Lib Novel Page 59
This was not the plan. This wasn’t even in the “possible complications” column of the plan.
Because falling for Matteo Loverson could not be classified as a complication. It’s a full-on disaster waiting to happen.
Yes, my physical body has a reaction to this young and extremely handsome guy–stupid hormones and muscle memory. Yes, I will blame it for still keeping the memory of his glorious cock inside me.
Seven months and a whole child delivery later, I can still feel him deep inside my pussy. I still relive that night—the way we fit together, his groans and the pulsing of his cock as he comes inside me—on daily basis.
However, that doesn’t mean I need to let him get into my head, or God forbid, my heart.
I walked away from him that morning fully aware that there was no future there. I was committed to my first—and only—one-night stand.
Too bad the other guy apparently didn’t get the memo because at this moment my one-night stand is strapping my daughter to his chest with a wrap I was sure I’d thrown away last week because it pissed me off.
“What are you doing?” I ask him, eyeing the perfectly wrapped carrier. “Where did you get that and how do you even know how to use it?”
Jesus, it took me a solid week to use these mummy tapes and not look like one after I was done wrapping it, yet here is Mr. I-am-allergic-to-commitment-and-monogamy, using that Tetris equivalent of a baby carrier like a seasoned pro.
Hold on a second, this is not the same wrap I threw away.
“Did you know carrying your baby like this enhances your bond between the two of you?” he asks me, but doesn’t wait for my response before continuing. “So, I got one this morning while you guys were still asleep. I need to rebond—is that a word?—three weeks’ worth of lost time. Oh, and I learned it from YouTube. It’s so easy.” He grins eagerly.
Can you tell my eye is twitching? Because it is. Easy, my ass. He is just an insufferable, hot show off.
Apparently in every area.
“So, you are going to carry Mel like that around the house?” I ask him with one eyebrow raised.
“Nope, we are about to head out for a walk down the beach. My little watermelon needs fresh air and I need quality daddy-daughter time,” he says proudly.
“You know what? I think you should allow me to do a check up on your head. I’m convinced you are suffering from contusion or memory loss.”
“Why?” He narrows his eyes at me with genuine curiosity.
“Because this has got to be the millionth time I am reminding you that she is not your actual daughter. And you are free to leave any time, you know.”
“So, I see we are both going for that checkup,” he responds.
“And why would I need a checkup?” I cross my arms.
“Because this has got to be the millionth time I am telling you that she is mine. No matter what that DNA test says.” He starts to leave but turns back around. “And I’m not leaving. So, how about you finally accept the fact, and we can get to the good part?”
I’m not sure I am ready to hear what else he has to say. My heart is beating out of my chest as it is, but since I like to torture myself, I ask, “Which is?”
“You. Me. Mellie, and a few years of practicing making a brother or a sister for our girl.”
Nope. I was not ready for that. Mentally.
Physically? My pussy is screaming, “Let’s get this party started,” and she hasn’t even recovered from the labor yet.
“There will be no practice happening, Matteo.”
“If you like the taste of denial, please, by all means, continue. I, for one, cannot wait to paint you with my cum,” The bastard smirks and ducks out the door, leaving me standing there, gaping at the closed door, my jaw on the floor and heart in a race.
That arrogant, cocky, confusing, young, stupidly hot, ridiculously sexy man.
I need him gone.
Really, really need him gone before I do something stupid.