As far as my hormones are concerned, it’s more like foreplay, but I have to find a way to get through the next twenty-something kisses with my dignity intact, so I’m going with nonchalance.
“You want to conduct business in the driveway?” He glances meaningfully at the front windows of the house that are spilling golden light onto the gravel where we’re standing.
I form an uncomfortable mental image of his mother watching in horror as we kiss, and decide he’s right. “We can’t do it inside, either.”
He understands without me having to explain and suggests an alternative. “The garden.”
I picture us sharing a passionate kiss under the moonlight beside the fountain of Aphrodite, picture Matteo pushing me down onto the grass and pushing himself between my naked thighs, and my n*****s harden.
