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Dad rolls his eyes, muttering something aboutour son being an idiot, and I move to stand, but Mom stops me, tightening her grip on my forearm. “Stay. Eat.”

I’d rather not, but if I don’t, it’ll only wind her up more, which will then piss my father off even more. Soinstead of leaving, I stuff my face as fast as possible and bring my plate to the dishwasher because, unlike Robert Moretti Sr., I respect my mother and the work she does enough to clean up after myself.

When I pick up the sponge to squirt dish soap onto it, intending to wash the glass dish she cooked the lasagna in, Mom stops me, forcibly turning me to her. “You’ll find somebody when the time is right.”

I nod, pasting on a smile because I don’t want her to think she’s making it worse. But she is making it worse.

What I really want to hear isFuck everything your father said.Fuck him and fuck anyone who’s ever called you stupid. You’re not stupid. You’re perfect.

What I get, though, is worry about getting married. Since I can’t possibly remain on my own. I’m too dumb for that. I need someone to lead me around by my nose.

Even if she doesn’t think that, it’s what all her hovering feels like.

But I can’t say any of that out loud. I’d make her feel like shit and reinforce to my father that I’m some pansy-ass kid incapable of doing anything on my own. I’m too emotional.

Well…I am emotional. There is no argument against it.

And I can’t read well. That is a fact.

There is nothing I can do about any of it.

“Go on upstairs,” Mom tells me, and I don’t argue or insist on staying to do the dishes. I hightail it up to my bedroom and head directly to the bathroom I used to share with my brothers, where I turn the shower spray on hot and strip down, washing away the sweat and grime from the day. But I can’t wash away the feelings of inadequacy that follow me like a shadow whenever I’m in this house. It’s impossible to ignore it, especially now that I’m back. At least as a child, my father wasn’t so in my face about how I’ll never measure up to his expectations. I haveno excuses as an adult, so he has no reason to hide his disdain for me.

I close my eyes, leaning my forehead against the cool tile, and that’s when I think of her.

Taryn.

How she came into work today in tight-fitting pants and a white shirt that hugged her tits underneath a cardigan. And I had a hard time not staring at her.

She caught me a time or two…or ten. Whatever.

She’s hot.

It’s so easy to recall her naked skin and how shy she’d been at first when I was in her bedroom. How she’d hesitated to take off her top and bra, how she tried to hide her soft belly and the scar on her abdomen with her hands. As if I’d find any part of her ugly.

Good god. The woman is perfect.

Soft all over with thighs and hips that depressed when I squeezed my fingers into them. What red-blooded male who likes women doesn’t want to grit his teeth and just fucking…fuck? It was so hard for me to go slow that night, when all I wanted was to flip her over, grab those sweet little love handles of hers, and go to town.

Women spend so much time worrying about cellulite and fat when we only care about pussy.

I mean, really. All the rest is simply gift wrapping.

And what a present Taryn Stone is.

Tall with long legs and big tits I want to bury my face between. Suck on those perfect golden-brown nipples all night. And she can’t deny how she liked to be bossed around. I knew it.

Feltit.

A woman like her is in charge of everything all the time. Because she’s good at being the boss, and rightly so. Shedeserves the recognition. But she also needs to relax occasionally. Be treated like the royalty she is.

Wrapping my hand around my straining cock, I recall our night together and the way she felt beneath me, the way she moaned in pleasure and writhed when I put my mouth on her. I can still taste her. Like drinking the most expensive bottle of wine on a perfectly sunny day at the beach. That’s what Taryn tastes like. Heaven. Soft and warm, wet and delicious. Earth, salt, and honey.

I give my dick a rough squeeze, groaning quietly when I remember the feel of her fingers in my hair and how her thighs tensed around my head, the way she clenched down on my fingers and my cock when I pushed inside her. How she arched her neck and held me close, urging me on. Taryn knew what she wanted; she only had to allow herself to have it.

After soaping up my hand, I stroke up and down my length, spreading my feet, anchoring myself to the floor even as my mind takes me back to those too-few short hours with her. Teasing and flirting and finally kissing those lips of hers. Bittersweet dark chocolate. She is everything. Curves and confidence and a no-bullshit attitude.

I imagine her beneath me now, her legs wrapped around my waist, her nails digging into my back. I imagine her on top of me, riding me, her head thrown back in ecstasy. I imagine finally getting her on her knees and sinking balls deep.