Bella Frances - Postcards From Buenos Aires

‘Oh, Rocco …’ she said as the waves began to break.

He stood up in one smooth movement. She held on as he began to walk, as he repositioned her, cradled her and carried her forward. She held on to the thick column of his neck and pulled herself close as he walked slowly back to the bedroom.

He opened the door and carried her in, walked right over to the bed and laid her down as if she were a silken cloth. He moved over her and stared down at her. She stared back. Up at his face, still intense—always intense—but softer now.

‘You sweet, sweet girl,’ he said as he slowly unbuttoned the shirt she’d thrown on.

She sat up, threaded her hands through his hair and pulled him down to her. She kissed him. Over and over. That was all. Just kissed him. Feeling those lips that she’d come to cherish for the pleasure they gave. Kissing and holding and adoring him. Nursing him with her body. And her heart.

Those words welled up in her throat again. But she swallowed them down.

He touched her as if she was treasure, moved her carefully on the bed, began to stoke their sexual love with his mouth and his hands. She climbed higher and higher, beginning to lose track of where she ended and he began.

‘Frankie, carina … ’

He eased her legs open with his thighs and slid inside her. Huge and thick, he filled her completely, perfectly. Inches from her face she felt his warm breath. She ran her hands over the rough stubble of his jaw, felt the enveloping power of his body around her.

She knew the crescendo was coming, but each honeyed beat of the prelude was immense. So perfectly, precisely slowly he eased himself in and out of her. Rocco … her wounded soldier … her love. The words choked her as she kissed him and he kissed her back, murmuring sounds about how he treasured her until she knew she could hold on no longer.

Never, ever had she known the depths of such feeling for another human as their lovemaking throbbed to its final conclusion and she broke like a concerto of strings all around him and cried out the blissful joy from her heart.

He collapsed onto her, crushing her, winding her in the most perfect way possible. His hair-roughened limbs and stubbled jaw were her satin sheets. Their breath and sweat mingled. Light from the neglected hall doorway seeped into the room and soothed the night’s edges with silvery strokes.

And together they lay, weary, slipping into slumbers and dreams, knowing that they’d crossed some giant divide and there was no longer any way back.

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