Page 77 of The Wrong Move

After a few minutes, I feel I can breathe and talk again. This hot, humid weather is ridiculous. “What happened to the water?” She lifts one arm and turns the faucet and the water sprays over us on the tiled floor. “Thank fuck,” I murmur. I thought my head was going to explode.

She giggles and lies over me, sliding her chest over mine. “It’s the best way to fuck in summer.” And damn, it sounds sexy, the wayfuckrolls off her tongue.

“Looks like we’re spending the night in the shower,” I murmur.

“Not possible,” she says, flicking it off again. “We have to use it in spurts.”

“Then I’m going to spurt with you all night long.”

Knock,knock, knock.

What the fuck?

I force one eye open, though I don’t remember falling asleep.

“It’s Patrizia.” Giana groans and rolls over. “When I’m here, she brings me breakfast and leaves it at the door.”

I’d be all for it if I weren’t still shoving food in my mouth at two in the morning.

“Can you text her and tell her we don’t need it?”

“My cell is dead,” she murmurs. “Ugh, can you bring it in before the cats get to it?”

I squinch my eyes, trying to focus with the harsh light shining through the open windows. Christ, I’m going to fry in here. I groan.

What the fuck is the time? Hell o’clock?

I roll over and kiss her bare shoulder. We are both naked with no covers and while I’m cursing the heat, I’m grateful to wake up like this with Giana. I think about last night. “If I do, then I vote for a repeat of last night in the shower.”

Water shortage or not, my dick reacts thinking about it.

“Sure thing, babe,” she murmurs. “Just grab the tray and bring it upstairs.”

Forcing myself to move, I head down the stairs, waking more as I think of taking Giana in the shower again. I stroke my cock and open the door slightly. Jesus, this is one hell of a door. Heavy, and another three feet taller than me.

No one is around. I bend to get the tray, step forward to gain my balance, and?—

The fuck?

My towel slips as I drop the yellow wooden tray and stumble forward. I manage to prevent our breakfast from spilling onto the pavement as the weight of the heavy wooden door pushes my rear, forcing me out into the alley before clicking shut behind me. I cover my package with my hands and look around.Jesus.

“Giana,” I say, hoping she’ll hear through the open window but not loud enough to gather attention. “Giana.” I grumble a few choice words while looking around. This is not how I imagined serenading her.

A giggle sounds across the street. A young girl, a teenager maybe, is peeping out of the open window. “Mamma,” she says over her shoulder, along with a string of words includingnudo, and it does not take a genius to work out what she is saying.Christ, I’m about to get arrested.

I grab the tray, hold the edge above my cock, and run down the alley, the pastries bouncing all over the plate. A black cat crosses my path and threatens to trip me. I have no time to think about superstition and dodge it, so I leap. It hisses. A trail of giggles sounds behind me.

Voices shout. I don’t stop running. I turn the corner toward the stairs and?—

My heels skid on the rough stone as I come to a halt.

A group of old ladies sit in those blue and yellow wooden chairs outside their doors, chatting. I eye the stairs now yards away. I’m desperate to get there, like I’m about to score a touchdown. I decide not to run but to briskly walk past the first few ladies, hoping they are too busy to notice.

More laughter. More shouting.

I’m close to the stairs when one springs from her seat as though she suddenly has the energy of a twenty-year-old. She stands in front of me, and before I sidestep, she moves, blocking my way.

She eyes me, and I prepare myself for the abuse. I look around, and all the ladies are out of their chairs, walking toward me. A vision flashes in my mind of being struck down by walking sticks while the old ladies call me Satan, the ground burning my feet like I’m at the motherfucking gates of hell.

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