21. La zucca
21
La zucca
The Pumpkin
Bridget
O mar’s lips press softly against mine and I melt into the kiss. The taste of his mouth, the warmth of his body, all consuming. We're in Rome and it feels like a dream, somewhere far from our everyday lives.
I run my fingers through his hair as his hands explore my body, pulling me closer to him. The world outside these four walls fades away and it's just us. His touch is electric, sending shivers down my spine. Every nerve ending is on fire.
He breaks away from the kiss and looks at me with those intense dark eyes that make me weak at the knees.
"I want you," he whispers, his voice thick with desire.
My heart pounds in my chest as I nod, unable to find the words to express how much I want him too.
He's hard and ready for me and it's like a drug. In this moment I need him more than anything. He rolls on a condom and enters me slowly, inch by inch, until he's completely inside me. We both moan at the sensation; it doesn’t matter how often we do this, it always feels perfect.
He starts to move with slow and deep thrusts. Every movement sends waves of pleasure crashing through me. It feels like we're two bodies becoming one; nothing else matters.
We move together in perfect rhythm as we chase that sweet release. His hands are on my hips, pulling me closer with each thrust. Our eyes lock and I see something in his gaze that is overwhelming.
I can feel pressure building inside me, getting stronger with every stroke. It's like a tidal wave about to crash over us and I never want it to end.
I reach down between us and start to touch myself, adding another layer of intensity to the already electric air. His eyes never leave mine as I bring myself closer to the edge.
I'm so close when he takes over, his fingers expertly finding exactly what I need.
That's all it takes; the dam breaks and the orgasm spreads through me like wildfire. My back arches off the bed as I ride it out.
I can feel him getting close too; his thrusts are faster now, more urgent. He lets go completely and joins me in that euphoric release with one final push.
We collapse onto the bed, completely spent. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me into him, holding me tightly. I can hear his heart beating in time with mine and it's the most comforting sound.
We lay there in silence for a while, basking in the afterglow. It's a moment I never want to end. But eventually reality starts to seep back in and we know we have to leave this haven we've created. It’s not over yet, we have nine more days. Somehow this doesn’t feel as much of a comfort as it should.
This place is absolutely charming. We’ve really lucked out with the weather too and Perugia is a picture-perfect little Italian village. The roads are steep but despite that we’ve been up and down them so many times now and I think I’m falling for this place. It’s just so cute.
“The food was incredible,” I say, trying to catch my breath. The street leading back to the hotel is especially steep and I’m a bit winded.
“It really was. I had serious food envy when I saw your Carbonara,” Omar laughs, his voice light. The restaurant was quite posh with a menu to match. I had Carbonara parcels—basically, little pasta pillows filled with delicious Carbonara sauce, sitting on a sprinkle of crispy bacon and drizzled with basil oil. I shared one with Omar but the rest were all mine.
I’m about to reply when I hear a faint squeak.
“What was that?” I ask, pausing in my tracks.
“What?” Omar looks at me, puzzled.
“Didn’t you hear that?”
“No.” He shakes his head, looking around.
“Listen.” We stand in silence but there’s nothing. Maybe I imagined it. But just as we start walking again I hear it—a soft squeak.
“That sounds more like… meowing!” I say, suddenly excited. We both start scanning the area—under cars, in flower pots—until I spot it: two tiny, sparkling eyes peeking out from under a red Fiat.
“Come here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” I coax, making little smacking noises with my lips. “Try calling it in Italian,” I suggest.
“I don’t think cats care whether you speak Italian or English.”
I shoot Omar a mock glare and continue trying to coax the kitten out. It’s hesitant but eventually, a teeny tiny ginger kitten cautiously emerges. As I pick him up I realise he’s just a baby, too young to be out here alone. He lets out a pitiful cry and I feel him shivering in the cold wind. Without thinking I quickly unzip my jacket and tuck him inside, where he snuggles against my warm chest.
“There must be a mother cat around here somewhere,” Omar says, scanning the area again. But after searching and even ringing a few doorbells we come up empty. No one seems to be missing a kitten.
“What are we going to do with him?” Omar looks at me, his brow furrowed.
“We can’t just leave him here. He’ll freeze his tiny balls off and he needs food. We’re taking him back to the hotel.”
“To our room?” Omar raises an eyebrow.
“Yes, why not?”
“Well, for starters, we don’t have a litter tray or anything,” he protests, though not very convincingly.
“We’ll figure it out. We can put him in the bathtub if he needs to go and I can feed him with a spoon or something.”
Omar studies me for a moment but he’s already given in. There’s no way I’m leaving this little one behind, and he knows it. This kitten is coming with us, no matter what.
