Chapter 3: The Afterglow Interrupted
The after-party spilled into the courtyard like champagne — all glittering laughter, camera flashes, and the kind of polite chaos that follows a successful premiere. Strings of amber lights wound through olive trees, music thumped softly behind glass, and somewhere nearby someone was still talking about her gown.
Rina had kicked off her Fendis the moment they were out of sight of the press and was standing barefoot on the cool stone, the hem of her Ferré dress grazing her toes. Pedro stood beside her, jacket slung over his shoulder, collar open, still impossibly handsome in that unbothered way he had — the kind that said he didn’t need the spotlight, he’d already found his reason to glow.
“You realize,” she murmured, leaning into his side, “that you made three separate journalists blush tonight.”
“Only three?” he said, mock-offended. “I’m losing my touch.”
She laughed, that low, throaty sound he’d been waiting all evening to hear. “You’re incorrigible.”
“And you,” he countered, “are barefoot in a Ferré gown like it’s nothing.”
She looked up at him, eyes sparkling. “It is nothing. Except silk and stitches.” She paused, her smile softening. “The important part’s who’s watching me wear it.”
He didn’t answer — he just smiled, that slow, private one she knew meant he was thinking something he couldn’t say out loud in a crowd.
Their car wasn’t ready yet; the valet gestured politely that it would be a few minutes. Rina nodded, taking his hand, her fingers slipping easily between his. The night air was warm and heavy with jasmine. Rome hummed around them — traffic, laughter, the faint echo of a violin from somewhere down the street.
“Let’s wait outside,” she said.
They stepped past the doormen, out into the quieter side street where the party noise softened behind them. The city lights painted everything in gold and shadow. Pedro walked half a step behind her, eyes trailing the curve of her back where the dress dipped low, the smooth line of skin he’d been dying to touch all night.
“Stop staring,” she said over her shoulder, smiling.
“Can’t,” he replied easily. “I’ve been on my best behavior for hours. You have no idea how hard that was.”
“Oh, I have some idea,” she said, glancing back with that knowing grin. “You were practically vibrating through the Q&A.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “You make it sound like I’m a teenager.”
She tilted her head, playful. “You kiss me like one sometimes.”
That did it — that one look, the sly curve of her mouth, the way the streetlight hit the gold embroidery on her shoulders.
He didn’t think. He just reached for her.
One hand found her waist, the other her wrist, and he drew her gently off the sidewalk, into the shadowed doorway of an old stone building. She gasped softly, startled but smiling. The noise from the street blurred — just them now, the pulse of the city distant.
“Pedro—” she started, but he was already there, his breath warm against her cheek.
“Can’t wait another second,” he said quietly.
And then he kissed her.
It was everything it had been building toward all night — slow for half a heartbeat, then deep and hungry, the kind of kiss that made the world tilt. Rina rose onto her toes, fingers sliding into his hair, anchoring him to her like gravity itself. He groaned low in his throat when she pulled him closer, his hands skimming up her bare back. Her skin was warm, impossibly soft under his palms; the cool edge of the silk at her hips made the contrast almost dizzying.
Her mouth parted under his, and he met her there — tongues brushing, tasting wine and laughter and everything familiar. She exhaled a soft sound against his lips, half sigh, half invitation. His thumb traced the hollow of her spine; she shivered and pressed closer, the gold embroidery at her shoulders brushing his chest.
“Rina,” he murmured against her mouth, his voice roughened by affection and want.
“Mm,” she breathed, nipping lightly at his lower lip before kissing him again, slower this time but no less deep. “I’ve been wanting to do this since the red carpet.”
“Since the mirror,” he countered, smiling against her lips.
She laughed, a little breathless now, fingers tugging gently at his curls. “You have terrible impulse control.”
“I married you,” he said, kissing her jaw, her throat, back to her mouth. “Clearly.”
She smiled into the kiss, melting against him. For a moment, the years between their first kiss and this one collapsed into nothing — just that same wild recognition, that same pulse of you, it’s you.
When they finally broke apart, foreheads touching, both breathing hard, she whispered, “My lipstick’s ruined.”
“Good,” he said softly, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone. “Now everyone will know you’re loved.”
She laughed again, quiet this time, resting her hands against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart under her palm. “You’re impossible.”
He kissed her once more, lighter now. “So are you,” he murmured. “And I wouldn’t change a damn thing.”
