“Come stand over here.” Gio leads me to the chest-height walled edge. I rest my elbows on the stones and drink the city in: blurred red streaks of moving taillights, the glitter of the Brooklyn Bridge spanning the East River, the majesty of the Empire State Building towering over the illuminated skyline. And then, of course, there’s the three-quarter moon, hanging up there like the lead actor on the stage accepting his encore.
“I’ve never seen it from above like this,” I say. “There’s so much life.”
He wraps the blanket around my shoulders and points over toward Brooklyn. “Over there, about three miles or so in that direction, is Cranberry Street.”
I look sideways at him, not sure of the relevance.
“You say you love that movie, and you didn’t pick up on the reference to Cranberry Street? Shame on you, Iris.”
I smile and follow the direction of his finger. I’m living inside all of my mother’s beloved movies—Katz’s Deli, and now here I am a stone’s throw away from Loretta’s house.
“My mother would get such a kick out of this,” I say.
He puts his arm around my shoulders. “You miss her a lot, huh?”
“Every day,” I say. “She was a special kind of person. Addictive, people used to say.”
“Like mother, like daughter,” he says, turning me into his arms.
“You’re getting better at this flirting stuff,” I say.
“I’ve been practicing in the mirror,” he says.
“You haven’t.”
“No, I haven’t,” he laughs, and then he isn’t laughing anymore, he’s looking at me all serious eyes and slightly parted lips.
“Wait.” I put a hand up when he leans in to kiss me, shuffling us around ninety degrees.
“Are we dancing?”
“No,” I smile. “I want the view behind you when you kiss me.”
“Jeez, you’re demanding,” he says, half smiling as he lowers his face to mine. His kiss, when it comes, is so hot and sure it knocks the breath from my lungs. I stand on tiptoe so the skyline frames him, and I add new colors to my background: glimmers of gold, blurred streaks of red, a wash of midnight blue.
He bites my lip and then lifts his head, his hand around the back of my neck.
“Iris, get down the Goddamn stairs and into my bed.”
I crease up laughing. “Gio, that was horrible. Try again without swearing.”
“Okay.” He kisses my neck. “Give me a minute.”
I arch into him when his fingers slide inside the back of my sweater, warm against my spine.
“Iris,” he murmurs, smoky and low, “will you come to bed with me?”
* * *
—
GIO LEADS ME BY the hand into his bedroom, his thumb brushing the pulse at my wrist.
“I’m nervous,” I say, and he turns to me in the low lamplight. The decor in here follows the same theme as the living room, pared back, exposed brick, the huge carved bed with simple white bedding the focus of the room.
“Can I tell you something?” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m nervous too. More than nervous.”
I sit beside him and he picks my hand up, playing with my fingers. “I haven’t been with anyone since Pen. Truth be told, I haven’t been looking, I kind of just thought that part of my life was done with.” His eyes fixed on our hands. “And then…you came along. There’s something about you that’s just like pure fuckin’ sunshine.”
His words move me. “I think that might be the best thing anyone has ever said to me.”
I look at Gio, and the naked vulnerability and want in his eyes embolden me. I stand in front of him and take off my sweater, then put my knees either side of his hips and sit down in his lap. His arms circle around me as I settle.
“I think we should take our clothes off and bask in that sunshine for a while,” I whisper, and he leans into me and trails his mouth over my breasts.
“It does feel suddenly hot in here,” he says.
I reach behind me and unhook my bra, and he slides the straps down my arms.
“I almost can’t look at you,” he says. “You’re that fuckin’ beautiful.”
“I like that you do sexy swearing,” I say, moving in his lap in a way I know full well is turning him on. His mouth is on me, his hands on my ass and my body, molding and cupping, low moans in his throat. I gasp when he slides his hand between my thighs, unsure if I’m about to insta-orgasm even through two layers of clothes.
“Stop,” I say, thinking I should wait for him to catch up, then I say, “God, don’t stop,” and he laughs and bites my shoulder, increasing the friction below until I drop my head against his neck and start to shake.
“In a different life, that would be embarrassing,” I mutter afterward.
“In this one, it was crazy hot,” he says, flipping me flat beneath him and kissing me slow and hard. “And we’re only just getting started.”
I kind of lose it when his T-shirt comes off, there’s just so much smooth skin and bunched muscle, and the shock of his body against mine makes me need to skip to the good bit and get naked. I reach between us for his buttons and pop them one by one, and he stares down into my eyes and bites his lip.
“I might be a little rusty at this,” he says.
“Trust me, you’re not rusty,” I say. “Get your jeans off.”
He lifts away from me enough to shed his clothes, and then he unzips my jeans and sits back to pull them off too. He leaves my black lace panties on, and I cover my face with both hands when he moves them aside with gentle fingers and lowers his head.
I know it’s greedy to have two orgasms before he’s even had one, but he splays one hand on the inside of my thigh and takes his sweet time, and he says my name like a quiet prayer and tells me there’s no rush, and then there’s a sudden almighty rush in me. He knows it and holds me there, his other hand flat on my stomach, and in all of my days I don’t think I’ll ever feel anything so bone-wrackingly, violently sexy again.
He slides up my body, his knee between mine, and I wrap my leg around his thigh.
“I told myself to take it slow tonight,” he says.
“You can do that next time,” I say, rocking my hips. “Condom?”
He nods with a smile and reaches into his nightstand, settling the matter.
I watch his face as he pulls me back to him, see him trying not to lose control too soon. “Let go, Gio,” I breathe, my hand on his jaw. “It’s okay, you can let go.”
And he does. He lets go, sinks into me and we wrap around each other, holding, gasping, slow and then not slow. His breath quickens and he murmurs what sound like urgent Italian curse words, and I feel as if I’m tangled in my torrid lover’s bed on a long, hot night in Rome. It’s sultry and intimate, and then the judder of his body is so carnal that I clutch him against me, hard. We’re tender with each other afterward. The drift of his mouth over my closed eyes, the smooth of my hand over his hair. We stay like that for some time, recovering, and I find myself inexplicably close to tears from the sheer animal beauty of it all.
“Not rusty,” I say.