Chapter 265

Chapter 265
Noah

Italy didn’t feel real.

That was my first thought when we stepped out of the tiny taxi and stared up at the cliffside town stacked in soft colors and light. I laced my fingers through Aiden’s.

“We’re in a postcard,” I whispered.

He squeezed my hand, smiling sideways at me. “We’re on our honeymoon.”

Right. That too.

Our luggage wheels rattled along the cobblestone street as we followed a small stone path upward toward our hotel—this impossibly charming place built right into the cliff, with balconies overlooking the sea.

And the whole time, I kept thinking:
No one knows us here.

We weren’t “coach and player.”
We weren’t “public figures.”
We weren’t “that story.”

We were just… Two men in love, walking hand in hand.
In public.

For the first time without looking over our shoulders.

I think that’s when it hit me—all at once—and I stopped in the middle of the path.

Aiden turned back. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I just… I feel free.”

His expression softened like sunlight.

“Good,” he murmured. “You deserve that.”

We did all the things honeymoon clichés say you should do.
We took a bunch of buses from town to town. 

In Sorrento, we wandered old streets with gelato dripping down our wrists.

“Okay,” I said, eyes wide. “This is strawberry sorbet actually made by angels.”

“Not possible,” Aiden replied calmly. “In Italy, angels created lemons. That's their exclusive flavor.”

We traded bites.

He was right. From lemon granitas and lemon pastries to pasta al limone, lemon was made in this land.

“Okay… I admit you're always right.” I said, stealing another bite.

“Promise me you'll repeat that later so I can record it…” He kissed my nose.

In Capri, we stopped at tiny terraces overlooking the Faraglioni rocks. 

At one point, a local woman who took our picture told us in broken English that love made people “walk lighter.”

We laughed.

But he wasn’t wrong.

We swam in water so clear I could see the pebbles beneath my feet.

Kids splashed nearby. Couples floated lazily. Aiden stood chest-deep in the water, hair slicked back, calm and beautiful, and I thought I might actually melt.

Then—drama.

A little boy’s floaty slipped from his arms and drifted out fast on the current. He froze. His mom shouted.

Before I even thought, I went after it—a few quick strokes—grabbed it, and came back to him, pressing it gently back into his tiny hands.

“Here you go, buddy,” I said softly.

He blinked up at me—wide-eyed—then smiled.

I ruffled his hair.

His mom thanked me in a rush of Italian and relief.

When I turned around, Aiden wasn’t watching the ocean.

He was watching me.

“What?” I said, blushing.

“Nothing,” he replied. Too soft. Too full. “Just…come here.”

So I did.

And maybe I kissed him there in the water.
And maybe nobody cared.
And maybe I felt like the world had finally, finally opened...

In Ravello, we drank limoncello that burned and sparkled all at once.

We visited a vineyard, swirling deep red wine in sunlight while the owner explained soil and aging and seasons in lyrical Italian, and I kept tasting like there was no tomorrow.

We sat at a small table overlooking the valley that evening, a little drunk—at least me—a single candle flickering between us, plates of fresh pasta steaming like heaven.

I twirled a noodle.

“So,” I said. “Lady and the Tramp?”

He raised a brow. “You’re the lady?”

“Obviously.”

He leaned forward, lips inching closer along the same strand.

We made it halfway before I burst out laughing.

“Romance killer,” he sighed, smiling anyway.

“Sorry,” I grinned. “Carry on.”

He kissed me instead.

We went olive oil tasting on a quiet hill the next afternoon.

Which sounded boring.

It…was not.

There were fields of silver-green trees shimmering in the breeze. The air smelled warm and alive. The owner poured golden oil into tiny white cups and explained peppery notes and harvest seasons.

Aiden listened like it was a university lecture.

I mostly listened to him agree with the locals about the sublime taste of the oil while I made faces at the awfully bitter taste I tried to push down with another glass of moscato wine.

And then—when we found ourselves alone for a moment between two long rows of trees—he tugged me close, kissed me slow, and rested his forehead against mine.