The valet’s voice echoed faintly down the street: Signora Lincoln, Signor Pascal!
She sighed and straightened a little, smoothing his lapel with one hand. “Saved by the bell.”
“Not for long,” he said, grinning as he offered his arm.
She took it, eyes still sparkling. “You really couldn’t wait another five minutes?”
“No,” he said simply. “You looked too good under Roman light.”
They stepped out from the shadows together, her hair slightly mussed, his smile unrepentant. The city, old and knowing, seemed to hum around them as if it had seen this kind of love before — the kind that didn’t dim, only deepened.
And when the car door closed behind them, Pedro was still smiling, the taste of her lipstick and laughter lingering like a secret meant to be kept.
*******
The elevator doors slid open with a hush. Rina and Pedro stepped inside, still a little dazed from the night’s whirlwind — the applause, the laughter, the blur of camera flashes and champagne. He pressed the button for their floor, and the soft hum of ascent filled the quiet.
Rina leaned into him, the hem of her gown gathered delicately in one hand. Her head came to rest against his shoulder. “I can’t feel my face,” she murmured, eyes closed.
He smiled. “You didn’t need to smile for all of them.”
“Yes, I did,” she said without opening her eyes. “You’re married to a professional smiler.”
He chuckled, low and warm, pressing a kiss into her hair. “You’re married to a man who spent all night trying not to kiss you in public.”
That earned him a sleepy, satisfied hum. The elevator pinged softly, and they stepped out into the quiet of the hallway. The lights were low, the thick carpet swallowing their footsteps.
Pedro opened the suite door, and the city greeted them in reflection — the floor-to-ceiling windows framing Rome’s glittering skyline. He helped her step inside, closing the door behind them with a soft click that sealed the world out.
Rina exhaled deeply, leaning against the wall just inside the room, eyes half-closed. “I think I’m still vibrating from the adrenaline.”
He walked up behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him even before his hands found her hips. “You were extraordinary tonight,” he murmured.
She smiled, turning her head just enough to meet his gaze. “You say that after every premiere.”
“Because it’s true every time.”
Her laughter was soft, affectionate. “Flatterer.”
He slid his palms up along her waist, careful, reverent. The silk was cool against his fingers, the contrast to her skin sending a quiet shiver through both of them. “This dress is beautiful,” he said. “But I’ve been waiting all night to help you out of it.”
Rina’s breath caught; she turned in his arms until her back met the wall and she was facing him. “You’re very sure of yourself, Mr. Pascal.”
“Only when it comes to you.”
He kissed her then — soft at first, then deeper when she melted into him, her hands coming up to his shoulders. The tension of the night eased into something slower, tenderer. He kissed the corner of her mouth, the edge of her jaw, then the curve of her neck where his thumb had been resting earlier.
Her hands found the lapels of his suit jacket and pushed it back off his shoulders. “You’re overdressed,” she whispered.
“So are you,” he murmured, smiling against her skin.
He reached behind her, fingers careful at the zipper hidden under the embroidery. The metallic sound of it sliding down was quiet but unmistakable. The gown loosened, the silk sighing as it fell slightly away from her shoulders. He helped ease it down, his knuckles grazing bare skin.
Every movement was slow, unhurried.
When she stepped free of the gown, he gathered it carefully from the floor, draping it over the back of a chair like it was sacred. She smiled at the gesture — that he could be reverent and ridiculous all at once.
She went to the vanity, pulling a pin from her hair. “If you were hoping to seduce me with your organizational skills, it’s working,” she teased, reaching for a makeup wipe.
“I’m a practical romantic,” he said, loosening his tie. “I like not ruining couture.”
Rina began wiping away the last traces of lipstick, watching him in the mirror. His reflection caught her gaze — that open, steady affection that made her chest ache in the best way. She smiled, half to herself.
He walked up behind her again, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders, thumbs brushing the tender skin just above her collarbones. Their eyes met in the mirror.
“Still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said quietly.
She turned, barefaced now, clean and glowing. “You always say that when I’ve taken everything off.”
“Maybe because that’s when you’re the most you.”
Her smile faltered — not from disbelief, but from how much it hit. She reached up and touched his cheek, thumb running along the edge of his beard. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
“Always.”
He kissed her forehead, then her mouth, slow and sure. She leaned into it, fingers threading into his hair, anchoring him close.
