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That is the dirtiest thing I’d ever done.
Corrado lingers above me. The quiet after the storm that has passed creates an intimate moment I wish to savor and plant in my memory. Wide shoulders, mouth glistening with evidence of my pleasure, hair falling over his forehead.
“A million for your thoughts.”
I don’t correct him by saying it’s a penny. I’m sure he knows and says it his way anyway.
I swallow. “I’m thinking about how handsome you are.”
“And?”
“And how terrifying it is to be this attracted to you.”
“But?”
He wants me to bare my heart. I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. “But I want to experience you anyway.”
Corrado nods and then pushes off the bed. He sits beside me and takes a sip of my coffee. “Still warm. Very sweet.” He offers it to me. I sit up and take it.
He opens his mouth, thinks better of it, then starts putting on his socks and shoes. I should’ve kept my mouth shut too. Before, he knew I liked him, and now he knows how much. A single orgasm made me tell him my thoughts. If he can wrangle that out of me in a few days’ time, what will he take in a week? A month?
“I shouldn’t have made you dinner,” I blurt.
Corrado’s buttoning his shirt. It’s another black one. “You can’t help yourself. You want to do nice things for people, especially people who are good to you.”
“You’re bad for me.”
“I’m the worst.”
With that, he’s gone.
Half an hour later, I stand in front of the bathroom mirror with my messy hair and Corrado’s fingerprints on my thighs. As I turn and head into the shower, I glance over my shoulder and notice a smear on my asscheek. I wet a towel and move to wipe it, then realize it’s smeared writing.
A man’s handwriting I’m certain of it.
Corrado must’ve written on my bottom last night, and I must know what he wrote, but I can’t read it from up here. I look around the bathroom for my phone, then find it in my bedroom. When I open it, there’s a message from him: an image.
Next to a drawing of devil’s horns, the writing on my bottom says,
My dessert.
I recall him saying he’ll eat his dessert in private. This man… I sigh. This man really is the worst (best) ever.
33
WHEN WILL YOU USE THE CARD?
MICHELA
After that morning, Corrado becomes a ghost in the house, leaving before I’m up and returning after I fall asleep. Most mornings, I hear him in the shower and want to join him in there but can’t summon the courage to do so, mainly because I feel like he’s avoiding me.
Corrado needs space. I bet he’s never had to share a space with a woman after he already had her under him. I wonder if he’s ever woken up with anyone. Probably hasn’t, and not because he’s never had a woman in his bed, but because most people wake later than he does and go to bed earlier.
Waking up with Corrado means waking up before dawn and falling asleep close to midnight, I bet. I don’t know how he does it, to be honest. It’s like he never tires. And his day starts right after he showers with a phone call, always to the same person, that lasts while Corrado shaves and goes through his morning routine of dressing impeccably and putting on one of his dozens of colognes.
While he speaks with the other man, it warms my heart to hear him whispering so as not to wake me. At least he’s aware I’m still around, and to be fair, that’s all that’s required of him during our fake marriage. It’s my own fault I let him eat me out, and now I wish he would make time for more.
In his own way, he does show me that he thinks about me.
