Chapter 12: Dawn's Gentle Awakening
The morning crept in slowly, pale Roman light seeping through the curtains and tracing the folds of the sheets tangled around them. Rina stirred first. Her eyes opened to the muted gold of sunrise glancing off the marble terrace, the faint hum of the city coming back to life. She turned her head, and there he was — Pedro, half on his stomach, one arm draped across her waist, his hand resting on her hip like it had forgotten how to let go overnight. His face was relaxed in a way it rarely was when he was awake; she could see the faint imprint of the pillow at his cheek, the soft gray in his beard, the eyelashes she teased him about being wasted on a man.
She smiled, small and full, and reached out to smooth a curl off his forehead. “Good morning, handsome,” she whispered, her voice still sandpapered with sleep.
Pedro’s lips twitched, the ghost of a grin appearing before he even opened his eyes. “Mmm. Keep talking like that and I’ll start thinking you like me.”
“I do like you,” she said, kissing his shoulder. “Unfortunately for you, I also love you. It’s very annoying.”
He cracked one eye open, lazy and amused. “Terrible news. Guess I’ll have to live with it.”
“You’ll manage,” she murmured, trailing soft kisses along his collarbone.
He sighed happily, shifting so he could face her fully. The sheet slipped lower, and his hand came up to cup her jaw, thumb brushing her bottom lip. For a long moment they just looked at each other — two people who’d seen the very best and worst of each other and still woke up wanting more. Then he leaned in and kissed her, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that didn’t ask for anything, just lingered.
She melted into it, fingers curling at the back of his neck. The kiss deepened, unhurried but thorough, their mouths finding an old, familiar rhythm — the kind that was half muscle memory, half devotion. Pedro made a quiet sound against her lips, one that lived somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.
“You kiss me like we’ve got all day,” she murmured when they finally broke apart, foreheads touching.
“We’ve got until checkout,” he said. “Seems like enough time.”
Rina laughed softly, but her eyes softened. “You always make the world stop, you know that?”
“That’s mutual, cariño,” he said, voice low, rough with tenderness. “It’s why I can’t ever get enough of you. You make everything else… quiet.”
Her thumb brushed his cheek, the roughness of stubble scraping lightly against her skin. “It’s wild,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “Twelve years in and you still kiss me like I’m a miracle.”
He smiled — not smug, not teasing this time, but open and reverent. “You are,” he said simply. “You’re my once-in-a-lifetime. And the best part is, I get to keep finding new ways to love you.”
She kissed him again before he could say anything else, deep and slow until she felt his hand at the small of her back, warm and steady. She pulled back just enough to whisper against his mouth, “You make me so happy.”
He smiled into the kiss. “Good. Because you make me better.”
They lay there for a while, trading soft kisses and nonsense — little murmurs about nothing and everything, laughter slipping between touches. When she finally sat up, tucking the sheet around her, Pedro propped himself on an elbow and watched her with that look he always got: like he was still a little awed.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she said without turning.
“Like what?”
“Like I hung the moon.”
He grinned. “You didn’t hang it, mi amor. You are it.”
She groaned, tossing a pillow at him. “That was terrible.”
“And true.” He caught the pillow easily and leaned over to press a kiss to her bare shoulder. “What time’s our flight?”
“Ten,” she said, checking her phone. “Which means we have about an hour before we have to stop pretending time doesn’t exist.”
He wrapped his arms around her from behind, nuzzling the curve of her neck. “Then we make it count.”
She turned her head, meeting him halfway. The kiss this time was languid and deep, slow enough to make her hum against his lips. He cupped her face in both hands, kissing her like he could memorize it — like he could take the taste home with him. When they finally pulled apart, she was smiling, dazed in that soft way she only ever was with him.
“You realize we’re impossible, right?” she said, brushing his jaw. “No one’s supposed to still be like this after twelve years.”
“Good thing we never cared about what’s supposed to happen.” He kissed her forehead. “Besides, we’ve always been ridiculous. Why stop now?”
She turned in his arms, facing him fully again. “Promise me we won’t.”
“Promise,” he said, sealing it with another kiss — deeper, longer, the kind that carried every bit of love, gratitude, and hunger that words could never reach.
When they finally got up, the room smelled faintly of coffee and her perfume, and the sheets were a mess of warmth and memory. She padded to the window, bare shoulders haloed by morning light. “Rome looks smug,” she said, smiling at the skyline.
“It should,” Pedro replied, coming up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist. “It witnessed greatness last night.”
Rina laughed, leaning back into his chest. “You’re impossible.”
“You love that about me.”
