He tilts his head. "What was what?"
"That." I wave my hand at the bed, at myself, at the evidence of whatever just happened. "I didn't—I've never—" I can't find the words. My face burns. "That much. I didn't know that could happen."
Understanding dawns in his expression. The corner of his mouth curves up.
"You squirted."
I stare at him. "I what?"
"Squirted." He says it like it's the most normal thing in the world. "Some women do when they orgasm. Not all. But some."
I look down at my thighs again. At the wet sheets. At the sheer volume of liquid that apparently came out of my body.
"I didn't know that was real." My voice sounds distant to my own ears. "I thought that was just—I don't know. Something people made up. For movies."
Bruno laughs.
"It's real." He reaches for me. "Come here."
"I need to clean up first. The sheets are?—"
"I don't care about the sheets."
"Bruno, it's everywhere."
"I know." His eyes darken. "I watched it happen. I felt it. I tasted it." He reaches for me again. "Come here, Antonella."
The way he says my name makes my stomach flip. I should be embarrassed. I should be mortified that I lost control so completely, that I made such a mess, that I screamed loud enough for the entire compound to hear.
But the way Bruno is looking at me doesn't leave room for embarrassment. He's looking at me like I'm something precious. Something he wants to keep.
I take a shaky step toward the bed. Then another. My legs still feel unreliable, but they hold.
Bruno shifts on the mattress, making room. He pats the space beside him.
"Lay down."
"The sheets are wet."
"I don't care."
"I'm wet."
"I know." His voice drops lower. "I like it."
I climb back onto the bed, avoiding the worst of the wet spot. Bruno pulls me against his side immediately, tucking me under his arm. My head rests on his chest. His skin is warm and damp with sweat.
We're both still covered in the evidence of what just happened. I should feel gross. I should want a shower. Instead, I feel boneless and satisfied and strangely content.
Bruno's hand strokes down my spine. Slow, gentle movements that make my eyes heavy.
"I didn't know," I say again, quieter this time. "That my body could do that."
"Neither did I." His chest rumbles under my ear. "Not until I watched it happen."
I lift my head to look at him. "You've never—with anyone else?"
"No." His jaw tightens slightly. "I've been with women who claimed they could. Who tried. But I never saw it happen. Never felt it." His hand tightens on my hip. "Until you."