Bob reclined in bed, with Francesca cuddled up next to him. It was their wedding night, and it had certainly been an improvement over Bob's first wedding night. This time, Bob didn't feel the need to run to the bathroom and cleanse himself, as he had with Selma.
Francesca was better than Selma in every sense, in the most literal way: she pleased Bob in all five senses. Kissing Francesca was not at all like kissing an ashtray, as Bob had once described Selma). Making love to Selma, by comparison, was practically bestiality.
And Francesca did not expect Bob to constantly flatter her, even though she deserved every possible compliment. Rather, she liked to compliment him.
"Oh, Roberto," Francesca purred, stroking Bob's hair, "you make love like a man who just got out of prison."
Bob was initially unsure of how to respond to that. He managed to croak out, "Again?"
Francesca kissed him right on the lips and ran both her hands through his hair. Bob hoped that was a yes.