Page 128 of Ricardo

Chapter Seventeen

Julia

By morning, rain is still falling, but the storm has worn itself down to a steady drizzle against the windows.

I am awake in Ricardo’s bed and have been for several minutes.

The idea of waking up in his bed should make me nervous, but mostly I'm too comfortable to move.

The sheets are soft against my skin, cool in some places, warm in others, and the blanket is tucked over my shoulder. Ricardo is behind me, one heavy arm wrapped around my waist, his chest pressed to my back, his breath slow and even against the back of my neck.

At some point in the night, he carried me upstairs, where we made love again and again. I have a faint memory of finally passing out against him in the early hours of the morning. I remember feeling safe.

I stay still, listening to the rain and the sound of him breathing. His body is warm around mine. One of his hands is spread over my stomach, his fingers relaxed, and there is something so intimate about it that my face heats.

I am sore.

Everywhere.

Deliciously, unmistakably sore.

My thighs ache. My hips ache. There are places inside me that feel changed, opened, and new.

I do not feel ashamed.

That realization is a bit startling.

No cold drop in my stomach. No urge to bury my face and pretend I am elsewhere. No need to explain last night away and make it into something smaller, safer, easier to explain.

I am in Ricardo’s bed after spending the night with him, and I do not regret it.

His arm tightens around me.

“Buongiorno,” he murmurs against my hair.

His voice is rough from sleep, deep enough to move through my body and make me yearn again.

My lips curve before I can stop them. “Good morning.”

His mouth brushes the back of my shoulder.

“How long have you been awake?” he asks.

“A little while.”

“Are you all right?”

There is no performance in the question. He is asking because he wants to know. It's as simple as that.

I turn carefully in his arms until I am facing him.

The movement makes me wince a little.

His hand stills at once. His eyes sharpen.

“I’m okay,” I say before concern can take over his face. “Just sore.”

“Hmm,” he says, his lips pursing. I can tell the movement is hiding a smug smile.