“Right?” She’s back to normal volume. “She said she’d try. Spoiler alert.”
“She didn’t try.”
“She did not try. All I kept thinking was, does the entire hotel need to know we’re having sex? I couldn’t wait to be done and get out of there.”
We’re both laughing now. “Wow,” I say. “That sounds…”
“Awful? Horrendous? Sad? Yes, it was all of those things. I was mortified.” She meets my eyes. “Is that the right word?”
I nod. “Absolutely the right word. You poor thing. Did you wear a hoodie when you left and pull the hood up?”
“I wanted to!” She’s cracking up now. “I was sure everybody would know.” She points and stage whispers, “ ‘There’s the woman who was so loud last night. Does she look satisfied?’ I wanted to tell everybody that it wasn’t me.”
“I guess the takeaway would be that one of you was loud and one of you wasreally good in bed.”
“But which one is which?”
“That’s the downside.”
“I am not okay with that downside.”
We’re cracking up, both of us, naked in Marina’s bed and laughing our asses off at stories of our past couplings, and it’s…it’s so crazily comfortable that I almost can’t believe it’s real. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt this content this quickly with anybody in my life, and I don’t know what to do with that, whatto think. But it’s the best I’ve felt in a very, very long time. Not sure what to do with that either.
“I want gelato,” I blurt.
Marina blinks at me for a second. “Now?”
I sigh. “Yeah, it’s a thing. Sex makes me hungry.”
And Marina, God love her, doesn’t miss a beat. She slides out of bed and holds out her hand. “Then let’s get you some gelato.”
Chapter Thirteen
Marina treats me like a queen.
She’s been polite since I met her, that’s true. She has manners, and she’s kind. But since we had sex, she’s become downright chivalrous.
I’m not mad about it.
I can’t remember the last time somebody put my needs before theirs, but that’s exactly what she’s done.
I’m lying in her bed now in those lovely, quiet moments just before dawn. Reggie is snoring in a soft pile of blankets on the floor, having gotten tired of our moving and turning and noise-making last night. Marina is sleeping soundly beside me, her breathing deep and even, her chest gently rising and falling. I’m on my side, my head pillowed on her shoulder, my hand resting on her breastbone, and I resist stroking her velvet skin with my fingertips, wanting to let her sleep. I’m replaying the previous night because it’s easily one of the best in my entire life, and I’m pushing fifty and have had a pretty great existence, so that’s saying something.
Last night, we threw our clothes back on, leashed up Reggie, and went out for gelato. We strolled the neighborhood, which was bustling in a chill and relaxed way, which I’m learning is how it is in Trastevere. We held hands again, something I haven’t done in ages before Marina, and it made me feel like a lovestruck teenager in the best of ways. Marina bought me gelato—pistachio—sorry, “pis-tahk-io.” And then she helped me eat it, and I’m not even a little bit embarrassed to say that watchingher lick my cone—not a euphemism—had me dragging her back to her flat so I could tear her clothes off and have my way with her well into the night. She was sweet and let me have the upper hand for a while before she took it back.
I feel worshipped.
That’s a pretty bold statement coming from me, and I know it. But it’s the truth. I felt it a little when I got here, but I definitely felt it in bed. I’ve never felt so sexy or so beautiful or sodesiredas I do with Marina Troiani, and that both lifts me up and terrifies me. I vow that when the sun comes up, we’ll have a talk about what exactly it is that we’re doing, what we expect, stuff like that. It’s necessary.
I must doze off, because the next time I open my eyes, Marina is smiling at me, those dark eyes sparkling in the soft light of almost dawn.
“Buongiorno,bella,” she says softly, and will I ever get used to the sheer sexiness of an Italian accent? I don’t think so.
“Hi,” I whisper, and I can feel my smile bloom on my face all on its own.
“I like this. Waking up with you in my bed.”
“Me too,” I say, and it’s the truth. Despite whatever this is—a fling, casual sex, two people having their needs met—I could definitely get used to this type of morning. I also don’t want to get out of bed, and so we don’t. We snuggle for a few moments before hands start to wander and lips meet, and pretty soon, Marina’s head is between my legs and her mouth and tongue are doing unspeakably sexy things to me, and I have to pull a pillow over my face because the last thing I want to do is reenact Marina’s worst sex date ever.