pressing into mine, and I quickly shelf any internal conversations for a later time. This man is making love to me, body and soul. Heck, I thought the way he consummated our marriage was tender and affectionate, but this… it’s a love language all its own.
Matteo gently draws down the sheets, allowing better access to my body. Slowing lifting my tank, he places tender kisses over my belly. A hum of electricity swirls from each contact of his mouth with my skin. My legs quiver in anticipation of where he’ll go next.
Pushing my top over my head, he trails his tongue down the slope of my neck, across my collarbone, and down to each breast. He reverently cups and massages them as he sucks from each nipple. Gliding my hands through his hair, I drag my nails along his scalp. His eyes hold mine as he continues to worship my body. The look he gives me steals my breath. It’s as if all of those Italian phrases could’ve just as easily been shared this way. Through the undeniable love shining in his eyes.
Matteo slides my pajama pants down my legs before sitting back on his heels, taking me in. “Sei bella.” He drags his fingertips down the length of my body, from the hollow of my neck down to the apex of my thighs. “My wife is so, so beautiful.” He gazes down at me in warm adoration.
I grasp the hem of his black T-shirt and attempt to tug it from him when he reaches behind his neck and pulls it off, baring his broad, muscular chest. What is it about a man taking his shirt off that way that makes me completely gooey inside? Sliding my hands over the familiar ridges of his abs and the dark ink of his pecs, I peer up into his eyes. They’re full of an emotion I can’t decipher.
This moment feels bigger than words can describe. Sure, maybe I’m letting this hot Italian get under my skin. But after everything he’s put me through, I feel safer with him than I have in my life. A peace beyond understanding envelopes me as he hovers above me.
Matteo slides down the bed, nestling between my thighs. As his mouth gently nibbles and teases my tender flesh, I’m overcome with desire. His deep green eyes connect with mine as I stroke his dark hair. I know this isn’t the fiery oral sex of the last time he was in my bed. He’s preparing me.
The knowledge my husband is going to make love to me after all of these years causes my body to tremble in eager anticipation. There’s a reason he held back until our third date when we were dating, knowing I would’ve likely given in sooner. And he could’ve pushed for more when he was here the last time. I was so ravenous for him I would’ve gone headfirst and lamented the decision the following day. But there’s no doubt in my mind, he wanted to wait. Until he was sure I understood this is a turning point.
As his talented tongue alternates swirling circles around my clit and plunging into my sex, my thighs tense as my orgasm starts to grow. He slides two thick fingers into me, curling his fingers forward over the spot that never fails to send me over the edge. I cry out, my body shaking as he continues to lick and suck until my climax ebbs.
Blinking my lids open, I peer up to see Matteo wiping tears from my face. I hadn’t even realized I was crying. The force of the orgasm must’ve overpowered me. It’s not the first time he’s had this effect on me.
Tucking my hair behind my ears, Matteo bends to kiss me. The taste of my arousal on his lips stirring something feral inside. Yet his touches remain warm and tender, soft strokes along my body that convey his love for me.
Rolling to his side, he turns to stand at the edge of the bed, removing his pants and boxers. His hard cock hangs heavily between his legs, the sight causing me to drag my tongue over my lower lip. Wrapping his fist around the base of his thick shaft, he strokes the length of it as it rests against his belly. The bead of precum sitting at his tip causes me to groan.
“Please, Matteo,” I beg. I instinctively drop my fingertips between my thighs, needing the friction. The sight of him is almost too much.
He returns to the bed, crawling over me. This is the position I enjoy most. The feeling of his weight above me, his skin caressing mine. The familiar manly scent of cedarwood, citrus, and sweat that’s uniquely Matteo surrounds me. I dig my nails into his backside as he glides his cock back and forth over my clit. I’m so wet I’m about to reach down and put him inside me when he slowly pushes himself inside.
In and out, in and out, he thrusts further and further inside of me until he’s fully seated. The sensation of being full, completely stretched around his cock, is exhilarating. Again, the tears come, overwhelmed by sensation, both emotional and physical.
Matteo leans on his arms, his hands cupping my face as he methodically pumps in and out of me. The angle of his pelvis aligned to cause the perfect amount of friction. A familiar sensation starts to build, my thighs growing tight as a second orgasm begins to crest. All the while, Matteo is lovingly gazing down at me.
“Tey,” I whimper.
“That’s it, baby. Come for me.” His pace picks up slightly, the sounds of our wet flesh slapping together, pushing me over the summit.
“Tey.”
Matteo cries out between heavy exhales as he convulses over top of me. For long moments, we continue to cling to one another as our bodies come down from the high we’ve both experienced.
After a few long moments of silence, wrapped up in him, I can’t hold back any longer. “Whatever is happening, please talk to me. I can handle it. Please, Matteo.” I run my hands through his damp hair. “I love you. I don’t want to live this way anymore.”
What’s left of his strong-willed facade breaks, and I watch as he becomes even more emotional. It’s hard to see the strong man I adore like this.
“Why won’t you talk to me? Don’t you trust me?”
“It’s not you I have trust issues with.”
All of a sudden, he sounds as if he’s pleading with me. But I haven’t made it that far in my Italian to know what it is he’s asking. “Non ho il diritto di ciedere. Aspettami. Grazie, aspettami.” ( I have no right to ask. Wait for me. Please, wait for me .)
“Matteo, I—”
“I know. I know. In time, I will explain. I promise you. Please, baby. Trust me.” His deep green eyes hold mine, imploring me.
“I’ll tell you everything. But I have something I need to do first.”