Chapter 19
BYRON
So many cats.
Some sit beside doors and others on chairs, watching us with beady eyes. A gray one rubs against Giana’s leg.
She leans down to rub its head. “Hey, Gray, you’re still here.”
I don’t ask. She hums a tune as we take the steps to the back entrance. The heat hasn’t affected her mood. Meanwhile, my shirt is stuck to my back in the ninety-degree heat with humidity that feels different from home. I wasn’t planning on sleeping, but fuck me.
She opens the door and hesitates. “Thank you for coming and sharing this night with me. It means a lot.”
“I wish I got to do it sooner.” I lean in to kiss her, twirling with her in my arms as the weathered wooden door closes behind us, blocking out the light from the full moon.
Hot, moist air on musky, ancient limestone walls fills my senses. Kissing a trail along her neck, I inhale her perfume and scent until only Giana is imprinted on my brain.
“You’re hot,” she whispers in the dark.
“You’re not too bad yourself.”
She giggles. “This heat is a lot. I think we could both do with a shower.”
“If it means getting wet with you, then count me in.”
She takes my hand and leads me through the dark as though she has done this a million times. I walk with a hand raised in case something smacks me in the face.
“Your cell, Byron.” I pull out my phone and turn on its flashlight.
We enter a bathroom that’s all terracotta and white tiles. She places two towels on a ledge.
“Can you help me with the zipper?”
I undo her dress and kiss her shoulders as the fabric pools at her ankles. Her skin is hot beneath my lips. I continue to caress her neck, her cheeks, back to her lips. “Get naked with me, Byron.”
Through the small bathroom window, light reflects from the street. I pull my shirt over my shoulders, watching her face as I do. Animal instinct takes over as she helps divest me of the rest of my clothes, ungraceful and desperate. We turn under the water spray, and I imagine the sizzle of steam as it hits my heated skin. My attempts to be tender are lost in my desire, a yearning to have wanted this moment for what seems like a lifetime. Dark shadows fall over her face and tanned body, accentuating her curves and breasts. The whites of her eyes fail to hide the longing, and a deep ache settles in the pit of my stomach. I crave Giana like nothing else.
“I need you now,” she whispers. She jumps into my arms, and her legs wrap around my waist. As I push her up against the cool tiles, she lifts her rear enough for me to slide inside her. Slowly, I rock into her, wanting to draw out the moment and be with her gently. Her hands run through my hair, over my face, and claw at my back. Every moan goads me to go faster until I’m thrusting desperately, ignoring my tight chest and racing heart. Our harsh pants sound out in the small room. She reaches out and hits the tap, and we lose water.
“Sorry,” she moans. “We have a shortage.”
What?
With water or without, I’m at the point of no return. Giana fists my hair, using it as leverage to ride me harder. I pound into her, desperate for release, and then it comes. I shudder, and she moans.
“Byron,” she says breathily. She doesn’t say anything else, and I’m perfectly happy hearing my name on her lips, knowing I’m the one who gave her the climax.
We slip down the tiles to the floor and lie there for a moment, our wet bodies sliding together as our legs untangle.
After a few minutes, I feel I can breathe and talk again. This hot, humid weather is ridiculous. “What happened to the water?” She lifts one arm and turns the faucet and the water sprays over us on the tiled floor. “Thank fuck,” I murmur. I thought my head was going to explode.
She giggles and lies over me, sliding her chest over mine. “It’s the best way to fuck in summer.” And damn, it sounds sexy, the way fuck rolls off her tongue.
“Looks like we’re spending the night in the shower,” I murmur.
“Not possible,” she says, flicking it off again. “We have to use it in spurts.”
“Then I’m going to spurt with you all night long.”
Knock,knock, knock.
What the fuck?
I force one eye open, though I don’t remember falling asleep.
“It’s Patrizia.” Giana groans and rolls over. “When I’m here, she brings me breakfast and leaves it at the door.”
I’d be all for it if I weren’t still shoving food in my mouth at two in the morning.
“Can you text her and tell her we don’t need it?”
“My cell is dead,” she murmurs. “Ugh, can you bring it in before the cats get to it?”
I squinch my eyes, trying to focus with the harsh light shining through the open windows. Christ, I’m going to fry in here. I groan.
What the fuck is the time? Hell o’clock?
I roll over and kiss her bare shoulder. We are both naked with no covers and while I’m cursing the heat, I’m grateful to wake up like this with Giana. I think about last night. “If I do, then I vote for a repeat of last night in the shower.”
Water shortage or not, my dick reacts thinking about it.
“Sure thing, babe,” she murmurs. “Just grab the tray and bring it upstairs.”
Forcing myself to move, I head down the stairs, waking more as I think of taking Giana in the shower again. I stroke my cock and open the door slightly. Jesus, this is one hell of a door. Heavy, and another three feet taller than me.
