Dents and scratches marked the wall behind the headboard. I stroked the stone window sill while I watched the sun kiss the Vatican’s vast dome. The morning breeze tickled my bare legs. It danced across the floor and tousled the sheet on my lover’s abdomen.
I strolled toward the bed to admire the sleeping Centurion. Trickles of sweat snaked his chiselled cheeks and caused his stubble to glisten. I felt a rush of warmth as I remembered our night. We kissed near the Trevi Fountain and he carried me up the Spanish Steps.
The first horns raised the Roman dust outside. My great stallion stirred as my fingers danced around his firm biceps. My thrilled fingers squeezed. A mellow warm breath floated across my knuckles as my hand eased toward his sleeping face. My fingers rubbed memories of his midnight kisses across my lips.
The first whispers of Italian floated up from the street as the city began to breathe for another day. I saw the wet crystal glasses, a puddle of melted ice, the ice-pick and the empty plate from which we fed each other. I caught a glimpse of his groomed pubic line. Everything about him sang perfection.
I straddled his sculptured body and he grabbed my thighs. He smirked. He knew he ruled. I leaned forward and kissed his Roman lips that melted into mine. His girth lingered deep inside me. He yearned to experience a little death once more.
I felt resistance while I watched his head thrust back into the pillow. I heard only my breath. The thick muscle of his chiselled chest gave way as if butter. He caught his breath in his throat and his eyes widened. Each muscle in his body clenched.
I gazed into his pleading eyes as he had mine the night before when he died for a moment inside me. Deeper I plunged until the handle rested on his hot chest.
Our eyes held their gaze. His tender hand wiped a falling tear rolling down my cheek. I heard his final words as the sheets turned red. It was a soft whisper that stabbed my heart: “Ti amo.”