His breath washed across my skin, adding to the melody of feelings, and the cave suddenly felt warmer than it had. My eyes closed, and when the piece of fruit dropped from my hand, his arms wrapped around me, and he pulled us both down onto the blanket. He rolled his shirt up and set it underneath my head as a pillow. Lying on his side, he propped his head on his hand. I moved the “pillow” some and we shared, our heads as close as our bodies.
I sighed.
He sighed.
I yawned, and my eyelids felt weighed down. I almost felt intoxicated. It was a wonderful spot to take a nap.
Comfortable.
Safe.
Far removed from reality.
However, I was moved to speak by something I felt as if I had no control over.
“This place is magical,” I whispered, moving my body even closer to his, although physically, it felt as if we were melting into each other. Ineededdeeper. “I can feel it in my bones,Marito mio. You?”
“Sì,” he said, his voice low, raspy, and it felt as if the tone of it was moving against my skin as his hands were—a mixture between smooth and calloused.
He looked into my eyes at the same time I turned my eyes to his. His moved my hair away from my face, stroking my skin, before he closed his eyes and kissed me.
I was even more ravenous for this.
Whatever “this” was that existed between us.
Our mouths were hungry, our tongues starved, and his moved so deeply inside, I wondered if he was hitting muscle or bone, or someplace far, far deeper.
My soul.
I could not breathe, but I was.
It felt as if his breath was mine.
This was what Ineeded.
Craved.
Was ravenous for: the connection between us to take hold and refuse to allow us to let go.
He entered me, slowly, our eyes never leaving each other’s. It felt better than what we were doing. I could feel my soul and his, entangling in the magical cave, a part of us forever left behind.As if we were marking the spot for our own. Leaving behind a print that was his, mine, ours.
It was overwhelming, the depth of emotion moving between his body and mine. Because it was not on the outside of who we were, but the inside. I felt him deep inside of me, deeper than his cock.
I gasped for breath, my hands reaching out, holding onto him. “Mariano,” I barely got out.
“This is it, my wife,” he spoke in Italian, his voice low, even rougher than before. He stilled, groaning. It was a sound from someplace deep inside his chest. It vibrated in his throat. “Hold on to me. Hold on to me even when you feel like letting go.”
“I will never let go,” I barely got out. I could not tell if it was cool tears gliding down my cheeks or the water from the fall. “I see you, feel you, and…I could not. I could not. You are so deep inside of me…” A low moan came from my own chest, and he sucked in a breath.
“Tell me, my wife,” he said in Italian, “who do you belong to. Whose rib is inside of your chest. Whose blood makes yours sing. Whose marrow are you imbedded in.”
“Yours—ah.” The way he was moving inside of me…I felt every glide of his cock as if my skin had been turned inside out, and every sensitive nerve was his for the touching. It was as if he was softening my shell so he could find me in the depths of my soul.
He longed, demanded, to be there forever, with me.
I could not hold on any longer. He did not expect me to. We came together at the same time, our mouths kissing, our bodies shattering.
He kissed me all over the face before he pulled out of me.
