Chapter Twenty-Three Rome
C OTTON MOUTH . P OUNDING head. Stomach clenched. Throat dry. The list went on as I woke up during the late morning hour. None of that compared to the malaise of guilt that swelled within me like a balloon inflated with regrets and bad decisions.
Had we really tried that last night? Had it really failed so miserably that we passed out without another word?
I cracked open eyes that were caked with rheum. I wiped and rubbed and blinked until the morning sunlight streaming through my numerous windows didn’t make me throw up. I looked over to check on Alex.
Missing.
Oh, no. No, no, no.
I threw back the covers, leaped to my feet, then promptly crashed my ass back into bed.
A vise tightened around my temples as whatever I consumed the night before crawled its way back up my esophagus.
I braced my elbows against my knees and dropped my head into my hands, breathing rhythmic breaths through my fingers.
When stability returned, I stood up, slower this time. Okay. Equilibrium. Blissful equilibrium.
Still naked from the night before, I fished around until I found sweatpants and a hoodie, then tugged them on. My phone wasn’t on the nightstand, but a bottle of lube and a condom wrapper sat there like drug paraphernalia during a police raid—obvious and evidentiary to the guilty party.
I wanted to say “I love you,” I thought as I shuffled to the bedroom door and poked my head outside, listening.
Sound. Oh, beautiful, wonderful sound. He hadn’t left. I trotted down the stairs and stuffed my hands into the kangaroo pouch of my hoodie and gingerly tiptoed around the corner to the kitchen.
Alex moved lethargically as he prepared what looked to be a hangover cure.
He sliced up a banana on a cutting board.
I saw two large mason jars stuffed with ice, lemon, and water.
Most preciously, there was a bottle of ibuprofen.
He twisted open a bottle of a red-colored sports drink and divided it between two glasses.
He finally noticed me when he finished scooping dollops of peanut butter to drop on the small plates with sliced banana.
“There he is,” Alex said in an unusual tone. He fished out two forks from the drawer on the island. “How’s your head?”
I slid onto a stool at the island and stared at him before answering. “I’m sorry,” I said. His eyes narrowed as his head cocked a fraction. “Last night. Alex, I’m so sorry. That was…. that was awful .”
He pointed to the mason jars. “Drink.” I started to say more but he talked over me. “ Drink . Half of that. Come on, drink.”
I drained not half, but all of the water in one go. Politely burped into my hand. He pushed the plate of banana and peanut butter toward me with the fork.
“ Mangia ,” Alex said in an overembelished Italian accent. I couldn’t help but laugh. We ate our meager hangover breakfast in relative quietude. The unspoken words of my apology didn’t sit like the proverbial elephant, thankfully.
Alex refilled my water, slid it across the island, then leveled me with a gaze. “Why on earth are you trying to apologize, Rome?”
“I tried to take advantage last night. We were both drunk. I should have known better. It ended in catastrophe and I don’t want you to think that any time I get a drink in me that I get handsy and I want—”
His hand went up and I stopped. “Yes, that was a total fail last night. No, it wasn’t a catastrophe.
No, you absolutely did not take advantage of me because I was totally a willing participant.
The issue is that we went too fast. Too much, too fast. I couldn’t even get the condom right.
” His cheeks burned and his eyes fell to the island.
Though he needn’t be embarrassed. My face went redder than the untouched sports drinks in their glasses. Alex noticed and called me out.
“ You have nothing to be ashamed about, Rome.”
I mumbled something under my breath too quiet for him to hear.
He asked me to repeat it. I didn’t have the confidence for this conversation, but like all things in my professional career, I rallied and pushed through.
“I don’t like condoms,” I said louder, clearer, though my face remained red.
“It doesn’t matter what size you get, they’re always too tight and constrictive. They’re uncomfortable.”
Alex’s brow went up. I saw his pupils dilate a fraction. “I’m clean,” he blurted out. “Got every test known to man the day after Ricky hit me. I’m well past any incubation stage, too. Got retested two weeks ago just to be sure.”
My mouth dropped. “I have to get tested for the Riders. Clean as a whistle every time since I keep to myself.”
A devious smile formed on Alec’s face. “So then when it’s time, we don’t have to worry about you being uncomfortable. Okay?”