“I love you,” she whispered when they parted, breath mingling.
“I love you,” he answered, no hesitation, no teasing. Just truth.
Her hand slipped to his chest, feeling the warmth there, the steady rhythm that always calmed her. “Don’t stop saying it.”
“I won’t,” he promised, voice low. “Not tonight. Not ever.”
They stood like that for a long moment — Rome glowing behind them, the world narrowed to touch and quiet breath. Then she kissed him again, and the air shifted — something deeper, inevitable moving between them.
When they started to move together toward the bed, there was no rush, only that unspoken current that always found them.
He brushed her hair back from her face, kissed her once more, and she smiled against his mouth, whispering, “Stay right here.”
"Always."
The word hung between them like a promise, warm and absolute. Rina traced the line of his jaw with her thumb, the prickle of his beard familiar and grounding. Then she stepped back, just far enough to let her hands slide down his chest, fingers finding the buttons of his shirt. "Always is a long time," she murmured, her voice low, a challenge wrapped in velvet.
He watched her work, his breath catching as each button gave way, revealing the hard planes of his chest. "With you? Feels like a fucking heartbeat." His own hands found the curve of her hips, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin just below her navel, where the lace of her panties began. She shivered, the cool air of the suite contrasting sharply with the heat pooling low in her belly.
Her hands slipped inside his open shirt, pushing the fabric off his shoulders. It fell, forgotten, onto the plush carpet. She smiled, a slow, predatory curve of her lips as her gaze travelled down his torso. "Been thinking about this cock all night," she breathed, her palm pressing flat against the hard ridge straining against his trousers. "How it felt buried inside me by that fucking fountain." Her fingers deftly worked his belt buckle, the rasp loud in the quiet room. "How wet it made me, Pedro."
He groaned, a raw sound torn from deep in his chest as she freed him. His cock sprang thick and heavy into her hand, already slick at the tip. "Christ, Rina," he gasped, hips bucking instinctively into her grasp. Her fingers tightened, pumping him slowly, her thumb swirling over the swollen head, spreading the pre-cum. "You planned that too, didn't you? Dragging me off like that?"
"Maybe." She squeezed him hard, making him hiss. "Or maybe I just couldn't wait to feel you claim me again." She dropped to her knees, her sapphire eyes locked on his, hungry. "Taste you." Her tongue flicked out, a hot, wet stripe from the base to the tip. Then she took him fully into her mouth, sucking deep, hollowing her cheeks, the pressure exquisite and demanding.
He tangled his hands in her hair, watching her blonde waves spill over his thighs. His head fell back, a guttural groan escaping him as her mouth worked magic. "Fuck, yes. Just like that. Take it all, baby." She hummed, the vibration making his legs tremble. She bobbed her head, taking him deeper each time, her tongue swirling relentlessly. He could feel the tension coiling tight in his balls, the edge approaching fast. "Stop," he managed, voice thick. "Wanna be inside you. Now."
She released him with a wet pop, a trail of saliva glistening on her chin. Standing, she hooked her thumbs into the sides of her lace panties and slid them down, kicking them aside. She was already dripping, her cunt swollen and flushed, the scent of her arousal filling the space between them. "Then fuck me, Papi," she commanded, stepping back towards the bed. "Don't be gentle."
He needed no further invitation. In one swift motion, he lifted her and tossed her onto the plush duvet. She landed with a soft giggle, sprawled and wanton against the white linen. He followed her down, settling between her thighs. His cock nudged against her slick entrance, the head catching on her folds. He pushed inside slowly, deliberately, stretching her deliciously wide. A deep, satisfied moan tore from her as he filled her completely, bottoming out with a grunt.
"God, you feel incredible," he growled, bracing himself on his forearms above her. "So fucking tight. So wet for me." He began to move, long, deep thrusts that made her cry out. He buried his face in her neck, teeth grazing her pulse point. "Tell me," he demanded against her skin. "Tell me how it feels."
"Deep," she gasped, arching her back to take him impossibly deeper. "So fucking deep." Her legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his ass, urging him on. "Harder. Please, my love. Fuck me harder."
He obeyed, pistoning his hips with brutal efficiency, the sound of flesh slapping flesh echoing off the high ceiling. The bed frame creaked softly in protest. He captured her lips, the kiss messy and frantic, tasting of shared breath and desperation.
