For the next week, every moment when Dylan’s not at work is a moment we spend together. He takes me to the incredible, massive Colosseum where gladiators used to get eaten by lions. To the Catacombs. To the Vatican Museums.

When I see the Sistine Chapel for the first time, my lover is clasping my hand in his. In a whisper, he describes to me how Michelangelo lay on his back for years, toiling over the amazing fresco depicting everything from the Creation of Adam to the Last Judgment.

Hundreds of tourists flock around us, but as far as I’m concerned we’re alone. It’s a moment that I’ll never forget, among many, many perfect moments spent by Dylan’s side.

He takes me to the Trevi Fountain, where sexy Anita Ekberg splashed around in a strapless dress in La Dolce Vita. Tourists get fined 650 euros if they try that these days, or else I’d be tempted to do it. But I don’t need a fountain to feel sexy around Dylan. He makes me feel so good about myself every second that we’re together that I’ve become all but cocky. A little gelato dripping down my chin is enough to get him going. A shy look. A kiss in the middle of a piazza. I can do no wrong in his eyes, and I love it.

For the first time in my life I feel like I’m not just dating a man. I’m in a relationship. A mature, adult relationship with communication, openness and so, so much sex. We’re lovers in a beautiful city, and it’s the best feeling in the world.

By the time I get home at four on my second Friday in Rome, I’ve eaten my almost-daily gelato, walked miles and miles through narrow streets, and even done a little shopping. I came away with a bit of lace lingerie that’s so see-through that I may as well not wear it. I know Dylan loves my breasts, and I know he doesn’t need any encouragement to get his mouth on them, but there’s nothing wrong with a little fabulous packaging.

When I walk into my apartment, aware that Dylan will be home from work soon, I shower off the day’s sweat and slip the negligée on. My tits do look great in this thing, if I may say so myself. One day gravity will claim them, but not today.

Dylan told me he’d be back shortly after four, so when I hear a knock on the front door, I fly over like an over-eager sparrow. Normally he enters via the balcony, but it’s entirely possible that he hasn’t been by his place yet.

“Who is it?” I ask, my tone coy.

“He who is very hungry for what’s between your legs,” the voice replies. Suddenly I’m really glad I didn’t put panties on. I open the door a crack and shove my face out.

“I’m not decent,” I tell my lover, who’s looking mighty sexy, his skin shiny from the Roman heat.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he tells me. I pull the door open to reveal myself, crossing one foot over the other and placing my hands on my hips. A second later the door’s slammed shut, he’s on his knees, his lips locked around one nipple, his hand between my legs like he’s already detected the lack of panties. When he discovers how wet I am, he lets out a prolonged moan of bliss.

Very, very good boy.

“I missed you today,” he says as he slips over to the other nipple to tease it with his teeth.

“I missed you too,” I reply. “A lot.”

“Oh, sorry, I wasn’t talking to you,” he says, looking up at my face as he takes my breasts in both hands. “I was talking to these sweet girls.” He presses them together and licks my cleavage.

“We’re a package deal,” I tell him. “Anything you say to them, you say to me.”

“Fair enough.” He rises to his feet and kisses me like someone who meant it when he said he missed me. “Thank you, Loose,” he says when we’ve managed to pull apart for a moment.

“For what?”

He slips a finger under the negligée’s strap. “For this,” he says. “For this.” He slips his hand down again and strokes a finger over my very wet pussy. “For this.” He kisses my lips again.

Perfect man.

“I want to fuck you,” he says, grabbing my hips and pulling my body towards his. “God, I’ve wanted you all day.”

“So take me,” I reply. “What are you waiting for?”

“I will—but I desperately need a shower. Is that okay?”

I let out a laugh. “It’s fine. Just do it quickly, or I’ll explode.”

He nods. “So will I. But I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” He slides down to his knees and kisses me between my legs. “Do not, under any circumstances, cover up this beautiful thing,” he commands, cupping my sex in his right hand. “I’m going to inspect it further upon my return.”

“In that case, I definitely won’t cover it.”

“Be right back.” When he’s stood up again, he goes tearing out the back way and around the balcony to his place, where he disappears inside.

I move around the apartment, tidying this stack of papers and cleaning the kitchen as I wait for him, impatient to feel his mouth on me again. Sure enough, after a few minutes I see him jogging back over, wearing nothing but the bath towel that’s wrapped around his waist. As soon as he’s inside, he lets it drop to the floor, revealing a massive hard-on that makes me want to die in a puddle of my own drool.

We just stand and stare wickedly at each other from across the room, me in my see-through negligée, him with nothing on at all.

Oh, yes. We’re going to make love again, and it’ll be just like the first time. Possibly even better.

But just as we each take a step towards one another, someone jiggles the knob on the door that leads into the hallway. Shit, oh shit. It hits me for the first time that I forgot to lock it when Dylan came in. I leap towards it, trying my damnedest to get to it before the intruder comes in.

But I’m too late.

Before I know it, two familiar, horrified faces are staring at me, their eyes expanded to saucer size. Then, in a perfectly synchronized motion, they turn to Dylan and his very impressive erection.

Then back to me.

Kill me, I mutter.