Exceed My Expectations Already

Author's Note - This story is part of the Literotica 750 Word Project 2021.

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Stefano's preoccupied as we drive from the airport. Sense tension building. He likes Mama, yet my brothers grate at him. Spending the long weekend is asking a lot.

Little brother and new fiancée pop out of the house, strolling forward as we arrive. Barely get the rental parked when the smartassing starts.

"Hey, Sissy!" Carlos calls. "You're early. Should ticket your novio for speeding."

Inform him CIA doesn't handle traffic violations.

Offer my hand to the girl. "Angela."

She shakes, looking anxious. "Marisella." She spots Stefano. Eyes widen. "Wow, he's tall."

Carlos jumps between, interrupting their handshake. "Stefano's part sasquatch. Don't get him mad. He was a hitman in Europe. Killed lotsa people."

Fear shadows her features. Arm lowers, curling across her middle.

Stefano frowns. Returns to the car for the bags.

Glare at Carlos. "Not appreciated."

Petite Mama rushes out, crushing me in thin arms. She smells like spices. Probably been cooking all day for her catering business.

"Hija—?" Mama breaks the embrace, glancing down then lifting the hem of my blouse.

Carlos jokes, "You're getting fat, Sissy."

Marisella smacks his arm. "She's pregnant, estúpido."

Mama takes my hand searching for a ring. Tsk, tsk. Meet those piercing eyes. Insides twist. What's she thinking?

"How long?"

"Fifteen weeks. Wanted to tell you in person."

Stefano steps up, ready to face judgement.

Brother sniggers. "Mama will kick his white ass if she can reach it."

Mama asks Stefano, "You sorry you do this to my girl?"

"No, Mama. I love her." Simple. Honest.

She nods, but doesn't smile. "Smart answer. Come help with party order."

Load heavy, insulated containers into Carlos's truck for delivery. With his and Marisella's departure, we wash dishes while Mama reviews inventory.

Gregorio arrives home, suit wrinkled and carrying an armload of grading. He's curt. Heard the news from Carlos. No congratulations. Heads off to shower.

Stefano offers to cook. Forms leftover risotto into balls stuffed with corn, peppers and onions for Mexican-style arancini. Mama prepares a spicy cheese dip. I toss salad, smirking when Mama turns playful, kneading Stefano's muscles and whipping his butt with her apron strings.

Knew she wouldn't stay mad long.

Dinner's ready when the young couple gets back. Call down grumpy Gregorio, and we squeeze around the table, catching up. Big brother gawps, pieces at his food. Stefano stares back. Silent duel.

Getting pissed. Rise from the chair, but Stefano stops my retreat.

Remind him, "No arguments at meals. Mama's rule."

"Just talking." His gaze lands on Gregorio. Open invitation.

Brother scoffs. Doesn't appreciate being cast as the villain.

Mama warns to speak up or let issues go.

"Papa moved here to get away from the cartels," Gregorio lectures. "He worked hard, became a citizen, found love, had all of us— built a good life." Sighs. "Didn't matter. They gunned him down in a crowded farmers market." He shudders with anger. "Now my sister beds an assassin. Brings him under our mama's roof to partake of her generosity. Disgraceful."

Silence. Hold my breath. Family turns to the pensive Stefano.

"My father taught us to kill."

Marisella asks, holding onto Carlos, "Did you like killing?"

"No. My brother did. My sister and I..." He pauses, head drooping with sorrow. "Mia wanted a normal life, children. She ran away, but all defiance was met with swift punishment."

We wait, but continuing appears too painful. Mia must be dead.

"I'll go," Stefano utters.

My heart aches just as his must hurt. "Me too."

Mama pounces as we stand. "Go to bed," she orders, herding us toward the stairs. "My house. You stay."

In bed he's quiet, but his taut body says everything. Rest is far off without an intervention.

Use soft kisses to distract. Stefano pulls me into a straddle position for easy access. Mutual stimulations help relax until a strong, sizable finger invades my heat. Tighten my grip on him in response. Move together, coaxing sensation with speed and skill. Ride the needy high. His free hand clutches my ass while a second finger pushes in, stretching primed muscles. Gasps. Moans. Feel his hot release hit my skin. Control's lost. Buck through shockwaves then drop breathless, drained at his side.

At sunup, we enter the kitchen to find the clan dishing up chilaquiles. They've come to an understanding. No quips from Carlos. No harsh words or looks as we eat.

Over coffee, Stefano requests teaching tips to use with our CIA trainees. Gregorio brightens, eager to advise, and I know we'll be okay.