She broke the kiss, gasping. "Let me ride you," she demanded, pushing against his shoulders. "Want to feel you under me." Understanding flashed in his eyes. He pulled out, rolling onto his back, his cock standing rigid and flushed against his abdomen. Rina straddled him instantly, her knees gripping his hips. She guided him back into her heat, sinking down slowly until he was fully sheathed.
A low, satisfied groan rumbled from his chest. "That's it," he murmured, his hands finding her hips. "Take what you need, baby. Ride me until you scream."
She started slow, rolling her hips, grinding down to feel him stretch her inner walls. Then she began to move faster, lifting herself almost entirely off him before slamming back down, taking him balls-deep with every drop. She threw her head back, the muscles in her neck taut, her blonde hair cascading down her back. "Oh god, yes!" she cried, her hands braced on his chest, her nails digging in slightly. "Fuck, Pedro! Right there! Don't stop!"
The sight of her above him, lost in pleasure, breasts bouncing with each powerful thrust, drove him wild. Sweat gleamed on both their bodies. He met her rhythm, thrusting up as she came down, driving himself impossibly deeper. Their eyes locked, the intensity between them palpable, an electric current crackling in the air. "You look so fucking beautiful like this," he rasped. "Riding my cock."
"Feels... so fucking good," she panted, her movements growing more frantic, desperate. "So close. Baby... I'm so close." Her inner walls began to flutter around him, the first fluttering tremors of her climax building. One of his hands left her hip, sliding between their sweat-slicked bodies. His thumb found her clit, swollen and hard. He rubbed tight, fast circles.
She gasped, her rhythm faltering. "Yes! Oh fuck, yes! There! Right fucking there!" The fluttering intensified into urgent spasms. He felt her tighten like a vice around him, her cunt gripping him in rhythmic pulses. A raw, guttural cry tore from her throat as her orgasm hit, her body shuddering violently above him. "Pedro! Fuck! Fuck!" She collapsed forward, her hands landing on his chest, her forehead resting against his. "Oh god..."
The clenching of her cunt around his cock, the raw sound of her release, shattered his control. He was burning, the fire in his gut roaring. "My turn," he growled, voice thick with need. Before she could catch her breath, he wrapped his arms around her waist and flipped them both with a strength that left her gasping. He pinned her beneath him, gripping her hips, hauling her ass up slightly to change the angle. Her legs instinctively wrapped around him again. He pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in with one powerful, punishing thrust that punched the air from her lungs.
"Fuck!" she cried out, her eyes flying open wide. The sudden shift, the sheer force, reignited the embers of her climax instantly.
He set a brutal, relentless pace, fucking her with deep, hard strokes that rocked the entire bed. There was no finesse now, just primal need, a desperate drive for release. His balls slapped against her ass with every thrust.
"Just like that," he rasped. "Take every fucking inch. You're so perfect, mi vida." He drove into her again and again, the sound wet and obscene. Her moans were high-pitched whimpers now, punctuated by gasps as he hit her deepest spot relentlessly.
Her hands scrambled, finding his, their fingers lacing together tightly. She squeezed, anchoring herself to him as he pounded into her. The pressure built again, coiling impossibly tight. His thrusts became erratic, losing their rhythm, driven by pure instinct. He buried his face in her neck, teeth scraping her skin.
"Gonna come," he ground out, the words barely intelligible. "Gonna fill that perfect fucking cunt."
"Yes!" she begged, her voice breaking. "Please! Give it to me! Fucking come inside me, Papi! Now!"
Her plea tipped him over. With a final, guttural roar that was more animal than man, he slammed deep and held himself there, shuddering violently as his cock pulsed hard, pumping thick ropes of cum deep inside her. Her own climax crashed over her a second later, triggered by the hot flood filling her and the intense throbbing of his shaft. She cried out, her body convulsing beneath him, her cunt milking him through the last powerful jets.
He collapsed on top of her, breathing ragged, his weight a welcome anchor. Sweat glued their bodies together. The only sounds in the vast suite were their gasping breaths and the distant hum of Rome outside the window. His cock, still half-hard, pulsed gently inside her warmth as the aftershocks subsided. He nuzzled her neck, a low, satisfied hum vibrating against her skin. They stayed locked together, their entwined fingers resting against the damp sheets, the eternal flame banked but burning fiercely still.