Leaning back against the padded headboard, I watch her move and realize I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight. My worries about whether I can hold out vanish as I lose myself looking into her eyes, gripping her hips and thrusting, while she, with her hands on my shoulders, follows me by rocking her pelvis in a hypnotic back-and-forth. From the way the expression on her face changes like before, I know her orgasm is close, so I make her lie down, reversing our positions.
I bring her to the edge with one thrust after another, and when she begs for a kiss, I lower myself down to capture her lips. She grips me with her thighs and strains against my body as her scream is lost in my mouth. Hearing her voice vibrate in my throat fans the fire insideme, and a second later my scream joins hers, my lower belly pierced with pleasure.
Lying on top of her, my head on her chest, her breasts glistening with sweat, I listen to her heartbeat.
“I want to be yours,” I tell her. “Make me feel like I’m yours.”
“You already are mine. You always have been.”
“Even more.”
62
Elisa
After long sleepless hours, Michael and I collapse just before dawn, my head in the crook of his neck, his face buried in my hair, our legs intertwined in a tangle of sheets.
When I’ve reached my deepest sleep, I wake up with a start to the high-pitched sound of acock-a-doodle-dooat six o’clock.
“What’s happening?” I ask, sitting up in bed. “Is that a rooster?!”
Michael grabs my elbow, pulling me back to him. “It’s my alarm clock. I got so used to Renato coming to my windowsill to sing me good morning, I can’t wake up without it anymore.”
“Look, if you miss him, we’ll gladly send him to you.”
“Do you know what I’m missing?”
“What?”
“You.”
“I’m right here,” I object. “How can you miss me when I’m so close?”
“Not close enough.” He squeezes my hips, pressing me to his belly, making me understand that he wants to be even closer.
“Oh, come on,” I say, jumping out of bed.
“What?” he asks, confused.
“Not with morning breath,” I say, retrieving a toothbrush and toothpaste from my handbag. “I’m not comfortable with my mouth tasting like a truck stop bathroom.” They should stop making romantic films with protagonists who kiss as soon as they wake up, as if their breath smells of roses. Does anyone fall for it? I don’t.
Michael follows me by picking up his electric toothbrush. “You’re right, in my defense I admit I’ve never woken up next to a woman, so I’m rather new to morning sex.”
“You mean you always left on the sly while the girl was sleeping?”
“More like I’ve never stayed over.”
“How did you manage to get out of it?”
“Work: deadlines, early morning meetings, paperwork ... Luckily it all sounds so boring that no one ever asked me for details.”
We brush our teeth, floss, and double rinse with mouthwash, after which Michael picks me up and kisses me.
“How’s that?” he asks, blowing a puff of air at my nose.
“Peppermint and licorice. I like it.”
“Good, because it’s time for a shower, and I don’t intend to take it alone,” he says, entering the stall and activating a showerhead that mimics a monsoon rain.
