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The linen was sticking to his back, uncomfortable and itchy, but his muscles were too lass to do something about it. Too mollified by the previous passionate activities.
Oddly enough there had actually been some sort of passion between them, unexpected by Cosimo. He had been told that Contessina was willing to do her part, but that had been something different.
She had not been submissive and unmovable while Cosimo did his duty. There was still the ghost of her warm thighs around his hips, left on his back on the mattress as his wife rode him like he were nothing more than a lively colt in need to be worn out.
He had held the soft meat of her ass between his fingers and for a moment it had felt like the figures of all his previous lovers, with all their similarities and their differences, became one with her body. Marco Bello, Bianca and a series of nameless, almost forgotten paramours had morphed on his lips into a single word, breathed out in-between moans “Contessina!”
There might have been an answer to his call. Cosimo wasn’t sure of it. His ears were still ringing, his harsh breathing slowly getting even, but as she sat on the edge of the mattress, he had a perfect view for her back.
It was pale and lustrous with perspiration as the polished marble Cosimo had seen in Donatello’s studio and he found himself enamoured of it after the first time they had shared a bed. Yet Contessina wasn’t as cold as a statue.
The sinews in her arms moved quickly as she made leverage on the mattress to rise up. A thing of beauty that Cosimo could admire closely, stretch out his hand and touch. Nobody would reprimand him for that now that the feeling could be bestowed upon his legitimate wife.
That wasn’t what Cosimo had been expecting out of the situation. An arranged marriage, political benefits for his house and economical ones for Contessina’s family, a son or two in the near future if possible and after that, an amenable stranger to live with if he was lucky.
Instead his consort had immediately showed him that this wasn’t going to be the case. She had an acute mind behind her practiced smile and a tongue to match it, though she didn’t use them to freely be cruel to the servants and lesser people, strong of her position. Cosimo had feared he would have to deal with a spoiled brat who excused her whims under the name of her fathers.
He rose on his elbows, moving slowly as the fog of satisfaction still lingered in his head. Contessina’s profile remained that of a perfect statue even if she blushed like a pure rose crowned by the dew of the morning. By now Cosimo knew that this wasn’t strictly the truth.
As she moved toward the door, her voice came out soft and scraped at the same time, and she turned to lean her gentle temple against the door, “will Marco Bello still be waiting outside the door as usual?”
There was a liquid fire in her eyes that shone, lust running through here body even after having had her husband moments before, “our bed is big enough. I’m calling him in.”
Cosimo smiled as he let himself fall back on the linen.