I grew instantly hard, thankful for the lip of the countertop hiding my sudden and invasive enthusiasm.
I cleared my throat. “Okay. Yeah. That works.”
“So, I thought for today, we can nurse our hangovers for a little bit. Watch a terrible movie. Chug as much water as humanly possible. Then… know any good brunch places?”
I nodded. “Yes, I know just the place.”
“Great!” Alex slapped the countertop. “Brunch, then back here to relax. Do you think you’re up for cooking us a nice meal?”
Another nod. “For you? I would love to.”
“Good. We can have a bottle of wine with dinner. Just one , though. Just enough.”
Just enough . Just enough for…
My dick jumped.
“I think this is shaping up to the perfect day,” I said.
Alex blew me a kiss. “Me, too.”
?
The evening arrived like Christmas morning, all full of joy and anticipation.
True to our words, we only had a single bottle of a lovely red wine imported from Italy.
Alex was right—a single bottle split between both of us gave just the right amount of encouragement fueled with a kind of relaxation and easiness that came with quiet confidence.
I had been making eyes at him all night.
The air between us vibrated differently than last night’s disaster. This was the night.
Love.
Lovemaking.
Connecting in the only way that mattered now.
The movie finished and, by unspoken command, we left the living room and headed for the bedroom. It felt like lightning had already struck and all we did now was wait for the thunder to come rolling in.
I lit a few candles when we reached the bedroom.
I set them in front of mirrors to bounce the light around.
At first it felt strange to set the scene with him present, as though I should have surprised him somehow.
The feeling vanished as quickly as it had appeared—we could read each other intuitively now and understood direction without pointing or saying.
“Hey,” Alex said in a quiet whisper. “Why don’t you make the bed and get comfortable? I’m going to take a quick shower.”
I smiled. “Okay, yeah. Don’t take too long, though.”
He pressed a kiss onto my cheek before vanishing behind the bathroom door.
I tightened the sheets on the bed and refolded the comforter.
Fluffed the pillows. Rearranged the candles again.
Stared at myself in my floor-length mirror and flexed until I felt good about myself, not that I needed a pep talk.
I needed a distraction, if anything. When I heard the shower turn off, I peeled off my t-shirt, left my sweatpants on, and crawled into the center of the bed with the covers up to my waist. I sat up with my hands laced together primly on my lap.
Meanwhile, my heart pounded like war drums in my chest, my adrenaline spiking like it was ready for battle.
A surge of energy struck me when Alex cracked open the door and peeked out.
He wore only a towel. His hair was mostly damp.
He padded across the room and stood before the bed.
Then, with a simple flick, let the towel drop to the floor with a soft pff .
I reached over and drew back the covers for him.
My eyes didn’t leave his body. I had seen him naked dozens of times—too many to count, really.
And yet, there was something definitively different now.
I saw him in a new light. Like he was a familiar home with a new room to explore.
Alex scooted up beside me. Our lips pressed in a tender kiss while I reached over and secured one hip with my hand.
My fingers danced along the meat of his butt, high and tight muscle from all those years of running.
With a sudden hunger, I dragged him atop me.
I still sat up in bed, now with both hands firmly on his rear so I could press my fingertips into how firm his backside was.
I grew harder by the second. I recalled our time in the shower the other day, the way he exposed himself to me.
I wanted that again. Wanted to try something new…
Did I ask? Or did I just move him to where I wanted him?
Don’t be too demanding , a voice seemed to tell me.
“Will you lay on your stomach for me?” I whispered in his ear.
Alex pulled back from our kiss to give me a curious look.
He must have seen the shyness on me face.
His answer was climbing off me and laying on the open spot next to me.
He grabbed a pillow to put his head on, stretched out his legs, and lifted his butt a fraction in the air.
I breathed out a whimper of a sigh. I could have come just as the sight of his prone body, ready, waiting. Just for me.
I crawled out from under the covers and knee walked until I kneeled between his legs.
My hands ran down his back, his waist, his butt, down his thighs, then spread them farther.
I dipped my head down to kiss the small of his back.
He lifted his waist, the mound of his rear pressing into my chest. I kissed farther down and let my chin divide him.
Carefully, my tongue slipped from my mouth to taste him.
He groaned into the pillow, which I took as encouragement to continue.