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“Really?” I asked. “I thought the same thing about you.”
She lifted her gaze from the picture and smiled at me. “Do you have any first names in mind?”
“No. I haven’t even thought about it.”
“I have a few. Do you want to hear?”
“Sure.”
“Martina. It goes well with your last name. Martina Marino.”
I didn’t know anyone with that name, and I liked how sophisticated it sounded. My daughter wouldn’t be just anyone. She would be the daughter of the richest man in Italy. With a powerful father, she needed a powerful name. Martina Marino. “I like it. I really like it.”
“That was easy,” she said with a chuckle. “I thought you would reject all my ideas.”
“Martina…I think that’s her name.”
“You don’t even want to hear the others?”
“No.” I was already settled on it.
“Alright…Martina, it is.” She set the picture down on the table then placed her hand on my thigh. In her baggy shirt, her belly wasn’t visible, but she still had that glow in her face that couldn’t be ignored. “That’s our daughter.” She rose to her feet then subtly pushed me back against the couch.
I knew what was coming, so I got hard instantly. Her hormones made her horny, but her pregnancy had the exact same effect on me. My back hit the cushion, and I pushed my boxers to my knees so my cock had all the room it needed.
She slid her panties down her long legs then straddled me. She left her shirt on, which was a turn-off because it didn’t hug her figure at all.
I pulled it up.
She pushed it down again. “Not like this…”
I gripped the cotton tight and shot her a venomous expression. I wasn’t gonna fuck this woman while a wall separated us. I wanted to see those tits, that beautiful skin, and that belly I couldn’t get enough of. “This shirt is coming off—whether you like it or not.” I pulled it over her head and took in her beautiful figure. Her belly was sexy and her skin glowed. She didn’t have a damn thing to be insecure about. “You’re beautiful.” I grabbed her hips and directed her toward me so I could slide my shaft deep inside that slit I was obsessed with.
She pressed her hand against my chest to halt my movements. “Cato…please tell me why you don’t celebrate your birthday. You don’t even have to tell me when it is. I just want to know why.”
She slowed down sex to talk. I didn’t love that. “Why?”
“Because I care about you.” She moved her hand over my heart. “And I want to know you. I want to know the good stuff as well as the bad.”
I was surprised I was even considering telling her this. I hadn’t talked about it since the night it happened. My brother and mother immediately understood my feelings because they’d been there. Every year when my birthday came around, it seemed to be a moment of mourning rather than celebration. “It was the day my father walked out on my mother.”
Emotion that she couldn’t fake moved into her gaze. The moisture flooded her eyes so quickly, it seemed miraculous she could feel so much so quickly. But her heart seemed to beat for me, and it felt like she really did care about me. She liked me for the man I was, not the wallet in my back pocket. “Thank you for telling me.”
I pulled her closer against me and moved my hand into her hair. “Now fuck me, baby.”
23
Siena
Cato was always awake hours before I was. I was wrapped in his warm sheets when he got up and hit the gym for two hours. I was so comfortable that when he returned and hopped in the shower, I still didn’t crack open an eye.
The only reason I finally got out of bed that morning was because a nausea attack hit me. They’d become less frequent, but I still got them at least once a week. As I left the bed and walked to the toilet, I put my hair in a bun automatically since I’d done this procedure so many times. I reached the toilet and let everything out before I flushed.
Cato came out of the shower with the towel wrapped around his waist. “Baby, are you alright?”
“Yeah. This is a normal part of my life now.” I moved to the sink and washed my face and rinsed out my mouth. “But I do resent you because it’s entirely your fault.”
“My fault, huh?” He stood behind me and looked at me in the mirror. “I guess I can take the blame, especially when I don’t feel sorry about what I did.” He tugged on the sleeve of my shirt to expose my shoulder. He placed a soft kiss there, the whiskers from his beard rough against my body.