“I do,” she said softly, reaching back to touch his face. “God help me, I really do.”
They stood there in the hush of morning — two people, older and steadier and still utterly undone by each other — watching the city stretch awake. Outside, the bells began to ring for Sunday mass. Inside, they kissed once more, long and slow and smiling through it, because this — this was the real miracle: that after all this time, they still woke up wanting nothing more than this life, this love, this person.
Inside, they kissed once more, long and slow and smiling through it, because this — this was the real miracle: that after all this time, they still woke up wanting nothing more than this life, this love, this person. The distant bells faded, leaving only the quiet hum of the room and the warmth radiating between them.
Pedro’s hand slid down her bare back, fingers tracing the dip of her spine. "One last Roman shower, princesa?" he murmured, his lips brushing her temple.
"Necessity," Rina breathed, turning fully into his embrace, her skin alive under his touch. The night's sweat, the lingering traces of him on her thighs, the champagne fizz long gone flat – they needed washing away before facing the world. She pressed her nose against the warm skin of his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him, sleep, and sex. "Carry me?"
He chuckled, the sound a deep rumble she felt against her cheek. "Always."
He bent, one arm hooking under her knees, the other bracing her back, lifting her effortlessly against his solid frame. She looped her arms around his neck, nuzzling his stubbled jaw as he carried her towards the en suite, pushing the door open with his shoulder. Steam already curled invitingly from the glass-enclosed shower, filling the air with the scent of expensive hotel soap and damp heat.
"Perfect timing," she sighed, the warm air kissing her skin.
Pedro stepped into the spacious tiled enclosure, setting Rina carefully on her feet under the wide, pulsing rain showerhead. Hot water instantly sluiced over them, plastering Rina’s blonde hair to her shoulders and back. He reached for the soap, lathering his hands slowly, deliberately.
"Turn around," he commanded softly, his voice thick with intent beneath the water’s roar.
She obeyed, facing the cool, fogged mosaic tiles, bracing her palms flat against them. The hot water streamed down her spine, over the curve of her ass. She felt his slick hands glide over her shoulders, down her back, strong thumbs working the tension from her muscles. His touch was possessive, reverent. He kneaded the globes of her ass, spreading the lather, his fingers dipping deliberately into the cleft, finding her slick heat already gathering beneath the soap and water.
"Still so fucking wet for me, Rina," he growled close to her ear, his teeth grazing the lobe. His soapy fingers didn't just stroke; they parted her lips, sliding easily through her swollen folds, circling her clit with rough, knowing pressure.
She gasped, arching back into him, her head falling against his shoulder. "Pedro... fuck..."
He pushed two fingers deep inside her, curling them upwards, finding that spot that made her knees buckle.
"That's it," he murmured, his other hand gripping her hip, holding her steady as he finger-fucked her with slow, punishing thrusts. Water streamed over them, washing the soap away, leaving only the slick heat of her arousal on his skin. "Gonna come on my fingers already, baby? Just from this?" His thumb kept grinding relentless circles on her clit.
"Close," she whimpered, her nails scraping against the tile. "So close... don't stop..." Her inner muscles clenched violently around his pumping fingers.
He felt the telltale flutter, the tightening, and pressed harder, faster. "Come on, Rina. Let go. Scream for me."
A choked cry escaped her as the orgasm ripped through her, sharp and sudden, her body convulsing against his hand, against the tiles. Water streamed over her face, mingling with her gasp as her hips jerked uncontrollably. He held her firmly, fingers still buried deep, milking every last pulse from her cunt until she sagged, trembling, against him.
He withdrew his fingers slowly, bringing them to his lips, sucking her taste clean with a groan. "Fucking ambrosia." His hands slid around to her front, pulling her back flush against him. She felt the hard, heavy length of his cock pressing insistently against the small of her back. He tilted her hips forward just enough. "Spread your legs wider, beautiful. Show me where you want it."
Rina braced her hands higher on the wall, pushing her ass back into him, opening herself wide under the cascading water. She reached back blindly, her fingers wrapping around his thick shaft, guiding the swollen, slick head to her dripping entrance. "Here," she panted. "Fucking take me, Pedro. Need you inside. Now."
He didn't hesitate. Gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks, he drove his cock into her soaked, quivering pussy with one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The force punched the air from her lungs in a ragged "Unghh!" He filled her completely, stretching her deliciously, the hot water sluicing over their joined bodies.
"Christ, you feel incredible," he ground out, his voice ragged. "Like fucking velvet."
