Hot. Tight. So damn slick. Almost bringing me to my knees.
As I struggled for breath, the noise that erupted from my throat at her release and mine felt like an explosion. We were both soaked with sweat, still clinging to one another.
“Brando,” she whispered after a minute or two. Almost hesitant. She didn’t want to let go either. “We need to go.”
I kissed her temple. “The guards are there. They won’t be alone.”
“The guards are not their parents. We are. Remember that, ah?”
How could I fucking forget?
My phone rang, lighting up and buzzing on the nightstand. She sighed, looking over.
“Mitch,” she said. Then she stood, going for her clothes. I reached out and took her hand, kissing her wrist, feeling her frantic pulse against my lips, before letting her go.
I answered the phone while I swiped my jeans from the floor. Words. Clipped and sharp. I hung up a minute later, already dressed. Scarlett had changed, a new grey sweater and what she and Mia called leggings, and was slipping her tennis shoes on.
“Let me guess,” she said. “Peter decided to break the news today?”
“If we’re guessing. Yeah,” I said, sighing. Peter had asked me for more time, because he said he and Sue were ‘going through some stuff.’ Seemed they got over it and he’d broken the news. “Mitch wants to talk to me.”
“All right.” She nodded. “Silvio can take me to meet the kids. You can meet us at Matteo’s practice afterwards.”
“No,” I said, swiping the keys from the nightstand. “He can wait.”
“You need to talk to him. They’re probably upset. We should’ve told them.”
“Even if we would have—then fucking what? Tell me if it’s going to alter the past to change our future with them.”
“I don’t have all of the answers!” she snapped.
“I’m not going to fight with my wife over this,” I said. “They do what they do. We do what we do. They drew the line. If that’s how it is—” I shrugged. “That’s how it fucking is. Us—our family—is enough for me. Even though I feel for them, because we have a past, I only give as much as they do, in terms of energy.”
We stood rooted to our spots, facing each other.
My wife lifted her hands. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” I said, my voice rough. “Me either.”
She gave me a slight mile. “Meet us after?”
I didn’t say anything for a minute or two, and she was getting anxious. Her eyes kept darting to the clock.
“I don’t want them to be mad at us,” she whispered.
She meant Mitch and Violet, but I knew she meant the kids, too.
“Yeah, all right,” I finally agreed on a nod, only because she wanted it.
She threw herself in my arms, hugging me tight, before she almost ran out of the room.
“Scarlett.”
She stilled, her back to me. “Yes?”
“I go where you go. Even if I’m late. Remember that, ah?”
“How could I forget?” she mumbled softly, and then she was gone.
