Amore

It’s a hot, slow Sunday afternoon, the kind of heat everyone complains about, the kind that makes you beg for relief. He and I are sitting in his nearly bare apartment, the windows open with what little breeze there is blowing through the grills. Moments ago, we were strolling the neighborhood, stretching the hours as long as we could. I wasn’t ready to part ways, neither was he. So we’re extending the weekend a little bit longer.

He, being stubborn and Italian, insisted, after hours of wandering around for a decent coffee, on making one for me instead. 

He wonders how anyone could stomach the brown dishwater sold for five dollars outside. I wonder how he manages to stand this tropical heat, my thin white blouse clinging to my skin. I turn my back away from him while he moves around the kitchen, hoping to cool off a little before he’s finished. I feel beads of sweat pooling across my forehead, gathering in the space between my breasts. I become extremely aware of my flushed complexion, a contrast to his pale, almost marble skin.

This is the first time I’m dating someone as mature as him, in both age and thought, and I’m questioning how I compare. Gabriele isn’t like everyone else. For the first time I feel challenged, I want to prove myself worthy of his attention.

He is a beautiful man: tall and lean with deep dark eyes, a strong nose, and a square chin. He’s got an unruly mess of silver, white, and dark hair. He has striking black tattoos that run down both arms, and he carries himself with quiet strength.

This is my first time in his apartment. It’s exactly how I thought it would be. No frills. Practical. But with a bit of mystery. Like him. He notices me looking around and as if answering the question in my head, says, “I know it’s bare. I moved in a few months ago, but don’t really need anything. It’s just a space for sleeping and a little work.”

I watch him in silent fascination: noticing how the muscles on his arms tense beneath his shirt as he opens a bag of coffee beans and grinds them, how deftly his fingers move across the filter paper as he folds it and places it in the dripper, how his lips part ever so slightly as he watches the hot water slowly drip through, filling the glass container below. He runs a hand roughly through his hair, bending his knees for a closer look. My mind wanders to the possibility of this early evening turning into something more. 

I’m suddenly hit by a stab of desire; in this moment, I want him to see me, truly see me. To recognize that I am strong and fierce, as much as I am feminine and soft. To have him gaze into my warm, brown eyes and beg for my thoughts, to see me from across a crowded room and want me instantly. To understand that I am someone who is capable of understanding his every glance and gesture, even his silence. I want him to know and desire me for my intelligence and sensitivities as much as for my body. I want to know who he is and feel the same in return. 

“Do you have any plans?” he asks. I don’t. I had stumbled into bed only this morning and was looking forward to going home for a quiet night. He laughs and tells me that’s a good idea. He says he would do the same, except that he has a jazz performance at a local favorite spot for spicy mango rum and coconut gin. He plays the saxophone and considers it one of life’s few joys. 

He has to leave in an hour, but isn’t rushing me out. He steps into the bathroom to change and comes back, looking perfect in blue jeans and a black t-shirt that skims his chest muscles. He glances in the mirror, mutters something in Italian, and runs his fingers through his long locks, trying to bring some order to his unruly hair. I stand, ready to depart. “We still have time; we don’t have to leave just yet. I want to spend more time with you,” he says, and holds out his hand to me. I slowly take it and realize my hand is shaking a little as I do. My heart’s starting to beat faster. “I do too,” I say, my voice a whisper. 

He sits down and pulls me to him. We’re so close to each other, that I can see all the details on his face. He asks if this is okay, that he’s so close to me. I nod. He then asks if he can touch my arm, and I nod again.

He takes my hands in his and examines them. He turns my palms over and tenderly rubs the tiny, white scar I have on my right palm. I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out.

He starts running his hands up and down my arms as if I’m cold and need warming up. He carefully squeezes them at different points; the pressure feels good. I can feel the hair at the back of my neck rising. I exhale softly and squeeze my thighs together. I shift my weight from one foot to the other.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice low and firm. 

I bend toward him, tentatively putting my lips on his. I close my eyes, fully leaning into him as his arms hold my waist. My whole body is warm now, a tingling sensation spreading all over. Aroused, I start to pick up the pace, but he kisses me slowly, purposefully. 

I feel him shift as he makes a low, rumbling sound at the back of his throat, a gentle warning. The heat between my legs starts to grow. When we pause for air, we’re both a little breathless. His soft look is gone, replaced with a piercing, primal gaze. He puts one hand around the bottom of my right thigh and lifts my leg onto the chair. I follow with my other leg, getting onto his lap and wrapping both legs around him. 

I’m still wearing my boots. He removes my black purse from my shoulder, and it slides to the floor. He pulls me closer until we’re nose to nose, my arms wrapped around his neck. He starts undulating beneath me. 

The bottom of my skirt scrunches up above my thighs; I can feel his rough jeans press against the soft fabric of my blue thong. I keep my gaze steady, moving my body with him, quietly moaning now, with my mouth partially open. Tight-lipped, his eyes are fixed on mine.

I feel him hard underneath me, my thong is damp. I want him. I want him so badly and I can tell he wants me in equal measure. He continues moving against the soft, wet spot between my thighs, harder this time, and I moan louder. 

“Yes, that’s it,” he says. The ache between my legs is now a white-hot throb.

