Billy found Monica's lips to be a true temptation every time he managed to kiss her; their lips brushed and ignited a spark of excitement that led him to lose himself in the act, just as it often happened to ordinary people.
-I think we have to face the journalists, - Monica commented, astonished to see the crowd gathered—it seemed like they were celebrating something. The people were thrilled, or simply effusive; it was the heat, perhaps the summer, that made them so lively.
It was an unchangeable rule of fame: it pursued and whipped at you. But it brought a sense of happiness, and once you tasted its sweetness, there was no escaping it. Billy admired everything happening around him. He was a bit tired and only wanted to spend the time in the hotel. Rome—what a beautiful city it was—reminding him of when he was young and explored every passage in the innocent ignorance of crowds, visiting the museums and their wonders.
-Let's order room service, my love. Make love to me all afternoon, let my skin be showered with your kisses, and let your seed fill my womb. For I need your love to get through my days, - Monica whispered to him. For months now, her heart had been suffocating, and their encounters had grown more intense, more brimming with that fast-paced life that left little time for people to even process or accept what was happening.
-You're such a temptress, - Billy breathed, laying his head on her thighs—beautiful ones, with her skin prickling with goosebumps, and her eyes revealing she was utterly desolate.
-I really liked your painting; I never thought you'd pick up the brush again, - Billy commented then.
-It's just that when I see what you do, it simply inspires me to create something like you, only I prefer tempera paints and a blank canvas. Something traditional, but in the way I learned—the paper doesn't usually spark those inspirations I find… - Monica replied, running her hand along his chin. She had white nails, long enough to be a bit bothersome, but now that there were no runways, she could wear them however she wanted, and no one would tell her otherwise.
-Like Guido Reni—there's nothing I love more than looking at him, that subtle way of painting human beings, the scenes that evoke sadness and the profound love of the Baroque, they make me see how people lived back then with such spirit, - Monica responded.
-Someone offered me a painting by Artemisia Gentileschi. But I decided not to take it—I'll buy one later, - Billy replied.
She raised her eyebrows; Billy lifted his body, coming within inches of her.
-You know what? Stay away from those magnates; they seem like good people, but steer clear of them, and never without checking the rumors, - Billy whispered, gazing at her parted lips, mere seconds away. Then they kissed slowly.
-I know, - she said, blushing sweetly—a tone that belied her age, her status, and her usual demeanor.
-I'm just repeating myself; I'm worried they'll use you. That's why I teamed up with William Domer—someone who seems to steer clear of those unworthy cults. The upper class is rotten, and I fear even William Domer might be hiding some things from me, which gives me a sickening feeling, - Billy replied. Now he viewed money with different burdens, in different moments; invitations were always open, but so was denial, and when that was concealed, everything came down to being cautious. That's the first thing he did: reject the lavish parties and devote himself to simpler gatherings that fit his life—ones where only dancing, drinking, and waking up the next day with a smile mattered, nothing out of the ordinary on his face.
-Well… - she whispered, then took Billy's deep kiss. Now, with them just a second away from knowing that losing the day was a form of true appreciation.
Monica's lips ran like two petals brushing together; their tongues entwined against Billy's. She felt a tingling that shot from her chest to her head, rising and soaring, as their stomachs pressed together in the heat of their joined bodies, her breasts compressed and fully erect, breaking any resistance. It was what was happening, and that's why the world revolved around it—the heat, the shared sweat.
Billy tasted the sweat trickling from her breasts, and she moaned in a choked, pained acknowledgment. She rubbed against him, drawing close once more in that intimate way.
Billy's member slid in quickly; she was completely wet—he could feel it soaking his thigh, and how she tried to forget the words and whispers. They moved apart and together in the rhythm of their hips, one thrust away from Billy finishing inside her. She clamped her legs tight around him, squeezing with force, because she needed to kiss him. Then the impulse led to an instant second round where their bodies united in fervent passion.
Monica's slender body was a wonder; her skin was smooth and so soft that a cloth could glide over it effortlessly. Her attributes were generous and precise; she was sensitive in nearly all the right spots when in the mood—she was a woman made for love. Taking her breasts in his hands, he tasted them again, rising up as his tongue trailed from her neck to her chin. She moaned at the provocation, clinging to him, blending it with another kiss.
Monica was lost then in the wet dream of pleasure; the wine she'd drunk had heated her blood, coursing strongly, and even her hands burned as they rested on Billy's biceps. She felt the second release—two in ten minutes—and she craved to kiss and bite; something was escaping within her. The nectar her body produced burst forth, drenching Billy's stomach, while her legs clamped even tighter and her pelvis thrust upward. Her eyes struggled to focus, but only on Billy's softening member, which grew again, sending her into sporadic spasms. She was so utterly spent.
Perhaps it was the massage from a while back. Oh, the rest—but she couldn't help feeling all the micro-sensations flying through her body; her legs were weak, and she erupted again in Billy's lovemaking as he boldly touched her clitoris, leading her to squirt in embarrassment. Her whole body was hypersensitive; the shame faded when it didn't bother him at all.
He continued taking her to pleasure, with skill and without pause—their bodies knew each other well. She squeezed him tightly, and as he moved, she lost her reason. All that training had paid off, Monica thought, sensing Billy's limit. The sharp way he moaned, his ragged breathing, both pressed against her.
-You shouldn't have gone so far, - Monica commented after five minutes, coming back to her senses.
-Sorry, - Billy said.
She had warned him it wasn't a safe day. "I'll take the pill, but be careful next time, my love."
-You're too sensual for my own good. -
Would you like me to adjust the tone to be more formal, casual, or emphasize certain stylistic elements in a future translation?
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