Ten
That Old Black Magic
“Ambs…Ambs…c’mon. Time to get up.”
I wake up between a billion thread count sheets to what’s become a familiar smell over the last two weeks. A night of s*x, s*x, and more s*x, pungent and fragrant.
Luca’s in front of my side of the bed, shaking me awake, as he often did when he was just a dream. But this isn’t a dream. I know because he says, “The shower’s already running.”
The daily shower after Luca’s early workout and before the housekeeper’s arrival has become part of our new morning routine. But I can’t say I’m a fan. I find the showers way less enjoyable than taking a bath, which may or may not have something to do with Luca’s friskiness levels going down as the chances of my slipping goes up.
“Ten more minutes,” I mumble, refusing to open my eyes with
