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Matteo’s mouth travels down my neck, his tongue tracing the hollow of my throat where my pulse hammers wildly.

He moves lower, across my collarbone, down to my chest. His lips close around my nipple, teeth grazing lightly, drawing a gasp from deep in my throat.

Each point of contact burns like a brand, marking me as his in ways no one else ever has.

I arch against him, fingers tangling in his thick hair, guiding him lower.

The night air against my bare skin creates a delicious contrast to the heat of his mouth as he traces the line of dark hair down my stomach.

My breath catches as he undoes my trousers, sliding them down my hips with agonizing slowness.

I lift my hips to help him, suddenly beyond shame or hesitation.

The salt-laden breeze caresses my newly exposed skin, but it’s Matteo’s hungry gaze that makes me tremble. He pauses, drinking in the sight of me fully aroused beneath him, my desire evident and unashamed.

“Marco,” he breathes, my name a prayer on his lips.

Then his mouth is on me, hot and wet and perfect.

I gasp as he tastes me, my fingers digging into the sand on either side of the jacket, anchoring myself as pleasure threatens to sweep me away like the tide.

The distant roar of the sea mingles with the sounds that escape my throat—raw, unfiltered sounds of pleasure that I never imagined making before Matteo taught me the language of desire.

His tongue traces patterns that make my thighs quiver, his hands gripping my hips firmly to hold me in place as I writhe beneath him. The sight of his dark head moving between my legs, illuminated by moonlight, is almost too much to bear.

“Is this okay?” he asks, pausing to look up at me, his lips glistening, his eyes dark and serious even in his passion.

“More than okay,” I manage, my voice unrecognizable even to myself, rough with need. “Please don’t stop.”

He smiles and continues his exploration, one hand sliding up to caress my chest while his mouth works me relentlessly.

My hips rise off the makeshift bed, seeking more contact, more pressure, more of everything he offers.

Sand clings to my sweat-dampened back, a thousand tiny points of sensation adding to the overwhelming pleasure.

When he finally moves up to kiss me again, I taste myself on his lips—salt and musk and something uniquely mine. The intimacy of it makes me moan against his mouth, my hands fumbling to undress him, suddenly desperate to feel his skin against mine.

“I want to feel you,” I whisper, hands moving to the waistband of his trousers. “All of you.”

He helps me, both of us fumbling slightly in our eagerness, laughing softly when buttons prove stubborn.

And then there is nothing between us but night air and anticipation.

His body, revealed in the moonlight, takes my breath away—the broad shoulders, the narrow waist, the strong thighs now pressing between mine.

The feeling of his skin against mine, from chest to thigh, sends shock-waves of pleasure through my body.

Matteo reaches into his discarded trousers, retrieving a small bottle. “I came prepared,” he admits with a slightly sheepish smile. “Though I imagined a bed, not a beach.”

I laugh softly, pulling him down for another kiss. “I like this better.”

His fingers are slick and gentle as they prepare me, circling, teasing, gradually pressing inward.

The initial intrusion makes me tense, but his patient touches and murmured encouragements help me relax.

He works me open with painstaking tenderness, watching my face for any sign of discomfort, adding more lubricant when needed .

When he curls his fingers just so, I arch off the jacket with a sharp cry, stars exploding behind my eyelids. “There,” I gasp, clutching at his shoulders, feeling the muscles shift beneath my palms. “Right there.”

He smiles, repeating the motion until I’m writhing beneath him, incoherent with pleasure. The initial discomfort has given way to a need so intense it borders on pain.

“Now,” I finally gasp, my legs falling open wider in invitation. “Please, Matteo. I need you now.”

He positions himself above me, the blunt heat of him pressing against me.

Our eyes lock as he slowly pushes forward, breaching the tight ring of muscle.

The stretch and burn give way to a fullness that makes me cry out—a sound swallowed by the crash of waves nearby.

He stills, giving me time to adjust, his arms trembling with the effort of restraint, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool night air.

“You feel incredible,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice strained and hoarse. “So tight, so perfect around me.”

When he begins to move, it’s with shallow thrusts that gradually deepen as my body welcomes him.

