Seagulls squawked high above in the sky, and the brine from the sea tickled Peter’s nostrils. He was now replenished, but still restless. Ophelia had set his senses on fire and he gave in and touched her. He had made it look necessary to get her over the wall, but the truth was he had been dying to place his hands on her. The sparkle between them, however, that he hadn’t expected. Even through the gloves and her clothes, he had felt the synergy building between them and she had felt it too. He had never lost his control with a woman, and now, as a result, he needed to tend to his body. He thought about diving in the cold waters, but knew swimming would only excite him more. Time to collect another object for his memories collection. After a brief shower, he drove back to Rome, to the nightclub barges anchored alongside the Tiber River. He had several favorites, but decided to try a new one tonight, the Arco di Trionfo under Vittorio Bridge.

The place, nothing more than a dive despite being pretentiously named after the Arch of Triumph, was well assorted in the human variety. Peter didn’t care for alcohol, but usually a large crowd meant the beverages were either good or cheap. Or both. He couldn’t understand human’s fixation for getting inebriated. He’d never been drunk. His body metabolized alcohol at such a rate, he had never felt any effects. He also didn’t like to pick up women who were intoxicated. He wanted them to know what they were doing before he removed his gloves and touched them.

He saw the brunette before she saw him. He strolled toward her, and sure enough, she felt his presence. She smiled at him and he coked his head to the side. She nodded and followed him outside. Peter preferred the nightclub barges because there were plenty of secluded corners under the Lungotevere bridges, and he wasn’t always in the mood to follow them to their homes.

Last night, he had needed the diversion with the two women and accepted to go to the redhead’s place. But now he was going for something fast, and the arched alley just around the corner from the barge would do. The young woman was curvaceous and her hair bounced over her back. She was lovely, and kept smiling at him, but he saw beneath the façade and found her sadness.

“I’m M—”

He pushed her against the concrete wall as he lowered his mouth over hers to stop her from saying her name. Not quite kissing her yet, he whispered, “I can only give you this.” Still wearing his gloves, he brushed the side of her ribcage and stopped just under her breast. “Nothing more.”

She moaned and arched her back to press herself against him. “It’s enough.”

Peter removed his gloves and caressed her jaw. Her eyes widened at the onslaught of feelings he elicited with a single brush, lust instantaneously overwhelming her senses. He had to cover her mouth with his, least she screamed as he raised her skirt and lowered his jeans. Casting her panties aside, he joined their bodies with a swift thrust. He grabbed her legs and she was fast in anchoring herself to him as he rocked in and out of her, making sure the woman experienced the highest peaks of pleasure several times before he let himself reach completion.

He had to help her stand when he finally lowered her to the ground. Her eyes half-closed, she sought one last kiss. They asked so little of him, and a kiss meant nothing to him. His eyes went to a small barrette holding her black curls to the side. In the throes of passion, the barrette had come loose and was now dangling from a silky strand. Small, delicate fabric rosettes in pastel colors decorated it. One rosette was missing and showed the yellow glue underneath. Almost childish in his innocence, that object was his collected memory for the night. He wore his gloves and breathed a deep breath.