Having surrendered control, I move where Niilo leads me, the way I’ve done since the moment we met. Chest against thebed, hips lifted and elbows braced, he enters me from behind. I turn my head so I can see him, but it’s hard to keep my eyes open when he begins to move.
Everything with Niilo is smooth and rhythmic, from the rock of his hips to the slide of his hands across the planes of my back. Heat crests and recedes, and his lips meet the sensitive skin at the base of my neck, cool and sweet against the building release. He slides a hand around to stroke me, and I almost tell him there’s no need—I can come hands-free—but he already has the map to my body, and releases me after a few measured strokes. Fingers stroke up my spine and into my hair.
He kisses the parts of me he can reach, until his movements stutter and everything becomes sloppy and breathless; I let myself relax fully into the bed. Niilo rests his forehead between my shoulder blades, whispers something in Finnish, and we come at the same time. Flat on my stomach, breathing choppy and body limp, I reach a hand back to find the first bit of Niilo I can find. Hand on his thigh, I make a silent request for him to stay where he is for a moment. To stay stretched out on top of me, skin slightly damp and heart beating against my back. We don’t need words—English or otherwise—so of course he understands. I feel the soft skin of his cheek on my back, and close my eyes.
I come awake as the first tendrils of sun sneak through the window, gold fingers of light over the red stone roofs beyond. Bells toll, ringing in another morning in Rome. I lie silently, watching the window, listening to the music of a city coming awake and the soft breathing of Niilo in my arms. We’re tangled up the way only two sleeping individuals could manage,unconsciously trying to get closer until there is nowhere left to go.
Niilo is curled up so small, one would think he was the one between us too big for the bed. His hips are still cradled against mine, which is how we went to sleep—little spoon tucked into the big, but not initially in a manner that would smother him. Now, I’m bowed around him protectively, with a leg across his hips, torso curled, and arm possessively wrapped around him and resting on the pillow we’re sharing. My other arm, tingling with pins and needles, is slid underneath his chest and wrapped around his belly. We’re a pair of origami lovers, folded up together with edges all aligned.
Willing to sacrifice circulation in my arm, I tuck my face back down into his hair and stay still. We have plans to visit Vatican City today—something I’d been painfully excited for, until I woke up with Niilo in my arms and realized that there might be better ways to spend the day.
Soft sounds at the door to our room alert me to the hotel staff bringing by breakfast. They’d told us, when we’d checked in, that they would drop off fresh baked good each morning. Whomever is doing so now is quiet enough that Niilo remains asleep, snuffling and burrowing further into the cocoon of my arms. Obligingly, I tighten my hold on him.
I close my eyes and let myself drift, the cool touch of the air conditioner keeping us comfortable despite the warm press of our bodies. Niilo sleeps until the sun is fully visible through our small window, motes of dust floating in the shafts of sunlight peeking into the room. He comes awake slowly, pushing himself back into me and sighing. The first words he says aren’t in English, which makes me smile into his messy blond hair.
“Morning,” he tries again, voice scratchy with sleep. I loosen the grip I’ve got on him by a degree, just in case he’s not into being smothered first thing in the morning.
“Good morning,” I reply, and then, a touch sadly, set about pulling my now-dead arm out from underneath him. He rolls over as I do, scooting back just far enough for us to be face to face without crossing our eyes. Pushing his hair out of the way, he looks at me and smiles.
“Why did we waste a weeknotwaking up this way?” he asks.
“Idiocy. Madness. Possibly heatstroke, or too much wine,” I reply, making him laugh. Resting my hand on the soft curve of skin above his hip, I circle my thumb idly. “Breakfast was delivered.”
“I didn’t mean to sleep in so late,” he says sheepishly. “I don’t think I’ve ever been as content as I was last night, though.”
Factually speaking, my heart probably doesn’t grow two sizes. It feels like it did, though, hearing those words and watching the pale swoop of his eyelashes as he blinks sleepily at me. It feels like the beauty and magic of Italy is concentrated right here, cozy in bed between us.
“What?” he asks, reaching a hand up and brushing at his face, as though searching for any imperfections sleep might have given him.
“Nothing. I was just…admiring you,” I tell him, biting back the urge to admit I might be falling in love with him. My god, as though it’s not bad enough to love someone you met on vacation, I can’tadmitto it the morning after we have sex the first time.
“Oh. Well”—he brushes his fingers across his face again, trying to push his hair back—“I can’t imagine the bed head and drool are doing me any favors.”
“Says the man who looks stunning on a daily basis.” I scoff, sliding my hand up his back and back down again, loving how soft his skin is. “The bed head is doingmea favor—proof you’re human and not a hallucination.”
Yawning, he arches his back and shuffles close enough to kiss my chin before sitting up. The blanket slides down his chest,pooling at his waist in a spill of white. Rolling onto my back, I flatten my hand on his lower back and stroke up as far as I can reach, unwilling to lose all skin-to-skin contact just yet. He peeks over one pale shoulder.
“Vatican City today?” he asks.
“Vatican City half the day,” I counter. “Second half of the day, hotel room?”
Laughing, he spins around and plants a hard kiss on my mouth. I let out a startledumph, before putting a hand on the back of his head and enjoying myself. I coax him down until he’s lying on top of me, free hand sliding down to cup his ass.
“Vatican,” he says, words caught between a gasp and a laugh when I lick behind his earlobe. “We have to get…we need to get ready!”
He playfully bites my shoulder. Groaning, I let him go and turn my head to the side to watch him stroll naked to the bathroom. Stretching my limbs out, I rotate my feet, which are dangling off the end of the bed. I’ll wait for Niilo to finish in the bathroom, brush my teeth, comb my hair, and call it a day. Propping myself up on our pillows, I rest my hands on my abdomen and enjoy watching Niilo go through the motions of his morning routine.
“Probably don’t need to get dressed quite yet, right?” I comment mildly, when he reaches for his bag. Mouth pinched in humor, his eyes flick to mine, knowing and fond. I give him what I hope is a convincing smile.
“Silly man,” he notes, but doesn’t get dressed until minutes before we’re walking out the door.