The rhythm he sets matches the waves that roll endlessly toward shore—building, cresting, retreating only to build again.

Each thrust sends sparks of pleasure radiating through me, especially when he shifts his angle to brush against that spot inside that makes me see stars.

Above us, the constellations wheel in their ancient patterns, bearing witness to our union.

The sand beneath the jacket shifts with our movements, moulding itself to our bodies as if the earth itself embraces us.

The cool night air caresses our sweat-slicked skin, raising goosebumps that Matteo’s hands smooth away.

I wrap my legs around his waist, my heels digging into the small of his back, drawing him deeper.

I want to memorize every sensation—the weight of him inside me, the friction that sends sparks of pleasure up my spine, the slick heat where our bodies join, the sound of his breath growing more ragged with each thrust.

“Marco,” he gasps, the sound of my name—my real name, not my title—pushing me closer to the edge. His movements become more erratic, more urgent. “I’m close.”

“Me too,” I manage, one hand reaching between our bodies to touch myself.

He bats my hand away, replacing it with his own. His fingers wrap around me, stroking in perfect counterpoint to his thrusts. The dual sensations of him inside me and his hand working me in rhythm quickly becomes too much. Heat pools low in my abdomen, tension building to an unbearable peak.

I come with a cry that seems torn from the depths of my soul, spilling hot and wet between our bodies, my muscles clenching rhythmically around him. The pleasure washes over me in waves that mirror the sea beside us, each pulse leaving me more boneless than the last.

Matteo follows moments later, burying himself deep inside me with a final thrust. I feel the hot pulse of his release as he collapses against me, his face pressed into my neck, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

His rhythm falters as he finds his release, hips jerking erratically.

His forehead presses against mine, our breath mingling as we both shudder through the aftershocks.

For long moments afterwards, we lie tangled together, neither willing to break the connection.

The waves continue their eternal conversation with the shore.

The stars maintain their silent vigil. And I understand, with sudden clarity, that this moment—this perfect union of bodies and souls—is as holy as any Mass I’ve ever celebrated.

“Is this a sin?” I ask eventually, watching moonlight play across Matteo’s features as he lies beside me, one arm still draped possessively across my chest.

Matteo considers this seriously, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my skin. “How can something that makes me want to be better—more compassionate, more honest, more brave—be sinful?”

I think about Father Domenico’s words about authentic love, about my own deepening understanding of God’s boundless acceptance.

“No,” I answer my own question. “This isn’t sin. This is grace.”

We dress slowly, reluctantly, stealing kisses between buttons and zippers. The night has grown cooler, but I feel warmed from within by what we’ve shared.

“We should head back to the villa,” Matteo says eventually, brushing sand from my hair with tender attention. “Before your security detail comes looking for you.”

I nod, though part of me wishes we could stay here forever, cradled between sea and stars, free from the burdens that await us.

As we walk back along the shore, hands linked, I notice small grains of sand clinging to my skin—physical reminders of this night that I’ll carry with me when we return to our separate worlds.

There’s something deeply satisfying about that—carrying a secret piece of Matteo and this night against my skin, hidden beneath papal robes.

“What are you smiling about?” he asks, nudging my shoulder playfully.

“I was just thinking that I’ll be finding sand in unexpected places for days,” I admit. “A rather concrete reminder of tonight.”

His laugh is free and uninhibited, echoing across the empty beach. “The Pope, with sand in his unmentionables. What would the Cardinals say?”

“I suspect Cardinal Antonelli would spontaneously combust,” I reply, joining his laughter.

We reach the path leading back to the villa, but Matteo pauses, turning to face me. His expression grows serious as he takes both my hands in his.

“I need you to know something,” he says, his voice low and intense. “What happened tonight—what happens between us whenever we’re together—it’s not just physical for me. I’m in love with you, Marco. Completely, impossibly in love with you.”

The words hit me with physical force, stealing my breath. Though I’ve felt it growing between us, neither of us has named it so explicitly until now.

“I love you too,” I whisper, the words feeling both terrifying and liberating. “God help me, but I do.”

He pulls me close, kissing me with a tenderness that speaks more eloquently than words. When we part, his eyes shine with emotion in the moonlight.