Hello, My Sexy Saturday Readers and Writers!
A little more from my WIP “Ardent Fire,” set in Renaissance Florence.
Morello had emptied the olive oil into a dish and now set it on a low table by the magnificent bed. He padded to Benedetto’s side and grasped hold of the hem of his shirt. At the determined look in his lover’s eyes, Benedetto said with some alarm, “It doesn’t belong to me, don’t rip it!”
Morello took a step closer. “You don’t have to hide yourself from me.” He pulled the shirt gently over Benedetto’s head. Smoothing the ruffled curls, he went on. “When you are a frail old man with white hair and a wrinkled face you will still be beautiful to me, my heart.”
Unaccountably, the damn tears rose in Benedetto’s eyes again and spilled down his cheeks, hot and swift.
What, I’m a burbling fountain now?
“I didn’t say it to make you cry.” Morello enfolded him once more in his arms. “I thought to make you happy, for once. Yet I seem to have failed.”
“You do make me happy. Being with you makes me happy. I’m sorry if I made you feel otherwise.” Benedetto wiped at his tears with the back of his hand. “I think I’m like the river after a season of rain, overflowing my banks.” Benedetto would have said more, but Morello kissed him and went on kissing him as he pushed him gently toward the bed. Benedetto returned his kisses with a passion that shocked him, a reminder of the midsummer tryst they had shared, and of the warm sun Morello brought to this cold place in his heart. “Damn. There I go again.”
“A few moments in the bed with me and you will only cry for mercy,” Morello promised, pushed him down into the soft depths, and climbed in after him.