“Jesus,” he breathes, burying his face into my neck. “Really couldn’t hold back, could you?”
I shake my head. “And I wasn’t going alone.”
His lips touch my skin. “No. You weren’t.”
He wraps his arms around my body, and I hook my feet together behind his back. He’s still hard inside me, and as I sigh into his hair, I’m struck by a barrage of overwhelming feelings.
Of fulfillment. Of happiness. Of belonging.
Of completeness.
“Shower,” Aaron orders, moving back and pulling me with him. He carries me into the bathroom as I’m laughing into his shoulder and gets in the shower before turning on the water. Ice-cold water sprays over us and I scream, squirming to get away from it.
His laugh washes over me the way the warming water does. “Just a little cold water, Day.”
“Put me down now,” I sigh, pressing my hands on his shoulders.
Aaron shakes his head and pushes me against the wall. “I’m not done with you yet.” He rocks his hips against me. His c**k hardens immediately and hits that very tender spot with his next thrust.
“Again?” My fingers find his hair again and wind themselves in it.
“Oh, Dayton. If you think I’ll ever get enough of you, you’re sorely mistaken.”
“But we just—”
He silences me with a kiss as demanding as the thrusts of his c**k inside me. “I love it when you come. I love the sounds you make and the way you feel. If I could spend all day playing with your body and making you come, I would. So now, when I have the chance to make it happen again, I’m going to.”
I cry out at a long, slow ease into me.
“I’m going to send you into a crazy f**king oblivion every chance I get because I need you to know what you do to me. You take me over until there’s nothing left but you.” His grip on me tightens as his hips move faster, his gentle thrusts of earlier now hard pounds. “This is what you do to me, Dayton. You make me f**king crazy.”
I pant at his frantic movements, my breath mingling with his, and stare into his eyes as I feel a third orgasm build inside. “Take me there.” I seal my lips over his. “To that crazy f**king oblivion.”
He does. I fall apart in his arms yet again, his release seconds behind me, and collapse against him. After a minute of languid kisses he pulls out of me, leaving me with the same sense of emptiness that always accompanies that action.
We wash each other in the shower, something more intimate than I’m ready for but so right in this moment. He massages my head as he works in the shampoo and threads his fingers through my hair as he strokes conditioner through it.
He dries me with a towel and wraps me in a robe before leading me back to the bed. I pull the covers and smile sleepily at him.
“You really know how to wake a girl up.”
“So you’ve said.” Aaron smiles and rests his nose alongside mine.
“Yeah, I mean it this time.” I grin, brushing the backs of my fingers along his cheek. “Did you say it was six in the morning?”
“It was. Now it’s past seven, and I have to get ready. I have a meeting at eight.”
I accept his gentle kiss and nod. “When will you be back?”
“Not until late again. I’m sorry I’m leaving you to see the city alone.”
I shrug. “It’s okay. I actually enjoyed it yesterday, barring obvious things. I’m sure I can find something to do today—without any suggestions from the concierge.” I give him a pointed look.
He laughs and pulls on some pants. “What were you thinking?”
“I don’t know. I was going to decide when I woke up, but I was distracted by someone.”
“Oh, well. What about an art museum? I lost you in the Louvre more than once.”
He really does remember everything.
“Maybe. Where do you recommend?”
He raises his eyebrows.
“I thought we’d cut out the middle man. I know how you hate concierges, especially ones with nice butts.”
“Should I be offended you’re mentioning the concierge’s ass after f**king me?”
“Passing comment.” I snuggle beneath the covers. “Well?”
“Pinacoteca di Brera. Call me when you want to go and I’ll have a car take you. It’s a few miles from here.” He stills before knotting his tie. “Concierge cut,” he adds on a mutter.
I grin. “You sounded like an Italian when you said that.”
“Said what? Pinacoteca di Brera?”
“Yep. Oh, wait. Let me guess—you speak Italian as well as French?”
He buttons his jacket and looks at me with sparkling eyes. “Si.”
“Of course you speak the two most romantic languages in the world.” I roll my eyes.
His deep laugh comforts me and he walks to the bed. He bends down, placing his lips near my ear. “A language is only romantic if you believe in romance itself,” he whispers. “And I do.”
“Maybe I do.”
“Forse il tuo forse non è sufficiente quando i tuoi occhi mi lasciano senza fiato e il tuo tocco mi fa sentire vivo. Non quando l'amore che abbiamo avuto è bollente sotto la superficie. Non quando sono così pronta a permettere al mio amore per te di consumare me ancora una volta.” He kisses my cheek and strolls from the room.
“What does that mean?”
“When you get there, I’ll tell you.”
The door closes on his words, and I close my eyes on a huff.
If I had enough energy to get up, I’d throw another mug at him.
***
I sit back on the plush sofa and prop my feet on the coffee table. The Pinacoteca di Brera art museum is a full day out for someone like me—someone who can meander casually through endless hallways of paintings for hours. Surrounded by both natives and tourists, I was lost in a sea of awed eyes and bored yawns.
The paintings should have taken me away. The crowds that walked the hallways with me, alive with hushed chatter, should have pulled me into the environment in its fullest, but they didn’t. The pictures didn’t give me a wondered escape from reality. All I could think of every time someone yawned was Aaron.
The way he used to grab my hand and fake one, begging to leave the Louvre. The way he used to grumble in my ear as I dragged him from room to room. The way he used to groan whenever I asked to go back.
And the way he always, always used to go with me, even though he hated it.
I’m lonely.