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“I want to go home,” she sniffs, “I'm hungry and I'm sure Evelyn made breakfast already,” she deflates.
I love the sound of that.
Home.
I smile at her, “We won't make it for breakfast, and no way I'll keep you hunger through our drive down home, so we will get something here or anything you want on the way,” I stroke her damp cheeks with the back of my palms, smoothing out the lines left by tears.
She nods, “I'll go wash up,” she points at the bathroom behind her and I nod.
“Take all the time you need,” I open the door for her and step back to let her go in, then close it behind her.
This thing we have that is without a label seems to be getting to a point of mutual understanding. I throw myself on the bed and smile to myself, then go to get the weed I never needed on the nightstand and light it up. I'm not smoking to keep the beast away or put my mind at peace. It already is. It's so quiet in my head that I might be worried.
I light the weed up and drag, smoking for the sake of wanting to keep myself busy with something while she gets ready.
I'm done with smoking and beginning to get bored just waiting when she steps out of the bathroom, looking refreshed, but well fucked. Wild eyes, heated cheeks, and swollen lips. Now I just need to feed her.
“You took forever,” I stand.
“I needed to clean up properly,” she shrugs and walks to the sex seat and I tear my eyes away immediately when memories of last night buzz through my quiet mind.
“My turn, watch a pro get cleaned in seconds.”
She scrunches her nose, “What normally chases men out of the bathroom?”
“The arch enemy of what keeps women in there,” I chuckle.
I walk into the bathroom, and almost cuss at the interior designer for the horrendous color choice. At least the room has black to temper down the obsession with white.
As promised, I am done with cleaning up quickly and out of the bathroom to meet her standing by the window.
I pick up my white polo vest crumpled in a corner on the bed and put it on, then move about to gather my brown dress shoes and slip into them.
“It's not as beautiful as last night,” she lets go of the drape and exhales sharply.
“There's a charm to darkness.” I have always thought daytime has no charm at all, just some boring flood of light on everything, but with nighttime, the light can be controlled and there's no end to how magical things can be made to look. “Shall we?” I stand and she nods.
We walk like a couple out of the hotel to my car in the parking lot, no physical touch even though I'm dying to feel her cling to me. I hold the door for her and she climbs in. I'm turning to the driver's seat when my phone begins to vibrate in the pocket of my suit that is thrown on my arm.
I scowl at the screen when I see Orazio’s name, throw the suit, shirt, and jacket in the back seat, then strap my seatbelt on before receiving his call.
“Is this what modern relationships are about, being comfortable to go to bed and wake up without speaking to your Amore?”
I huff and drive us out of the parking lot with one hand, accepting my mistake of putting the call on loudspeaker.
“He had a mistress with him,” Rosaline chimes.
“Did he now?” Orazio gasps, “I thought we were rid of you, Rosa?”
“I'm hard to get rid of,” she seems to be getting him now, smiling and enthusiastic about the call.
“What do men even want?” Orazio scoffs.
“Well, I know this one doesn't want you,” she snorts and it's my turn to smile.
“This means war,” Orazio grunts.
“Bring it on,” she leans over to say that part, for effect, even though I'm now holding the phone in her direction.