He started moving, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, setting a relentless, deep rhythm. Each powerful thrust rocked her entire body against the tiles, the slap of his hips against her ass echoing in the steamy enclosure. She pushed back to meet him, taking him impossibly deeper, the angle making him rub directly against her sensitive, swollen clit with every plunge. "Harder!" she demanded, her voice raw.
Pedro obeyed, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, jackhammering into her tight heat. His fingers dug into her hips, his breath hot and ragged against her wet neck. "I will never get enough of this pussy," he groaned, his voice guttural.
"Never!" she cried out, the words torn from her. "Never stop fucking me!" The coil inside her tightened impossibly again, the friction blinding.
"Come on my cock," he snarled, one hand sliding around her hip, fingers finding her clit and rubbing furiously. "Let go. Come for me again, you fucking goddess." His cock pistoned inside her, hitting her deepest spot relentlessly.
The combined assault shattered her. A second, deeper orgasm exploded, tearing through her with vicious intensity. Her vision whited out as she screamed, her inner walls clamping down on his cock in violent, rhythmic spasms.
"Fuck! FUCK! YES!" She shuddered violently, her legs nearly giving way, held up only by his iron grip and the tile wall.
Feeling her convulse around him, Pedro lost the last shred of control. With a guttural roar that echoed off the shower walls, he buried himself to the root, his hips jerking erratically as his orgasm tore through him. Hot jets of cum flooded her depths, pulsing thick and heavy, mixing with the shower water and her own slickness. He thrust shallowly, grinding deep as he emptied himself, his cock twitching inside her clenching heat.
"Rina... fuck... fuck..." His forehead rested heavily between her shoulder blades, his breath coming in harsh gasps.
They stayed locked together like that for long moments under the pounding water, bodies trembling, the steam thick around them. The only sounds were the roar of the shower and their ragged breathing gradually slowing. Pedro’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back fully against his chest, his softening cock still nestled deep.
He kissed her wet shoulder, a soft press of lips against slick skin. "Mi amor," he breathed, the tenderness a stark contrast to the raw intensity moments before. "Mi corazón."
Rina leaned her head back against his shoulder, turning her face to find his lips. The kiss was deep, slow, tasting of water and exertion and him. She smiled against his mouth, soft and utterly sated.
"Best way to wash off Rome," she murmured, her voice rough. "Always is."
Pedro chuckled, a low, satisfied rumble in his chest. He gently pulled out, turning her in his arms to face him under the spray. He smoothed her wet hair back from her face, his brown eyes soft despite the lingering fire. "We scrub properly now, sí? Or we'll miss our flight entirely."
They washed each other with slow, lingering touches, the soap a slick caress over skin intimately known. He massaged shampoo into her scalp, his strong fingers working magic. She washed the planes of his chest, the defined muscles of his back, the curve of his ass. It was unhurried, intimate, a quiet counterpoint to the furious passion minutes before. The steam cleared slowly as they rinsed, the world outside the glass beginning to reassert itself.
Stepping out onto the plush bathmat, Pedro wrapped a towel around Rina first, rubbing her arms briskly. He dried himself with quick, efficient movements, the actor's discipline kicking in. "Suitcases," he stated, nodding towards the bedroom. "Time to face reality."
Back in the bedroom, the evidence of their final Roman night lay scattered: discarded robes, empty champagne flutes, the rumpled sheets holding the deep impression of two bodies. They worked in easy silence, a well-practiced rhythm born of countless departures. Rina folded lingerie, her movements precise; Pedro zipped garment bags shut, his brow furrowed in concentration. The scent of expensive coffee drifted faintly from the tray a discreet waiter must have delivered.
Rina zipped her carry-on, her gaze drifting to the unmade bed. A slow smile touched her lips. Pedro caught it, coming up behind her, his hands settling on her hips. He kissed the side of her neck. "Remembering something good?"
"Everything," she said simply, leaning back into him for a moment. "This suite saw some things."
He chuckled, his breath warm on her skin. "That it did. And it’ll keep the secret." He gave her hip a light pat. "Shoes on, Lincoln. Plane awaits."
She slipped into comfortable flats, he into well-worn boots. They did a final sweep, collecting chargers, sunglasses, the novel Rina hadn’t opened. Pedro hefted the larger suitcase, Rina grabbed her carry-on and handbag. At the door, they paused, taking in the room one last time – the balcony where they’d dined half-naked, the floor where clothes had been hastily discarded, the bed that held the echo of their moans.
"Arrivederci, Roma," Rina murmured.
Pedro squeezed her hand, his thumb brushing her knuckles. "Ready for home?"