No one is around. I bend to get the tray, step forward to gain my balance, and?—
The fuck?
My towel slips as I drop the yellow wooden tray and stumble forward. I manage to prevent our breakfast from spilling onto the pavement as the weight of the heavy wooden door pushes my rear, forcing me out into the alley before clicking shut behind me. I cover my package with my hands and look around. Jesus.
“Giana,” I say, hoping she’ll hear through the open window but not loud enough to gather attention. “Giana.” I grumble a few choice words while looking around. This is not how I imagined serenading her.
A giggle sounds across the street. A young girl, a teenager maybe, is peeping out of the open window. “Mamma,” she says over her shoulder, along with a string of words including nudo, and it does not take a genius to work out what she is saying. Christ, I’m about to get arrested.
I grab the tray, hold the edge above my cock, and run down the alley, the pastries bouncing all over the plate. A black cat crosses my path and threatens to trip me. I have no time to think about superstition and dodge it, so I leap. It hisses. A trail of giggles sounds behind me.
Voices shout. I don’t stop running. I turn the corner toward the stairs and?—
My heels skid on the rough stone as I come to a halt.
A group of old ladies sit in those blue and yellow wooden chairs outside their doors, chatting. I eye the stairs now yards away. I’m desperate to get there, like I’m about to score a touchdown. I decide not to run but to briskly walk past the first few ladies, hoping they are too busy to notice.
More laughter. More shouting.
I’m close to the stairs when one springs from her seat as though she suddenly has the energy of a twenty-year-old. She stands in front of me, and before I sidestep, she moves, blocking my way.
She eyes me, and I prepare myself for the abuse. I look around, and all the ladies are out of their chairs, walking toward me. A vision flashes in my mind of being struck down by walking sticks while the old ladies call me Satan, the ground burning my feet like I’m at the motherfucking gates of hell.
I lift one foot, then the other, almost hop on the hot cobblestones. The woman peers down.
“Mother of God, please no.”
She lifts one of the pastries and sniffs it. “Patrizia?”
I nod, thanking the freaking gods she understands. Wait. No, no, no. I’m not Patrizia’s toyboy.
“Giana,” I clarify, averting my eyes and looking to the stairs.
“Giana,” she repeats and grins before turning to her friends. “Giana,” she announces.
She steps to the side like Gandalf allowing me to pass, takes a good look at my ass, then repents by making the sign of the cross over her body.
Fuck me.
My legs propel me forward, and I take the stairs two at a time, giving the audience below a terrestrial view of my butt and balls.
“Bel culo,” she shouts, and the women giggle.
I slow near the top to find Giana leaning over the ledge, elbows bent, her chin resting on her hand, watching me. An amused expression quirks up her lips. “Bel culo,” she says and straightens.
I pass the tray over to her.
She is wearing my white shirt. It’s open, and she has nothing underneath.
“What the fuck, Gigi? Someone will see you.”
She tilts her head and smirks. “Well, everyone has seen you. I heard giggling and something about a gorgeous naked man. I jumped up to look out my window and saw you running down the street with the tray. The ladies are right in saying you have a nice ass.” She giggles, picks up a pastry, and takes a bite. “This is probably the most excitement they’ve had in a while,” she says, with a mouthful of croissant.
I close the door behind us. Keeping my hand on the door, I bow my head. My heart is racing. I’m no prude, but that was mortifying, and the thought of being arrested in a foreign country?—
“You know I can never come back, right?” I say to Giana.
Giana laughs so hard she holds her stomach with one hand and her croissant in the other. That’s it. I stride to her and scoop her up and over my shoulder, smacking her ass as I walk into the bathroom. I lower her to the tiles and turn on the water, then push her under the spray until my shirt is soaked and clinging to her body.
I stroke my cock as I watch the water trickle down her beautiful face, snake down the middle of her stomach where my shirt isn’t stuck to her skin, then roll down her thighs. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” I keep stroking my cock. Her hand glides over her stomach to her clit. She spreads her legs, watching me as I watch her touch herself. The first moan that comes from those plump lips has me on my knees, pushing her hand away so I can taste her.
She reaches over me and turns off the water.
“Best you save the water to cool down your pussy,” I murmur. “By the time I’m finished, you’ll need the spray to ease the throb.”
I spin her around, grab the scruff of her neck, and bend her so her ass is in the air, then push inside her, and her hips roll back to meet mine in a steady rhythm. It’s a beat of mutual understanding, one we easily dance to. We know the moves, understand our bodies’ needs, and up the tempo until the song finishes. Except, I don’t want this song to end and don’t want to stop dancing with Giana. She makes everything right, and when we fuck, there is no better sound.