As we approach the hotel I feel the kitten shift inside my jacket, its little claws occasionally poking through my shirt. The hotel is one of those small, family-run places with a cosy, lived-in vibe. I glance at Omar and he looks back at me, his eyes widening with the realisation of what we’re about to do.
“Alright, I’ll distract the receptionist,” I whisper, glancing down at the kitten, who seems to have settled comfortably against me. “You just get him upstairs without causing a scene.”
Omar looks at me, half-amused, half-exasperated. “Bri you know I’m not exactly a cat person, right?”
“Consider it your good deed for the day,” I grin, patting his arm. “Just keep him hidden in your jacket. It’ll be fine.”
“You don’t speak Italian,” he objects again.
“Exactly. It’s going to take her ages to understand me, giving you more time to sneak past her.”
Omar sighs, but doesn't argue with me. He carefully unzips his jacket and I gently transfer the kitten into his arms. The little ginger furball meows softly and Omar winces, quickly pulling the zipper up to conceal the stowaway.
“Just try to look natural,” I whisper.
“Right, because nothing says natural like having a squirming lump inside your jacket,” he mutters, rolling his eyes.
We enter the hotel lobby, and as luck would have it the receptionist is an older woman with a friendly smile. Perfect. I saunter up to the front desk, putting on my best casual, everything’s-normal-here face.
“ Buonasera ,” I say brightly, leaning on the counter. “Eh, scusi... un buon posto... per , uh, breakfast... domani ? Raccomandare ?” That's not even Italian! But who cares, as long as it distracts her.
“I speak English,” the woman grins. Shit , for once I need an Italian speaker but luck doesn’t seem to be on my side.
“Could you recommend a good place for breakfast tomorrow? Something with a great view, maybe?”
“ Certo! Oh, certainly! There’s a little café just around the corner—La Terrazza. It has a wonderful view of the valley especially in the morning when the mist is still lifting.”
“Sounds perfect,” I say, nodding enthusiastically. Out of the corner of my eye I see Omar trying to make his way towards the staircase. He’s walking a bit stiffly, like someone who’s trying very hard not to draw attention to himself. But the receptionist seems completely absorbed in our conversation.
“And do they serve proper Italian coffee there?” I continue, keeping her attention firmly on me with a ludicrous question. What else would they serve?
“Oh, absolutely! The best cappuccino in town,” she assures me.
I hear a faint rustling sound behind me, and I turn to see Omar awkwardly adjusting his jacket, trying to muffle a soft meow. My heart skips a beat but I quickly plaster on a smile and turn back to the receptionist, who thankfully hasn’t noticed.
“That sounds perfect! I can’t wait to try it,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t sound as strained as I feel.
Omar finally reaches the stairs and starts to ascend, his movements just a little too deliberate. He would make a shit spy. The kitten lets out another tiny meow and Omar freezes mid-step, his eyes wide with panic.
I clear my throat loudly, catching the receptionist’s attention again. “Oh, and one more thing—do you happen to know if there’s a good spot for gelato nearby? I’m really craving some.”
The receptionist beams, clearly delighted to be of help. “Yes, there’s a wonderful gelateria just a few streets away, called Gelato di Nonna. Their pistachio is to die for!”
I sneak a glance at Omar as she speaks. He’s reached the top of the stairs and disappears around the corner. I let out a quiet sigh of relief and turn back to the receptionist with a genuine smile.
“Thank you so much! You’ve been incredibly helpful.”
“It’s my pleasure, dear. Buona serata! ”
With that I finally make my way to the staircase, trying not to sprint up the steps in my eagerness to check on Omar and our little rescue.
I find Omar standing in the middle of the room, jacket still zipped up, looking completely bewildered.
“He’s still in there?” I ask, a laugh bubbling up despite myself.
“He hasn’t moved a muscle,” Omar says, his voice a mix of disbelief and something that sounds suspiciously like affection. “I think he’s asleep.”
“You’ve clearly got the magic touch,” I tease, stepping closer to unzip his jacket.
The kitten slowly peeks out as soon as it’s open, blinking sleepily up at us. I gently lift him out and he immediately snuggles against me, his tiny purrs vibrating through my chest.
Omar watches us, his expression softening. “I still don’t like cats,” he says.
“Sure you don’t,” I reply, smiling at him. “But you’re going to help me take care of him, aren’t you?”
Omar sighs but reaches out to scratch the kitten’s head. “Fine, what do you need?”
“Maybe you can find a shop that’s open where you can buy some kitten formula and a litter tray.”
“In this small village?” He’s right, not much chance but we’ll have to try. The cat can’t drink cow milk.
