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He looks down at the mess and nods in agreement. “Yeah, I think I have flour in places flour doesn’t belong.”
My heart does a backflip, and I can feel a lump of anxiety growing in my throat. “I meant together. Save some water or whatever.” The words come out in a hoarse whisper, but it’s loud enough to garner Cesare’s attention.
His dark eyes dilate, and I watch as his pupil grows. “Kes,” he lowers his voice, “are you sure that’s a good idea?” His tone is husky with desire.
If I want to back out, this is my chance. All I have to do is laugh and tell him it was a joke. But I’m dead serious. I want to see him naked. I want to lather him up with soap and wash away the flour. I want to kiss the scar forming on his shoulder from the bullet he took for me. I want to touch all the parts of his body that I haven’t felt since one reckless night at college. “Only if you want to.” I dare to say the words I’ve been too afraid to say.
Cesare doesn’t hesitate like me. He gets to his feet and lends me a hand. As he pulls me up, he looks down at my flour-drenched clothes. “We’re going to track flour all over the house.”
“Not if we strip here.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I grab my shirt and pull it over my head, exposing my torso and breasts.
A remarkable imprint of Cesare’s cock is now outlined by his pants. “Kessa,” he pauses, his eyes glued to my chest, “I feel like I should say something. What we’re doing is dangerous. This is uncharted territory.”
Then call me an explorer because I want to chart it. I want to put us on the map. I want to explore every inch of his body and be the person to write books about it. “Don’t think about it anymore, Cesare. Let’s just do this. I need this.”
There is a whine in my tone that makes me physically nauseous. Listening to myself beg for his attention and having sex with him makes me want to curl up into a ball and die. But the vulnerability of such an admission is the part that cuts the deepest. Because if he rejects me or says we should talk about this, I’m afraid I might scream, cry, and throw up all at the same time.
But Cesare grabs the hem of his shirt and slowly removes it. It falls into the flour with an almost unnoticeable plop, sending a dust of white into the air. “I am always here for you, Kessa.”
Our clothes are forgotten in the kitchen’s mess. The stove is shut off as we head to the master bathroom. Our footsteps leave powder on everything we touch, a trail leading back to the kitchen where this all began.
I’ve been in Cesare’s room a dozen times since I’ve been here, but it feels different when we’re standing naked in the bathroom with the shower running. Light streams through the window and the smell of eucalyptus fills the air; a banded group of stems hangs from the shower head.
It’s like something out of a soap opera. As the heat of the water fills the room with steam, we step beneath the jets, and everything changes.
13
CESARE
Idon’t know where her body ends, and mine begins. When the soap comes out, it’s a free for all of touching, rubbing, and moaning. Everything is wet and bubbly; it’s a dream come true.
With her ass pressed against my front, I reach around to grope her breasts. She presses her head against my chest, and her eyelids flutter closed as I massage every part of her that I can touch. I have waited for this moment for years. I dreamt about it when she was married to Peter. I fantasized about it when she was single again. But nothing comes close to living it.
The tips of her hair stick together as she leans against me. I roll a nipple between my thumb and forefinger and watch as the skin pebbles beneath my touch. Her teeth come out to graze her bottom lip, and I use her body language to guide my hands. One slips down the front of her body until I can feel a wet, sparse patch of curls on her mound.
Kessa’s hand tops mine momentarily, moving my fingers down further until they caress her slit. The space between her legs is warm, and I allow my fingers to stroke the silk of her core. Her moans are as soft as kitten mewls, so I increase my fervor.
I move my hand from one breast to the other and squeeze her nipple between my fingers. At the same time, I drag my hand between her legs, settling on her clit with a strum of my thumb as though she’s an instrument. The pain of her nipple and the pleasure from her sensitive little nub cause her to gasp. I ease my fingers for a few moments before squeezing again, twisting her nipple one way and then the other until her body dances against my touch.
Frustration gets the better of her because she grabs my wrist after a few moments and presses my hand harder against her clit. With her hips tilted in response, she tries to get as much friction as possible. I release her nipple to give myself better access to the rest of her body. The hot water makes me sweat now that I’m touching the woman I’ve spent my entire adult life fantasizing about.
It’s one hell of an aphrodisiac to watch her come. It takes a few minutes with my hands scouring her body, rubbing and touching the wet, glistening skin. I make circles around her clit with my fingers, and she rocks her body back and forth depending on the friction she needs to get off. But when she does, she throws her hands against the walls to brace herself and explodes all over my fingers. She tosses her head back, and it slams into my chest, sending a sharp pain ricocheting through my injured shoulder. But I don’t care if I was shot again right now. I couldn’t stop touching her even if my life depended on it.
When she stops writhing, and her body collapses into mine, I wrap my arms around her waist and just hold her under the jets of the falling water while she recovers. But nothing lasts forever, not even our hot water. After a while, the droplets turn lukewarm and then start to transition to cold. Kessa reaches forward to shut off the water and asks if it’s okay after that fact. There are goosebumps on her arms, and I promise her that it’s okay.
There’s enough steam from our shower that the bathroom is hazy as we step out. I pass her a towel, and she wraps herself up like a burrito. She watches from a few feet away as I wipe down, drying every inch of my body. If she were anyone else, I’d lewdly ask if she likes what she sees. But she’s my best friend. So instead, I leave the towel on the floor when I’m done, and I walk over to her. “How do you feel?”
Francesca looks up at me with a guilty look in her eyes. “Can I admit something to you?”
She could tell me she killed a man, and I wouldn’t look at her differently. If anything, I’d ask her if she needs help burying the body. “You can admit anything to me, Kes. You know that.”
Her red locks are pressed to her chest in a state of disarray. Her green eyes look wild, and her skin flushes when she asks me if I want to fuck her.
“That’s a tough question. Not because I don’t,” I tell her honestly, “but because I don’t want that to be all there is between us, Kes. I want to have sex with you, make love to you, and fuck you within an inch of your life. But I also want to go downstairs afterward and have dinner and talk about what happened today or what we’re going to do tomorrow. I want to be more than just the guy that gets you off. I want to be your partner, Kessa. I want to be by your side when we walk out of this room, not just the guy that fucked you and let you go.”
Francesca drops her towel. “I don’t know what I want just yet, Cesare, but I know that right now, I just want to be close to you. I want to be close to the only person who has always been by my side.”
The door to a relationship hasn’t been slammed in my face, but it isn’t open, either. There’s a crack that allows me to peer into our future. Maybe it’ll pan out, maybe not, but I’ll never know if I don’t give her what she wants now. She’s trying to drown her fears with familiarity, and I will not take that from her.