“I want you,” he says, tracing his thumb across the inside of my bottom lip. 

He leads me to his bedroom and begins to crawl over me on the bed. I’m on my back, opening my legs to meet him as he presses his body against mine, careful not to put his full weight on me. He’s fully hard now, his cock bulging underneath his jeans. I feel a hand slide down; he undoes the button of my skirt and pulls down the zipper, sliding his hand down the front of my mound.

I moan instantly as his thumb circles my clit. Slowly at first, gradually picking up pace. I stop kissing him to moan, biting my lip, and he looks at me with intent. He shifts his body to lie down beside me, his hand still working me between my legs. I turn my head to face him and spread my legs wider, my pleasure building. 

He’s so calm, so focused. This turns me on even more, pushing me further into pleasure. He gets up to kneel in front of me and carefully removes my skirt and thong. I remove my blouse and bra, my mouth dry and fingers trembling with anticipation. He grabs me by my thighs and pulls me into his mouth, pressing his tongue firmly against my clit. I gasp, as he runs his tongue up and down my opening, reaching all the way down. I’m completely at his mercy. 

He licks me slowly, each time getting harder, until he stops in the middle and pushes his tongue straight into me. He moans with satisfaction when he does. I moan again loudly, hot and flushed all over. I lock eyes with him, pleading for him to fuck me, my voice desperate and high-pitched. He shakes his head and continues to push his tongue in and out of me, licking all around my opening, teasing my lips, tasting every inch of me. He keeps his eyes on me the whole time. I sit on my elbows and watch him watching me, my mouth wide open. By now, I’m trying not to close my thighs from pleasure; my lips are swollen, tender, and wet. Keeping his tongue at a steady pace, he slides a finger inside and I moan even louder. I’m ready, desperate to unravel. He feverishly slides his finger in and out while he concentrates on my clit. I watch helplessly, whimpering. 

He slides another finger in and pushes deeper. I can see his mouth glisten with my wetness. I’m begging now—“Gabriele…” I can barely get his name out. I feel myself tighten around him. Knuckle-deep inside me, he fingers me firmly as I continue saying his name until I’m finally forced to lie down, arch my back, and close my eyes, cumming hard. I grasp the sheets around me to stop my body from thrashing, to stop myself from pulling away. He quickly pulls his fingers out and holds me down in place, pushing his tongue back into me. I continue to cum in his mouth. I scream his name this time—“Gabriele!”

He slowly loosens his grip on my thighs and he comes up to check on me, brushing stray, damp hairs from my face. I’m covered in sweat, and he is, too. “Are you okay, amore?” he asks. I nod and smile, still unable to speak. My body is humming with pleasure. “Yes, that was…amazing,” I finally let out. I’m suddenly feeling sheepish. “Good,” he says, cupping my face in his hands. 

He lies down beside me and catches his breath; he’s still fully clothed. My hand searches for his, and we hold hands for a few minutes until I roll on my side to face him and place my hand gently on his cock. “Don’t you have to leave soon?” I ask. He looks at me, a half smile on his face, and pulls me in for a kiss. His lips are still wet, and as his tongue pushes into my mouth, I taste myself. I hesitate, but then feel a wild urge begin to overtake me. I close my eyes, leaning into the ravenous desire he’s awakened. Feral, I kiss him back, my tongue curling around his. I straddle him and we continue to tongue each other, his hands grabbing me as they move up and down my thighs.  

He flips me on my back with a swift gesture, then growls “Turn over, I’m going to fuck you now.” His voice is clear, demanding. I nod, wide-eyed and biting my lip, and turn onto my stomach as he fully undresses and slips the condom on. ”Arms up,” he says. I obey, and he grabs hold of my wrists while he slides his cock inside me. I moan at feeling him stretch me. He slowly pulls out his cock and thrusts back in, hard. I moan louder, face down on the bed. “Do you like that?” he whispers. I manage a “yes” and he continues to fuck me hard, pulling out each time so that the tip of his cock remains inside me before he thrusts back, hard and deep. The sheets muffle my moans as he fucks me long and hard. 

His breathing gets harsher as his thrusts get deeper, and the sound of his body slapping against mine fills the air. No one’s ever fucked me like this before; I’ve never felt this much pleasure. I cum hard again, his thrusts still firm but slower as I tighten around him. He holds me down while I cum. When my body calms, he says my name, “Alexandra.” I turn to look at him. He kisses my face, “Did you enjoy that?”

”Uh huh,” I whisper. “I want you to cum now.” 

He kisses me again and tightens his hands around my wrists. He tells me to close my legs tight and I obey. He slides his cock in again and fucks me hard and fast, grunting and moaning roughly as he cums. I cum once more with him, biting down on the sheets as I do. 

We lie side by side on the bed quiet, our breathing jagged. 

“I have to leave now,” he says, handing me a glass of water from beside the bed. “Do you want to come with me? If not, you can stay here if you like. I won’t be gone long, and I’d love to see you again later.” He gently brushes a hand against my cheek.

I’m still on his bed, naked. I get up and wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, “I’ll be here waiting for you when you come back.” His arms circle tightly around me as he replies, sending goosebumps all over my body, “I can’t wait to taste you again, amore.”

Photo by Anna Savelieva