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A single tear falls from Pino’s eye—a tear of hope.
Without making a commotion, I quietly walk to the shelf. With tremblingfingers, I gently flip over the frame and rub my palm over the dusty glass. What I see brings tears to my own eyes. This snapshot into the Di Matteo family is a happy one—one that will never be relived. It’s a photo of two proud, loving parents holding their newborn baby boy.
Silently placing the frame upright, I exit, determined to make everything whole again.
Well, if Madison didn’t think I was a complete asshole already, she sure as shit does now.
I brought her here because I wanted to share this part of me with her. A part I’ve never shared with anyone before. I wanted to show her how much she means to me because words are not enough. Instead, I’ve shown her the weak, selfish, cowardly bastard that I am by leaving my father in here to rot.
Taking a drag of my cigarette, I don’t hear Maddy until she rounds the corner of the small garden shed I’m hiding behind. Pathetic. I can’t even face her. She stands a few feet away, watching me closely—waiting for me to explain.
Exhaling deeply, I confess, “Madison, I’m so sorry. For everything. This is who I am.” I thump my chest forcefully. “I’mweak, I’m selfish, and I’m a coward. I deserve every bullshit thing that has happened to me because I’m not a good man. This was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
I flick my cigarette into the dirt, ready to hightail it back to Manhattan and drown my miseries in a bottle of scotch, but stop when Maddy takes a step forward. I watch, confused. Why is she blocking my exit? Does she not want me to leave?
“Madison…?” She continues staring at me, her emerald eyes wide. “Is everything—” But I don’t have a chance to finish. She suddenly springs at me, catching me completely off guard. I catch her, desperately searching her face for answers.
She makes her intentions clear a second later when she seals her lips to mine. I can’t keep up with the frantic rhythm of her kisses, but I don’t care. I let her dominate me because it’s what we both want.
She pushes me backward, my back crashing against the rough wooden door, the prickles adding to the heightened sensation of Maddy fucking my mouth with hers. I don’t know what’s come over her, but I don’t question it. It’s what I’ve been dreaming about and craving since she left my side.
She claws at me, crazed to close the already diminutive distance between us, and I comply.I frantically scoop her up into my arms, and she wraps her legs around my waist. My cock has been starved, and it demands to be fed. Maddy groans low when she feels me pressing against her quivering hot center. She wants this as much as I do.
Blindly searching for the door handle, I celebrate when it turns with a creaky whine. I lead us into the shed, spinning around quickly so it’s now her turn to be imprisoned as I slam her up against the door. We’re kissing madly, and the longer I kiss her, the harder I become. The throb is almost unbearable; I know this time around, it’s not going anywhere until I come.
She’s pressed flat against my chest, her frenzied heartbeat in song with mine. I’m certain nothing has ever felt this good. But when she slips a hand between us and strokes my hard-on, the thought dies in my pants, and I’m proven wrong.
Like a typical male, I can’t do two things at once. My kisses become slow and sluggish; all I can focus on is her small hands on my cock.
“Oh, fuck, Maddy.”
My heated curse encourages her, and she rubs even harder. I haven’t seen her newfound confidence often, but I like it—a lot.
I pull back, needing to look into her eyes and read what’s going through her mind.
“Does this feel okay?” she breathlessly pants against my lips.
“Yes.”
That single word spurs her on, and she continues stroking me wickedly.
I’ve never been a fan of hand jobs. I mean, there are so many other jobs I would prefer. But that was before I felt Maddy’s tiny hand wrap around my dick.
“Dixon,” she whispers, while I almost come when she squeezes me hard. “Can I go down on you?”
Those six words, in that particular order, are now my most favorite words. But the fact we’re in a garden shed no bigger than a closet makes my sexually charged mind realize that I can’t allow thisangeloto give her first blow job in a room filled with sharp garden tools and manure.
“Not here.”
She sighs, and just like that, I watch her confidence wash away.
“I just don’t want you on your knees in this filth,” I quickly explain, not wanting to spoil the moment.
“Stop it.”
I arch a brow. “Stop what?”
“Stop wrapping me in cotton wool.” She slides down my body, placing her feet steadily on the ground.