She looked up at him, taking in the familiar lines of his face, the warmth in his eyes, the quiet strength that always anchored her. Home wasn't a place; it was him. "With you?" she smiled, pushing the door open. "Always ready." They stepped into the corridor, the door clicking softly shut behind them on the Roman interlude, the low thrum of travel and the journey back to their life together already beginning.
The tarmac shimmered under a pale morning sun as their car pulled up beside the sleek silver jet. A light breeze carried the faint scent of jet fuel and espresso — the kind of scent that would always, inexplicably, make Rina smile. Pedro climbed out first, offering her his hand like it was habit rather than chivalry. She took it, stepping down in her sunglasses and long camel coat, her hair tied loosely at the nape of her neck. Even half-asleep, she looked devastating.
He leaned in, murmuring near her ear, “Remind me to thank Rome for existing.”
She smirked. “It’s been thanked enough by now, I think.”
Inside, the cabin was quiet and sunlit, all cream leather and pale wood. A vase of white ranunculus sat beside the couch — a little detail her assistant had thought to arrange. The pilot greeted them softly before closing the door, and soon, the hum of engines filled the silence like a low heartbeat.
Rina slipped off her coat and curled up sideways on the wide seat, bare feet tucked under her. Pedro joined her, and she leaned instantly into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. “You smell like my moisturizer,” she murmured.
“That’s because someone used all the hotel soap,” he countered.
“Someone,” she said innocently, “was busy making sure you were very, very clean.”
He laughed quietly, kissed the top of her head. “Best bath I’ve ever had.”
The plane lifted, tilting gently upward into a sky that looked painted — soft, layered clouds and the fading city below. They watched in silence for a while, the world shrinking into gold and white. When the seatbelt light went off, Rina turned toward him, knees tucked up, one hand idly tracing the veins of his forearm.
“You realize,” she said softly, “that was our last night in Europe this year.”
“Mm,” he nodded. “And it’s going to ruin me for every other city.”
She smiled, eyes flicking to his lips. “We said that about Dubrovnik. And Paris. And Santorini.”
“And I meant it every time.”
“Hopeless.”
“Entirely,” he agreed.
For a moment, they just looked at each other — that comfortable silence they’d earned after a decade together. Then Rina reached up, fingers curling around the back of his neck, and pulled him in for a kiss. It wasn’t urgent; it was slow and deep and utterly unrushed, the kind of kiss that spoke in paragraphs. His hand came up to her jaw, thumb brushing beneath her ear, guiding her closer until she was almost in his lap.
When they broke apart, she stayed close, lips brushing his as she whispered, “You kiss me like we didn’t spend all night together.”
“That’s because I don’t think I’ll ever be done.” His voice was low, soft enough that only she could hear it over the hum of the engines. “Every time I think I’ve kissed you enough, I realize I haven’t even started.”
She smiled, tracing a line along his cheekbone. “You know, if we ever got recorded on this plane, we’d have to issue a joint apology to the world.”
He grinned. “They’d survive. Besides, who wouldn’t want proof true love exists?”
She laughed, head falling against his shoulder again. “God, you’re such a sap.”
“You married me.”
“Mm. I’m a sap too.”
He looked down at her, eyes soft, and kissed her hair. “You know what I was thinking last night?”
“That if you didn’t stretch first, you’d regret it this morning?”
He chuckled. “No. I was thinking how I’ve never loved anyone like this — where the wanting doesn’t fade, it just… deepens. You still undo me. Every damn time.”
Her expression softened, that teasing smirk replaced by something tender. “You undo me too,” she said. “Even when we’re just sitting here like this. Especially then.”
He reached up, brushing his thumb across her bottom lip. “You make it sound like I’ve got some kind of magic.”
“You do,” she said simply. “But don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late.”
She rolled her eyes, kissed him again — softer this time, shorter, but still with that easy, familiar heat that lived between them like second nature. When she pulled back, she whispered against his mouth, “You’re my favorite part of this life, you know that?”
Pedro’s smile was quiet, a little crooked. “You’re the best part of mine.”
Outside, the jet cut through the cloud line, sunlight flooding the cabin. Rina leaned into him again, tracing idle circles on his chest, her voice turning sleepy. “Wake me before we land?”
“Always.” He brushed a kiss over her temple. “Sleep, mi vida.”
She closed her eyes, exhaling deeply, the kind of sigh that only came from peace. His hand rested on her thigh, warm and steady, his thumb moving in slow, absent circles as the hum of the engines settled into a lullaby.
Rome was already miles behind them, but its afterglow lingered — in the softness of their mouths, the warmth of their laughter, the quiet miracle of two people still in love enough to fall asleep tangled together at 35,000 feet.