I whimpered as the tension inside of me escalated and I rested my forehead against his as I flexed my hips against the thrusts of his fingers. “Marco,” I breathed as I neared climax. My hands fumbled between us for the zipper on his jeans. “Inside me.”
He didn’t need to be asked twice.
He quickly freed himself and I lifted myself up onto my knees, inelegantly hurrying to slip my underwear off. As soon as it was out of my way I guided him inside me and slowly lowered back down.
“Marco,” I panted, feeling that beautiful fullness take over me.
I clutched his shoulders, watching the way his eyes darkened as his cock slid inside me. His fingers bit into my hips as I lowered as far as I could and lifted myself back up. I wrapped my arms around his neck, bringing us flush so I could kiss him.
Our breathing was out of control as our kiss turned erotic, mimicking the rhythm of our bodies.
Then tension inside me reached breaking point and I stiffened and moaned into his mouth as the orgasm rolled over me. My inner muscles rippled around him and I felt his answering grunt vibrate through me at the same time I felt him swell even thicker inside me before his hot release filled me.
I pulsed around him, pulling back to look into his eyes as I struggled to get my breath back.
“Well,” I grinned, feeling languid and satisfied, “That was unexpected. The fact that we could get caught made it surprisingly hot.”
He laughed softly, his gaze tender as he brushed his thumb over my lower lip. “It’s always hot with you.”
I smiled, pleased, before I gently rose up. I pouted comically as he slipped out of me and he chuckled. We sorted our clothing with all the comfortableness of a married couple, like we hadn’t just had sex in a public place where anyone might have seen us. It was reckless, it was probably foolish, but fuck it, it was Valentine’s Day and it was hot and sweet and I enjoyed the hell out of it.
Feeling more than a little smug, I settled beside Marco on the picnic blanket with all the demureness I could muster. He stared at me as he handed me the pastries his uncle Gio, who owned an Italian restaurant, must have made us.
“What?” I said, curious at his sudden intensity.
He shook his head as he got comfortable, lying down, half on his side, his right elbow holding up his upper body so he could talk and eat. “I just like it that I know more about you than anyone else does that’s all.”
“What? The lady in the street but a freak in the bed part?”
Marco raised an eyebrow. “Did you just quote Usher at me?”
I struggled not to laugh. “Maybe.”
“I wouldn’t have put it like that.” He shrugged. “But I have pieces of you no one else has… I like that. Just like you have pieces of me that no one else can or will ever have.”
“I like it too.”
He nodded, happy with that before he took a bite into the delicious food Gio had given us. As we ate in companionable silence, I gazed around me before my eyes locked on the bench we’d sat on all those years ago.
We’d sat there and he’d told me about his uncle who back then had been abusive. He’d mellowed in his old age, but it had taken me a long time to be cordial to the man, knowing how he used to behave around Marco. That night Marco had told me why he’d left the States, about how lonely life had been for him. I’d ached so much for him. We sat there for hours talking about everything and nothing, and one of the things we talked about was our idea of the perfect date. Marco had just said he didn’t date. But he wanted to know what my idea of a perfect date was anyway.
I smiled remembering.
When we first got back together he set that perfect date up for me.
I looked over at him to find him watching me. “You remember everything about that night, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Every word.”
I finished off my pastry, brushing the crumbs off my fingers. “I think we did the right thing starting off as friends.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we were best friends first right. That means when we’re older we’ll still always have that. Our friendship. I think it’s what keeps couples together more than anything else.”
Marco frowned. “What does that mean?”
Sensing he was irritated by the comment I hurried to explain. “Well people get older, passion...,” I searched for the right word, “Dilutes.”