Page 122 of Wicked Savage Cruel
He nods once.
“But—”
He frowns.
“The rest we do my way. I’m his mom. He doesn’t know you yet, and you’re a seventeen-year-old guy with no clue how to look after a baby. I’m not going to just send him off with you after one introduction.”
His jaw clenches, his nostrils flaring. “I won’t let you keep him from me, Bibiana.”
“I don’t want to. I just…” I exhale a loud breath. “He’s only nine months old. He’s still breastfeeding.”
His eyes drop to my chest, and a dark look passes over his face before he blinks it away.
“I think you should come here for visits, at least to start,” I say and when it looks like he’s about to argue I rush to add, “Let him get to know you. Let…let me get to know you so I don’t freak out when you walk out the door with the most important person in my universe. Please.”
The muscle in his jaw ticks. “Fine,” he manages to bite out, and I release the breath I’d been holding.
“Thank you.”
FIFTY-FIVE
Emilio
This moment is surreal, seeing my kid play with his toys and bring them to me like he knows me. As if we’ve been doing this his whole life.
My kid.
Fuck. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact I’m a dad.
Luis stumbles across the floor, his tiny legs unsteady, and with each step he takes, I tense, waiting for the moment when he loses his balance and I need to catch him. Somehow, he manages to stay on his feet, his arms held out and a drooly grin on his face.
We watch him play for half an hour when all of a sudden he gets angry with one of his cars, yelling at the thing like it somehow offended him before crawling to Bibiana and shoving his little hand down the front of her shirt.
“Sorry.” Her cheeks turn pink. “I think he’s hungry.” She gets up from the floor, about to leave the room and I realize I don’t want her to. It would be one more thing I don’t get to be involved in.
“Feed him here.” It comes out like an order. She scowls and is about to argue when I add, “Please.”
She nods once, and her cheeks turn an even brighter shade of pink.
I try not to stare as she lifts him up and positions herself on the sofa, my boy in her arms. She grabs a blanket from the back of the sofa and attempts to cover herself up as she pulls her shirt up just enough for Luis to reach her breast, but he isn’t having it. If anything, her attempts at modesty make it worse because instead of burying his face in her boobs—something that, I won’t lie, sounds appealing because she’s got great tits—he’s fighting with her, yelling and flailing his tiny hands in the air to get the covering off.
I’m sure she’d like a few minutes of privacy, but I can’t bring myself to give them to her.
Bibiana huffs, finally giving up, and lets the blanket drop to the side, her full breast exposed save for the back of Luis’s head blocking my view of her nipple.
She visibly swallows and won’t meet my gaze. It’s fucking adorable. Not that the thought should be running through my head. I’ve cooled off some since last night but I still can’t shake the feeling that she did this on purpose. That she didn’t think I was good enough for our son. I hate that.
“You good?” I ask. Not that I should care, but seeing her feed our son, take care of him, it awakens something primal inside of me. Fire burns in my throat as she turns her head and meets my stare head on, and want flickers in the recesses of my mind. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Yeah. Just … didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” She shrugs.
A smile curls my lips. “You can pop those out anytime you’d like. Trust me, I’m far from uncomfortable.”
Her cheeks go from pink to scarlet. I like it. Like making her uncomfortable. Uncertain.
What she’s doing isn’t sexual. Far from it, in fact. But … I exhale a harsh breath. Without letting myself think about what I’m doing, I get up from the floor and move to sit beside her. She gazes up at me, a furrow between her brows, but I’ve already turned my attention to Luis. His little fists are balled up against her breast, his eyes closed and a relaxed expression on his face.
Emotion threatens to overwhelm me and I almost don’t recognize the sound of my voice as I utter my next words. “Marry me,” I say, surprising myself, but I don’t try and take back the words. Actually, now that they’re out in the open, it makes sense. Getting married, I mean. It would resolve all our problems. We wouldn’t need to work out custody or visitation. There wouldn’t be any worries or unknowns. We’d be a family, for Luis.