“Please try, Omar,” I plead.
He places a kiss on my forehead, grabs the car keys from the table and leaves the room in search of a miracle.
By the time he’s back, I’ve bedded the cat down in the bathtub on top of a towel. I used another towel to cover him and give him some warmth.
“Did you find a shop?” I ask excitedly when I see all the bags in his hands.
“No, Maria had some.”
“Who the fuck is Maria?” I ask confused.
“Well Snaily,” he gives me a quick peck on the lips, “She’s the receptionist’s cousin’s husband’s sister and the local vet.”
“You told the receptionist,” I gasp.
“It’s alright Mata Hari, no need for the MI6 routine anymore. She was absolutely fine with it and she helped me get some formula for the cat, a syringe to feed him with, and a litter tray.” He holds up all the bags.
I pull him close and kiss him deeply. “Thank you!”
“Sure,” he replies with a happy smile.
Omar heads back down to the get the formula warmed up whilst I set up a litter tray for the furball. He keeps meowing at me loudly. I guess he’s hungry.
“Here you go,” Omar holds out a cup of warmed goodness for the little kitten. I get him to fill the syringe whilst I grab the cat and cuddle him to me.
“We should give him a name,” I suggest whilst feeding him.
“I don’t know—”
“Come on. He loves you so maybe we’ll name him after you.”
“No way.” Omar shakes his head, grabbing a bottle of water from the minibar.
“Well, let’s see.” I hold out the syringe and Omar refills it so I can give the cat a little more. “He’s orange, and it’s autumn… pumpkin. What’s pumpkin in Italian?” Please let it be something nice, please!
“ Zucca ,” Omar replies.
“ Zucca ,” I repeat.
“Say it softer, it’s pronounced more like it’s written with an s at the beginning and only one c.” My Italian still stinks even after the time we’ve spent here but I try it again and Omar claps.
“ Perfetto !”
“Is that your name little one? Zucca?” I pad his head as he’s licking the formula from around his mouth and just blinks at me.
I take Zucca and carry him to the bathroom to show him the litter tray. Not sure if he’ll get what it is, but cats have an instinct to bury their poop and pee. I build him a small nest of blankets on the floor next to me and then get myself ready for bed.
“What are we going to do with him tomorrow when we move on?” I’m sad to say goodbye to the little furball already, but taking him with us just won't work.
“Maria offered to take him. She has a few cats already,” Omar tries to reassure me.
“Okay,” I sniffle and curl up in his arms. Just as I’m about to switch off the light there’s a tug on the sheet. Zucca is trying to jump onto the bed but it’s too high for him, so I gently grab him and lift him up. He stumbles around between me and Omar before crawling on top of him and snuggling up against his chest.
“See, he likes you,” I cheer.
“Don’t get why. You’re the cat lady,” he grumbles.
“Maybe you're a cat man.”
“I am not a cat man!”
“Zucca likes you,” I grin. Omar sighs but doesn’t reply and carefully picks the ginger furball up, pulls me into his arms and places the cat in front of me so Zucca can snuggle up against my belly. That's how we fall asleep. The three of us.
The first rays of sunshine hit me directly in the face and wake me up. We forgot to close the curtains last night. I turn and find Omar sleeping on his front with Zucca curled up between his shoulder blade and his neck. The cat clearly loves Omar. They look so cute that I just have to take a photo.
Leaving Zucca behind breaks my heart but Omar’s right. What would we do with him on the long car journeys? And he’d need all sorts of vaccinations before we could take him across any borders.
When I come out of the bathroom Omar is sitting up with Zucca on his lap. He’s stroking the little ginger between his ears and the furball is purring loudly.
“Fight it as much as you want. He’s your feline friend now,” I giggle.
“Apparently,” Omar replies. He tries to be grumpy about it but I see a little smile tugging on the corners of his mouth.
“Come here,” he holds out his arm for me.
“No, Mister. As much as I’d love to cuddle with the two of you we have to get going, chop chop, Snaily !”
He sighs but knows I’m right. In all honesty, I just want to get the goodbye with Zucca over as soon as possible. Rip off the plaster and move on. The longer we have him the more I’ll fall in love with him and I’m already close to crying.
Two hours later, after a tearful goodbye from me and a stern goodbye from Omar—although I think he was just trying to hide his emotions—we’re on the way to San Marino.
We are both lost in thought as we drive through the countryside. I feel guilty for leaving Zucca behind. Maria seemed nice and there’s a lot of space and other cats for him to play with but I would have preferred to keep him. I'm pretty sure Bella would have gone mental though. She doesn’t like to share attention with anyone.
“You're sad you couldn't keep him, aren't you?” Omar asks.