Holding her hips, I piston into her at a fast pace. My balls smack her ass, and her heavy sighs fill the air. Leaning over her back, I hug her. Her breasts bounce hard with every thrust. I’m building fast, and I hear her come, my name rolling off her lips and her knees buckling. I hold her steady, pump into her a few more times, and shudder as I empty everything I have into her. This time, I twist the faucet, and the water sprays over us as we slide to the tiles, my arms still wrapped around her body. I turn my head so the water sprays over my face, then catch my breath.
“Next time, call ahead. I’ll pay the power bill before we arrive.”
Giana laughs, pulls off me, and slides on top. She smothers my face with her kisses. “You can’t deny it’s been fun.”
“If that torture is what you call fun, then yes, it’s been fun.” I laugh at her expression when her bottom lip drops. “No, seriously.” I reach up and turn the faucet so the water shuts off again. “This is real fun.”
She slaps my chest playfully. “You like it, admit it.”
Giana is sitting on top of me while I lie on her shower floor. Her wet hair clings to her face and shoulders. Water droplets cascade over her beautiful breasts and along her tanned body. I massage her beautiful tits. Tilting her head back, she closes her eyes and moans. “I’m just drying you off,” I whisper. “I hear there is a towel shortage.”
Her eyes fling open and narrow at me. I laugh but continue touching her body. “Giana,” I murmur. She stares at me and waits, though she gives me a look that suggests she doesn’t trust what’s about to come out of my mouth. I look side to side to make a point. “Here or anywhere, if I’m with you, it’s going to feel like heaven.”
She stares at me and realizes I’m being truthful. She leans down and kisses my lips, her tongue finding mine, her mouth telling me she feels the same way.
From the momentwe left Rome, Giana wanted to show me around her coastal village. After Giana made a call about her villa and paid some bills, we walked hand in hand along the cobbled streets, finding the best espresso and admiring the architecture of churches and the way the village was built into a limestone mountain. We eat lunch at a sidewalk café. A soft breeze picks up her hair, stirring the strands around her cheeks, but it’s not strong enough to cool my body from the balmy air that hangs heavy in the atmosphere. Giana leads me along a path, down two hundred and fifty freaking stairs to get to the beach.
Blue and white umbrellas are positioned in lines from the ocean to the stairs, each with its own beach chair. It’s not a large beach, but it is divided at each end by rocks on the limestone cliff face.
Sweat is dripping from my brow, and all I can think about is diving into the sea. It’s a turquoise blue, the water lapping the shore. We walk along the water’s edge with our shoes in our hands as the gulls caw to each other over our heads.
“Are we swimming?”
She gestures toward the rocks ahead, blocking the beach at high tide. “Follow me,” she says, climbing to scramble over the boulders.
I follow her, keeping close in case she slips, and walk sideways, then slide, scale some more, and descend onto a ledge where the ocean rushes in like a river.
It’s a small cave-like pool.
I follow her along the stony ledge. She drops her sandals.
“You wouldn’t.”
She grins and pulls off her dress.
“Stop it.”
She jumps in.
“Giana!” I shout. “Fuck.” I drop my sneakers, rip off my shirt, and jump.
I come to the surface and look around.
Giana is wading, laughing. “Your face,” she says, amused.
I swim over to her. “You scared the fuck out of me.” I pull her close and want to spank her sexy ass.
“Scared I’d drown?” She pulls a face. “Byron, you need to live. Take a risk.”
“I take risks every day, but not like this.” Calculated risks beneficial to my game or to beat my opponent, sure. “How do you know it’s safe? There could be a rip or some territorial sea beast in the water.”
She tilts her head back as she laughs. “Like what?”
“A crocodile,” I shoot back.
“We’re a long way from Australia.” She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me. “Make love to me.”
Love.
“Here?” I was thinking of soft, silky sheets and being surrounded by luxury when we made love.
Giana lets go and paddles toward the back. I follow her to where the water laps against some stony man-made steps.
“This is a thing?”
“Yes. Especially at night, during low tide. It’s called Lover’s Cove.” She sits on the step and spreads her legs. “Allow me to initiate you.” It’s the first initiation in my life that I’m excited to be part of.
Giana spins and climbs the final step, strips out of her bra and thong, and lies on the stony ledge. “It looks painful, Gi. I don’t want it to cut you up.”
“Byron,” she says firmly. “I won’t feel anything if it’s love. All I want is to feel you inside me.”
I rid the last of my clothing, fall to my knees, and settle between her thighs. I tuck my elbows near her shoulders and shove my hands under her to try and protect her skin, then lean down and kiss her tenderly. Her lips move with mine, slowly at first, speeding up as our tongues entwine and taste. “I want this to be my favorite memory of Italy,” she whispers as her legs wrap around me, her heels digging into my hamstrings.
