Honestly, I don’t know what came over me. I’d never been inspired to engage in such gustatory pleasures with Alessandro. Come to think of it, Alessandro and I really had only two techniques in our bag of sex tricks—him on top, me on top, repeat if necessary (usually not). Then I put Alessandro out of my mind because I wanted to live in the moment and devour Denis’ strawberry-jam-slathered penis, which was really quite yummy. Be in the now, I thought. It’s the Buddhist way. Not that I know so much about Buddhism, because I don’t. But I do know that sucking Denis’ sweet cock was as close to a religious experience as I’d had in years.
Denis thrust the breakfast tray aside. It plunged to the floor, breaking plates, splattering hot coffee and water everywhere. Mama mia, I thought, gasping at his audacity. He took me in his arms as though he could not wait another second to have his way with me and we made love with a reckless fury I hadn’t experienced with any man, not even Alessandro (especially not Alessandro).
I never did get to tour Rome that day.
BY THE END OF our dolce amore (that’s Italian for sweet love), we were famished. Since we’d been too distracted to order new clothes, we were back in our matching green running suits, which weren’t terribly sexy, although I wouldn’t have traded the day for all the shopping on the via Condotti.
“You ready?” I said, turning off the light by the bed.
Denis nodded, then hesitated, as though he had forgotten something. I started to ask him if he wanted it back on. “Do you want—”
“To eat your pussy again?” he said. “Why, yes, I’d love to.”
You could have scraped me off the floor. We had been making love all day long—in the shower, on the bed, the sofa, the balcony—and now he wanted more? (Naturally) I said, “Yes, please. How can I resist that gifted tongue of yours? This time, would you try something new while you’re down there?”
“Anything,” he said.
“Would you hum ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’? I know it sounds silly, but a girlfriend once told me that felt good.”
Dennis laughed. “Well, let’s find out.”
I just adored the way Denis was open to researching his sexual pleasure (or mine, as the case may be). And yes, YES, YES, his humming felt divine. Denis King not only gave me stars, he gave me “The Star-Spangled Banner” (tee-hee!).
WE LEFT THE HOTEL around ten that evening, bound for Il Palazzetto, a nearby outdoor restaurant overlooking the Spanish Steps. The concierge recommended it when I asked for something romantic and utterly Italian.
“Before we go,” Denis said, “I want to show you something.” We took a horse and carriage to the elaborate Trevi Fountain, where we dutifully threw in three coins each to ensure a return visit. Then Denis took me over to a rectangular basin on the far left side. “They call this ‘the small fountain of lovers,’” he said. “Legend has it that couples who drink from its waters will forever be faithful to each other.” He cupped his palms together, collected some water, and drank it.
I must be dreaming, I thought. This man is too good to be true. Silently, I took water in my hands and sipped it. Hopefully it wasn’t teeming with amoebas and microbes. Even if it was, it would be worth the gastrointestinal illness.
Denis grinned as I drank the water. How I loved the crow’s feet that formed when he smiled. They were beyond adorable. “Do you know what’s wrong with you?” I said.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Denis, I—I want to thank you for what was the loveliest day I’ve ever known.” I don’t think I’d ever felt so happy.
We grabbed a cab to go to Il Palazzetto, which was too far to walk. By the time we arrived, my appetite was roaring. The waiter immediately brought us a plate of deep-fried zucchini flowers, which Denis fed me and I ate with such languorous relish that it felt like we were still making love. I ordered spaghetti alla carbonara, and Denis had roasted capretto (that’s “kid” in Italian) with rosemary. We toasted each other with the yummiest champagne I’d ever tasted, Veuve Clicquot’s La Grande Dame. The sky was bright with stars and colored lights that had been strung around the patio where we dined.
At midnight, a jazz quartet started to play, and Denis and I took to the small dance floor. Soon the music slowed, and Denis held me in his arms for a waltz. I closed my eyes and smiled. Denis was so practiced a dancer, all I had to do was surrender to his lead as we floated across the floor. Oh, how I wished I could do that in real life. But that would be a fairy tale, and one thing life has taught me is that there are no happy endings, at least not for me.
I looked into his eyes. “Hello.”
Denis smiled at me. “Hello.”
I rested my head on his shoulder and felt his heart beating as we moved to the rhythm. When the music ended, we took our seats, quenching our thirst with more champagne.
Denis reached over and kissed me lightly on the lips, touching my cheek with the tips of his fingers. “Signorina, are you having a good time?”
“The best,” I said.
“What’s been your favorite thing we’ve done so far?”
“Gosh, everything in its own way was…unforgettable. It would be difficult to…this morning, breakfast in bed, of course,” I said. “I will cherish the meal we shared in memory as long as I live.” It was my very own Princess Ann moment.
Denis gave a smile of recognition and then touched his lips to mine like a gentle whisper.
“Denis,” someone called.
It felt like someone threw a bucket of cold water on