“A little. Is that crazy?”
“No,” is the only reply I get.
“He has a good home. I’m just a sucker for cats.”
“Ha, don’t I know it,” Omar laughs.
An hour later we turn onto the winding road that takes us to San Marino. This place is something else—San Marino isn’t part of Italy but is its own little city state. It’s perched on the steep slopes of a hill, with the city walls, towers, and a castle hugging the ridge. The roads here are very narrow and some are too tight for cars. We’ve been told to park in a lower car park and take a lift up to the town centre.
Our hotel is right in the heart of it all and just a minute’s walk from Piazza della Libertà. It's a lovely family-run spot, they make us feel right at home from the moment we arrive.
“Have a look at this,” Omar waves me over. I open the window and the view takes my breath away: the rooftops of San Marino stretch out below our window before the slopes drop steeply into the valley, with green meadows and other hilltop villages in the distance. It’s like something out of a fairy tale.
We spend the rest of the day exploring the quaint Christmas market. With December just around the corner, the streets are decked out in twinkling lights and festive decorations. There’s a real Christmas buzz in the air which makes everything feel extra special.
“I’ll take you up to the ridge tomorrow,” Omar mumbles as he places a kiss on my neck.
“More hiking,” I groan. “These Italian villages all seem to be on impossible steep hills. I’m starting to feel like a mountain goat.”
“Snaily, you’ll be fine,” he laughs and drags me back to our hotel. Goody, make out time!
It was worth the climb because the view from the city wall on top of the ridge is amazing. I can see all the way to the coast and the small town of Rimini.
We follow the footpath past the Prima Torre and Seconda Torre. The further we walk, the less people we see. The footpath gets narrower as we approach the Terza Torre; the third tower.
“I can't believe we're close to the end of the trip,” I suddenly say.
“Five days doesn’t sound long.”
“Five days,” I repeat. It sounds like nothing. Almost time to return to my life. Start studying. A life shared only with Bella and the occasional visit from Ruthie and Christopher. I shouldn’t be ungrateful. There are also the girls. And… I’m just grumpy because I don’t want this to end.
I don't say any of that out loud. He doesn’t need to be part of my pity party. He’ll think I’m pressuring him but I haven’t forgotten what our deal was. Doesn’t mean I’m not sad that our time is running out though.
The Terza Torre is a lonely tower with not much to see, and even the view is obscured by bushes and trees. Just as I’m about to complain about it Omar pushes me gently against the rough stone wall of the tower. He cages me between his arms and the wall of the tower and starts to kiss me. At first it’s a harmless little kiss but it turns passionate very quickly.
"I can’t get enough of you,” he whispers, his voice laced with desire. "Let me show you just how much I want you."
I wrap my arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. The heat of our bodies combined with the warmth of the sun creates an intoxicating sensation.
Omar's hands roam over my back, giving me goosebumps. I let out a soft moan, overwhelmed by the desire coursing through me.
He breaks the kiss and slides his hot lips along my jawline and down my neck. I tilt my head back, basking in the pleasure of his touch.
His hands move lower, cupping my ass and pulling me closer to him. I can feel how hard he is against me and it fuels my need.
I run my fingers through his short black hair as he nips at the sensitive skin of my collarbone. My body feels like it's on fire, every nerve ending alive with anticipation.
Omar's hand slips beneath the waistband of my yoga pants and finds its way between my thighs. I gasp as his fingers brush against the wet fabric of my knickers.
He looks into my eyes for permission, and I nod eagerly. He pulls aside the fabric with one smooth motion and plunges two fingers inside me.
A low moan escapes from deep within me as he begins to move his fingers in slow circles. I lean back against the tower as all my senses go in overdrive.
Omar kisses me hungrily as he finger-fucks me with increasing intensity. My legs tremble beneath me, threatening to give way at any moment.
I'm lost in a haze of ecstasy and world around me fades into the background. The only thing that matters is the feel of his fingers inside me, bringing me closer and closer to the edge.
I sense my climax building like a storm gathering on the horizon. Omar's thumb brushes against my clit which sends sparks of pleasure through my body.
I stifle a cry by pressing my mouth into his shoulder as I finally tip over that edge, my orgasm crashing over me. I cling to Omar as my body shakes with the force of it.
He holds me tight as I ride out the waves of pleasure, his fingers still moving gently inside me. When I finally come back down to earth, he kisses me softly.
"God, you're incredible," he whispers. "I love making you come."
I love it too, too much to be honest. The intimacy between us is so intoxicating, it leaves me feeling drunk. It’s like a drug and I’m not sure if any other man, or my hands for that matter, will ever be enough after having had Omar.