Object Lessons

“Caitlyn? Darlin’?” Duke ran his fingers along the bumpy ridge of her spine, gently calling her back from where her dreams had taken her. Where he couldn’t follow, he thought jealously. Rising from the bed, he padded the short distance across the bedroom and picked up his phone, utterly unselfconscious about his nudity.

A quarter ‘til four. There was still time to get back to the Piazza del Duomo, and to climb the cathedral’s dome, if she was up for it.

Up for it. He snorted to himself, setting his phone down.

When wasn’t she up for something? For as delicate and fragile as she looked, the woman had the stamina—and interestingly, the drives—of a hormonal teenaged boy, chest-deep in the throes of puberty. His gaze swiveled to where she lay in the bed, barely covered by the tangled sheet like the Ninfa Arnina.

A slow smile curled his lips and he prowled towards her, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He liked thinking about her drives. He liked engaging them even more.

He grazed his