“I love you, baby boy.”

“I love you more—” My sentence got interrupted as he pulled me into a fierce kiss, and for the first time, we weren't looking over our shoulders.

But the kiss deepened, turning from sweet celebration to something hungrier, something that demanded more than fresh air and sunlight. I felt Aiden’s hands grip my waist, pulling me flush against him. His breathing hitched, matching my own.

Suddenly, he broke the kiss, a wicked glint in his eyes as he grabbed my hand. "Come here," he murmured, pulling me off the path.

We zigzagged between the vines, laughing like conspirators, until we reached a small, rustic tool shed. He shoved the door open, tugged me inside, and kicked it shut behind us. The dim interior smelled of wood and earth, and we stood there for a moment, chests heaving, grinning at each other in the sudden semi-darkness.

"Hey," I laughed, leaning back against the rough wood of the door. "I thought we didn't have to hide anymore."

Aiden laughed too, a low, rich sound as he stepped into my space, crowding me against the wood. He kissed me hard, swallowing my next words. "Maybe no one is gonna judge us here for being gay," he whispered against my lips, his hand sliding down to cup my ass, "but they can still arrest us for indecent exposure."

"But we're not indecent..." I teased, though my heart was pounding a frantic rhythm.

He winked at me, his fingers already working on his belt buckle. "Not yet."

"Oh my god," I gasped, laughter bubbling up in my throat. "For real? But we have a luxurious suite back at the hotel... a huge bed..."

"Yes," he agreed, the leather of his belt creaking as he undid it. "But what would be the fun in that?"

He had a point. The danger, the spontaneity—it was electric.

Our mouths crashed together again, hungry and desperate. There was no patience left, only a burning need to consume and be consumed. He spun me around abruptly, pushing my chest flat against the wooden door. His hands were on my waist, then my hips, tugging my pants and boxers down in one rough motion. The warm air against my bare skin was sticky, but it was instantly forgotten as I heard the rustle of him freeing himself.

"Hands flat," he growled in my ear.

I braced myself against the wood, breathless with anticipation. He didn't wait, didn't tease. He kicked my legs apart and lined up, then thrust into me in one swift, deep stroke.

"Fuck!" I cried out, the sudden stretch intense and perfect.

He didn't give me time to adjust, setting a ruthless pace from the very first second. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the small shed, mingling with our ragged breaths and the creak of the door under the force of his thrusts. It was urgent, fueled by the thrill of getting caught and the sheer naughtiness of fucking in a dusty shed in Italy while the world went on outside.

"God, Aiden... yes," I moaned, dropping my forehead against the wood as he began to hammer my sweet spot.

He felt amazing, thick and hard, driving into me with a singular focus. It was fast and dirty and absolutely perfect. I could feel the coil tightening in my gut, impossibly fast but inevitable.

"Come for me, baby," he gritted out, his hand fisting in my hair, pulling my head back.

The command sent me over the edge. My orgasm tore through me, violent and sudden, stripping the air from my lungs. I felt him tense behind me, his rhythm faltering as he buried himself deep and let go with a ragged groan, thrusting into me until we were both gasping and spent.

We stood there for a moment, slumped against the door, struggling to catch our breath. The smell of sex was potent in the small space.

Aiden pulled out gently, and I turned around, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him into a slow, lazy kiss. "We are terrible," I murmured against his lips, smiling.

"We are happy," he corrected, kissing me again.

We cleaned up quickly with handkerchiefs from our pockets—thank god for being prepared—and straightened our clothes. I checked my reflection in the dusty glass of the shed's small window, making sure I didn't look too thoroughly fucked.

Aiden opened the door a crack, peeked out, then grabbed my hand. "Clear."

We slipped out, blinking in the bright sunlight, and hurried back toward the main path. As we stepped onto the gravel walkway, we exchanged a wicked glance, grinning like two teenagers who had just narrowly escaped being caught. And it was just perfect.