I kiss her cheek, ear, jaw, and forehead, then move to the other ear and whisper, “I love you, Gi.” I feel her soften beneath me. I keep kissing her cheek and face, then find her lips again. While she doesn’t utter the words, her mouth tells me everything I need to know. She kisses and devours me and, with one hand, guides my erection to her opening. I push in slowly, checking she is okay and not sore because we have fucked hard over the last twelve hours. I withdraw slowly, then slide in farther, and she gasps as her pussy adjusts.
“I’m okay,” she whispers.
I quicken the pace, driving deeper yet still gently. I faintly acknowledge pain in my knees and elbows, but I don’t stop, overwhelmed with desire and wanting to give Giana the orgasm she craves.
A new memory. With me.
We arrive backin Rome around nine thirty, and Giana books us in for dinner at a restaurant a block from her hotel. While she is in the bathroom, I inquire about a violinist, which took longer than necessary with the communication barrier. It’s the last thing on my list to make the trip as romantic as possible.
I end the call as she emerges from the bathroom. She drops the towel near her suitcase, and my breath hitches. Not at the sight of her beautiful body but the scratches on her back. “Gi…” I go to her and kiss her shoulder. “I’m sorry I hurt you.” I run a finger over the raised red marks.
She turns and smiles. “You ought to see the other guy.”
I laugh. “Yeah. He’s pretty cut up.” I kiss her shoulder. “But it was worth every second with you.”
“Byron,” she says breathily. “Please don’t regret anything because I’m enjoying every minute with you. My regret is we don’t have more time. There is so much more I want you to see.”
I kiss her shoulder again and rub my hands along her bare arms. “Next year, in the offseason, we’ll plan a vacation here, and you can show me all the places. Make a list.”
She smiles again. “Why don’t you make lists?”
“I do, mental notes.”
“I need to write it down. I’m not as confident as you, and doubt is a killer.”
“Why do you question your decisions?” It’s the first thing our mentors taught us—trust the process be confident moving forward.
She turns, eyes wide. “I have always doubted myself.”
“Gi.” I take both her hands. “Doubt is a waste of energy. It doesn’t change the result or what you do tomorrow. We work hard toward our goals. I practice every day. If we lose, I practice the next day to be a better player. If we win, I still practice to be a better player.” I move strands of hair away from those brown eyes that are searching for understanding. “If your art is not what you thought, you either improve it or create another. If a deal goes sour, you propose other ideas. Doubting your ability gets you nowhere. Losing or winning is the same, just with different emotions. We get up and do it again, only better. Whether we fail or succeed, the process doesn’t change.”
“You’re right,” she whispers. “I’ve wasted so much time doubting and procrastinating.”
“Now, get dressed so we can eat before I have to catch my flight.”
“I’ll be about twenty minutes to apply my makeup and style my hair.” She grabs her makeup bag and retreats to the bathroom.
Twenty minutes. I’m not going to waste it by sitting around.
I strip off my shirt and trousers, then grab the books on the coffee table and pile them on the floor. Sitting on my rear, I place the books to the side, and bending one leg to my chest, I wrap my arms around my knee for balance. I lift the extended leg and over the pile of books, back and forth twenty times before switching legs. Then I repeat it but faster. Positioning the books behind and to the side, I go on all fours, extend a leg and the opposite arm, and lift my straight leg over the book pile, back and forth. Switch legs. Repeat it faster.
I roll my ankle, stretching it out. Standing, I utilize the desk chair by lifting one leg and lunging into it, keeping my back leg straight and pushing into a deep Achilles stretch. Then I do the same without the chair, with extra pressure through the ankle.
I hop side to side, quicker, higher, then switch legs. My ankles feel great.
While I missed training, the rest is what I needed, and mentally, I’m recharged. Not by being in another country on a mini vacation but by being with Giana and seeing her in her element. Kicking goals. Being rewarded and applauded. It gives me a kick, even more than receiving my own accolades.
I finish up with jump lunges. It’s not enough to call it a training session, but it’s better than nothing, and I didn’t sweat, so I redress, sit on the bed, and wait a few more minutes for Giana.
The bathroom door opens, and I push up from the edge of the bed.
Wow.
“You look beautiful.” I lower my gaze, taking in her tight black strapless dress that clings to her waist before following her curves and ending midthigh. “Is it too late to cancel our dinner reservation?”
She smiles at me, lowers her eyes, and wipes her hands over the material. “It’s my favorite little black dress.”
“I don’t care what it is. I want it off you.”
She shakes her head. “Later, Byron. I still have a list for Rome I want you to see.”
Fuck Rome. The best it has to offer is right in front of me.
She takes my hand. “Wine and dine me, then I’m all yours.”