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“I thought you never allow women into your bed.” She bites my neck and rolls her hips, meeting me halfway, like she knows my body like the palm of her hand.
“What did you want me to say?” I groan out, my pleasure so acute I can barely breathe. “Sorry, you can’t get into my bedroom because Istole a giant poster of you from your workplace. PS, please don’t file a restraining order against me?”
“Why’d you do that?”
“Become your stalker?” I thrust into her, staring deep into her eyes. I’m trying to concentrate on the conversation so I don’t blow my load after five minutes. “It was premeditated, believe it or not.”
She reaches to kiss me. “No. Take the poster.”
“So I’d always feel close to you.”
This pleases her, and she picks up the pace while I tug at the front of her dress, freeing those magnificent breasts. I pull her down by holding one button between my fingers, then suck on one of her nipples hungrily.
Her head drops to my shoulder. “Arsène.”
“Winnie.”
She stops. For a moment, I think something’s happened. She straightens her back, though I’m still inside her. I feel my pulse in my balls. My cock would scream if it could.
“What?” I ask.
“You called me Winnie.”
I smile. “It’s your name.”
“You never call me by my nickname. Other than that one time, you’ve only called me Winnifred or Bumpkin.”
In one swift movement, I flip her over on her back, pinning her underneath me, doing all of this without withdrawing from her once. I kiss the tip of her nose.
“That’s because everyone calls you that, and I always wanted you to remember me.”
She strokes my cheek. “There wasn’t one moment in time since Italy that I haven’t remembered you.”
I pound into her. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the air. It is brutal. It is hungry. It’s nothing like I’m used to. We’re in our own little bubble. I never want to leave.
She gasps, digging her nails into my back, like she is about to fall apart. I thrust into her, harder still, faster, almost manically. Because I have no guarantee that I will see her tomorrow. No one promised me this is hello and not a goodbye. We haven’t spoken yet, and the sense of urgency is seizing each of my bones in a choke hold.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she pants.
She arches beneath me, spasms around my cock, and suddenly, she feels hotter—much hotter—and my balls tighten as I come inside her.
When I collapse on top of her, we’re both sweaty and wasted. Two bags of useless limbs. So human, so mortal, it is almost laughable that what we shared right now was divine. When I pull away a little to give her some space—crushing to death the woman I love is not on my agenda—she looks confused and childlike.
“You okay?” I ask.
She presses her lips together. “That really depends on how our next conversation is going to go.”
After we take a shower together, we dress to the sound of the city waking up. Winnifred leans against the poster I stole of her, her arms pressed behind the small of her back. She is staring at me as I get dressed. It’s a small gesture, but I’m not used to being observed. I decide I like it.
“What if we can never have babies?” she blurts out into the room. The question echoes between the walls.
“Then we’ll never have babies.” I roll a sock up my foot. “Why must there be anifabout it. Since when do babies determine the strength of a relationship, or lack of?”
“We mayneverbe able to have biological babies.” Her eyes are shining in the blue-pinkish hue of dawn, like two diamonds. She is thinking about Paul. She is thinking about the disappointment, the pain, the betrayal. She is worried about history repeating itself.
“You mean, we’ll be able to spend our time traveling all over the world, making memories, living the high life, and fucking twenty-four seven? I’ll try to bear the burden of such a scenario.” I stand up, but I don’t make a move toward her. Not yet.
“Oh, be serious.” She stomps her foot on my granite floor.
