“Yes,” I breathed out. “Yes. It’s more than enough.”
He nodded. “Finamente.All is settled.”
We stared at each other before we seemed to move into each other at the same time, our lips sealing the moment of the vulnerable truth between us, hardening it to the walls of our hearts. Wewere bare to each other, our scars and blood on display, hiding nothing.
“Rocco,” I cried, letting all my weight fall against him.
He wrapped me in his arms, kissing my face, over and over.
“I don’t know what to do with all this love… I don’t know how to…keep the intensity of it inside of me.”
“You do not have to, Amora,” he said. “This is why I am here. You share it with me, just as I share it with you. It is ours.” He lifted me from the sofa, bringing me back into the bathroom.
He set me on the counter, turning the shower on, the steam floating in the room like warm ghosts. With a touch so gentle it made the tears come faster, he washed me from head to toes. I turned and did the same for him, being exceptionally gentle around the scar over his chest. What we were doing was not exceptionally thrilling, but it was so intimate, and I loved seeing how contented he was, how hard he was from my touch. After we were both clean, I wrapped my arms around his neck, our bodies trying to get as close as possible, but it never felt close enough.
His mouth came to mine in a tender kiss, until it started to get rougher, our tongues fighting to go deeper, even though it was a soft swirl. He lifted me off my feet, my legs wrapping around his waist, and pressing my back to the warmed tile, he entered me in a stroke that made me cry out.
“Look at me, amore,” he demanded, his hips a steady flow of pleasure that shook me to my core.
My eyes fluttered open to his commanding ones. Water beat against his back, dripping down his body, and as our bodies moved together, the flow of it was getting caught and splashing.
“Put it on me,” he said. “Put all of your love on me.”
His words were moving me. I was moving into him as hard as he was moving into me, freeing myself of the love and, doing as he said, making him feel it down to his soul. That was how deep I wanted my love to infiltrate his system. Totally consume him to the point that, when he thought of me, it felt as if his heartlevitated, the same as when he smelled my perfume lingering in the room even when I wasn’t in it.
“Rocco!” I cried out, giving into the demands of his body. My love was endless, but my body had a breaking point, though I knew for the rest of my life, I’d keep putting all my love on him, like I’d feed him food at our table.
With a powerful thrust that sent him so deep inside of me, my breath felt as if it was knocked out of me, he exploded inside of me, making me orgasm against his cock again, my thighs trembling, my body completely spent.
He could go for hours and not tire, it seemed.
I was glad I was still in my prime, but still, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to truly keep up with him. He was virile—more than the laws of nature usually allowed. I’d never had sex before, but it was so apparent that everything about him was not normal.
Thankful didn’t even begin to cover how I felt about that. I was far from normal too, even if in different ways.
His head came against mine. “I do not think I would have survived you when I was a younger man. You would have killed me,amore.”
A lazy grin came to my face. “Funny,” I mumbled. “I was just thinking the same thing, but in reverse—I’m not sure if I’ll be able to survive you when I’m your age.”
He pulled me away some. “Did you just insinuate that I am old?”
I exploded with laugher and kissed his lips. “No! I juststatedhow amazing you are at the sex.”
“At the sex,” he muttered, shutting the water off and carrying us out of the shower together. He sat me on the counter, drying me off, before he used the same towel to dry, then wrapped it around his waist.
Pity that. No part of him should ever been hidden from me.
Rocco Piero Fausti was the reason Greeks had loved the male form enough to immortalize it in art.
Blinking out of my stupor, I caught him glancing at the thingsI had on the counter. I removed a soft brush for blush out of its holder and touched the tip of his sharp nose with it. “Penny for your thoughts?” I whispered.
“You do not need all these things.” He waved a dismissive hand at the counter.
I smiled at him. “I don’t use all of them every day, but I like to have them all the same. My favorites.” I hopped off the counter. Too fast. My head spun and my bones shouted. My cooch felt like it had been run through a tenderizer or stabbed—pick any metaphor along those lines and make it fit. I grinned. He had made it fit, all right. But even though there was an uncomfortable edge, the pleasure…a silent breath escaped my lips.
He steadied me, and his eyes flew down to mine in concern.
“Uncle Tito,” he said.
