Roman Crazy
Page 39

“This makes me happy, to know you liked seeing my city.”
I knew he was telling the truth. He’d always liked to make me happy, to find out what I liked, and what I loved. Emboldened, I looked up at him. “I’m thinking right now of something I’d like.”
His eyes changed instantly, smoldering. “Maybe a kiss?”
I held my breath, turning my lips up in silent answer.
He cupped my face and lowered his mouth to each of my cheeks.
“I was thinking somewhere else,” I admitted, licking my lips when his eyes flickered to my mouth.
“I’m afraid if I kiss you the way I want to, I won’t stop.”
I nodded, not quite agreeing, but unable to say the words that would give him the okay, the “let’s make this real again.”
“Good night, Avery.” Marcello held my eyes as he walked down the steps.
I thought back to each time today when he almost or I almost. When we were crushed together in the crowd outside the Colosseum. When he wrapped his arm around me as we walked along the Tiber. And the night before, when he’d picked me up as though I weighed nothing to lift me over the velvet rope and I almost let him kiss me the way I was desperate for him to.
And I hadn’t let him.
“Marcello,” I whispered, not loud enough that I thought he’d hear me.
Oh, but he did. And in three strides he was back up the stairs.
He was on me before I could barely take a breath, his body flattening mine into the brick wall. His mouth hot, hungry, and demanding against my neck, along my shoulder, and up to my ear, where he whispered, “Give me your lips.”
I wanted nothing more than to pull him into the shadows and have my wicked way with him.
Why can’t you? a voice whispered in my head. You deserve this.
I put my hand under his chin to stare into those beautiful eyes before I took those beautiful lips. Oh my goodness, his lips. Soft and strong, they felt the same, they tasted the same. He kissed me crazy once, then twice, then what felt like a thousand times, and still not enough.
“I didn’t realize how much I missed you. Missed your mouth,” he purred, frantically angling me up the stairs.
“Marcello,” I sighed, my lips tangled with his. There was nothing in the world like kissing this man. And I wanted more than ever to kiss him for hours without a care in the world, reacquaint myself with every contour and plane of his exquisite mouth.
But this reunion was anything but relaxed. This was nine years, nine years, of going without this kind of passion.
With a thud, my back hit Daisy’s front door. We fumbled against each other, laughing and still kissing, as he held both of my hands above my head in one of his. His other hand quickly untucked the hem of my shirt, slipping beneath with ease. I gasped into his mouth as his fingers danced along my rib cage. I needed this, oh, God I needed him! I needed his hands on my body more, now, in this instant. My gasp turned quickly into a groan, spurring on his movements as his fingers slid underneath the edge of my bra, smooth and rough, and I loved it.
I was pushing my body toward him while trying to loosen his grip on my hands. I wanted to touch him back. To thread my hands into his hair, to hold his face in my hands while he panted heavily against my skin, but he wouldn’t ease up.
When he finally did let go, I overshot my mark and lost my balance, sending us both bumping into the wide-mouthed planters on Daisy’s porch. They clattered and smashed against the wrought-iron railings before cracking against the steps.
Within seconds, Daisy popped out of the window and looked over at us, laughing.
“Oh, hey guys. What’s going on? Aw, I liked that planter.”
Marcello leaned heavily against me, resting his forehead in the crook of my neck, and I could feel him smiling against my skin. “Daisy, cara,” he said, his voice muffled. “I will replace the pot. Buona sera.”
She began to hum before disappearing into the window.
Marcello took a minute to help me straighten my clothes. I watched him smooth my blouse with painstaking care. He was quiet, thoughtful while he took care to make sure I was put back together after being wonderfully ravaged. Maybe it was a reflection of what had just happened or perhaps what we both knew would happen if he stayed.
I took his hand from the edge of my shirt and brought it to my cheek, loving the feeling of warmth against my skin.
“When can I see you again?” he asked when I leaned in to kiss him again. A light brush of my lips quickly turned into another deep, searching kiss.
“Avery, when?” he begged, kissing my lips, my cheeks, forehead. “When?”
My brain was fuzzy, kiss addled, and blank. “Soon,” I said between kisses. “I promise. It needs to be soon.”
With another quick peck, he said, “Soon.” With a wink, he slid down the railing and disappeared around the corner, whistling the whole way.
* * *
WITH THE WEEKEND UPON US, I danced barefoot into the kitchen, humming a tune I’d heard at the pizzeria yesterday. I didn’t know what it was, but it was going to be my new cheery go-to song.
“Good morning, best friend,” I sang, clinking the cups to the beat in my head. I grabbed a wooden spoon and the coffee tamper and began my own rhythmic beat on her countertop while shaking my ass at Daisy.
She was sitting at the counter, coffee in hand, waiting.
“Someone is feeling good this morning, sorry it’s technically afternoon. Singing through the pain?”
“The pain? Whatever do you mean?” I replied as the shiny espresso monster roared to life.
“You had my door knocker digging into your back last night. I figured you’d be sore. I can see that your lips got a workout.” She snickered.