I want to argue, to tell her I want more than just tonight. But I've waited seven years. I can negotiate for more time tomorrow.
I lift Elena into my arms. She wraps her legs around my waist, clinging to me as I carry her down the hallway.
"Which room?" I murmur against her neck.
She points, and I push the door open with my shoulder, revealing a simple bedroom with a stack of books on the nightstand, a framed photo of her triplets, a small vase of winter flowers.
I lay her gently on the bed, hovering above her. "I've dreamed about this. About you."
I’m almost afraid to look her in the eyes, afraid of what I’ll see in response to my confession.
So I focus on undressing her, discovering again the woman who stole my heart all those years ago.
My fingers slide under her sweater, pushing it over her head to reveal soft, warm skin.
She's different now, subtle changes that only someone who once knew every inch of her would notice.
"You're even more beautiful." I press my lips to the curve of her neck, the hollow of her throat, the swell of her breast.
She arches beneath me, her fingers tangled in my hair. "Luca…"
I take my time relearning her body, the places that make her gasp, the sensitive spot just below her navel. Seven years ago, we were younger, more frantic. Now I savor each moment, each touch.
Her clothes fall away beneath my hands, and mine soon follow.
When we're finally skin to skin, I pause, looking down at her.
She’s carried three children, built a life without me, but she still responds to my touch like no time has passed.
"You're still mine," I tell her, though I know I have no right to claim her. Not yet.
For tonight, she doesn't argue. Her eyes flutter closed as she surrenders to the moment, to us. I know this one night is all she’s willing to give, but as I lower my mouth to hers again, I make a silent promise that I won't let her slip away a second time.
I lose myself in the taste of her, the scent of her skin. My lips trail down her body.
Seven years dissolve as my tongue traces patterns against her inner thigh, moving higher with deliberate slowness.
Elena's fingers tighten in my hair, her breath catching as I pause at the apex of her thighs.
I inhale the scent of her. My mouth waters to taste her sweet essence.
"Please.” She arches under me, like she’s offering up her pussy. For a moment, I think of the man who gave her the children.
Did he touch her like this? Make her want like this?
I give my head a quick shake to rid it of the thoughts.
She’s mine. Always been mine.
I look up the length of her body, seeing the flush spreading across her skin, her eyes dark and desperate. This is what I've dreamed of on lonely Italian nights. This is what was stolen from us.
"I want to remember every sound you make," I murmur against her heated flesh before giving her what we both need.
Her back arches off the bed at the first touch of my tongue. I take my time, savoring her. Each gasp, each tremor of her thighs around my head is a victory, a reclaiming of what was ours.
"Luca… God…" Her voice breaks as my fingers join my mouth, curling inside her, finding that one spot I know drives her wild.
She cries out, her sweet nectar coating my tongue. Her hips rock, thighs tremble, as I continue to feast on her, continue to hear my name from her lips as I drive her up and make her shatter again.
