“Renato…” Her hands fist in my hair, not pushing me away but clinging to me.
I crawl back up her body, pressing my forehead to hers, letting her feel the tremor in my arms. “You okay?”
“I didn’t know it could feel like that,” she says, voice thick. “I thought... after what he did... I thought I’d never want to be touched again.”
“He didn’t take that from you. You still have it. You just needed to take it back.” I kiss her hair. “And you did. You chose this.”
She drags me into a fierce kiss, her hips moving restlessly under mine. “I want more,” she breathes. “I want all of it. I want you to replace every bad memory.”
“We’re going to go slow,” I tell her, rough thumb tracing her cheek. “I’m not rushing this. I’m not rushing you.”
“I trust you.”
Three words, and I’m destroyed.
Everything terrible I’ve done, every line I’ve crossed—none of it has crushed me the way her trust humbles me.
I lower my forehead to hers. “You have no idea how badly I want to destroy everything that ever touched you. But tonight, I’m going to build, not destroy. I’m going to worship you until there’s nothing left of them inside you.”
I kiss her again, while my hand traces down her body. When I reach between her legs, I pause. "I need to prepare you first. Make sure you're ready for me."
"Okay." She nods, her breath already quickening with anticipation.
I start with one finger, sliding it inside her slowly, carefully. She's incredibly tight, her body tensing at the intrusion despite the pleasure I just gave her.
I can feel her fighting the memory of Kozlov's violation, trying to separate what's happening now from what happened then.
"Breathe," I murmur against her ear. "This is me."
She exhales slowly, consciously relaxing. "Keep going."
I move my finger gently, letting her adjust to the sensation while my thumb finds her clit again. The combination makes her gasp, her hips shifting against my hand.
"Better?" I ask.
"Yes. God, yes."
I work her slowly, building the pleasure back up while her body adjusts. When I add a second finger, she tenses again, but the discomfort is brief. I take my time, stretching her carefully, making sure she's ready for what comes next.
"How does this feel?" I need to know she's still with me, still choosing this.
She rocks against my hand. "Don't stop."
I continue the slow preparation, watching her face, reading every micro-expression. She's here with me, present and engaged, not lost in traumatic memory. When I add a third finger, she's wet enough that the slide is easy, though I can feel how tight she still is.
"You're doing good, baby," I whisper. “You’re so fucking tight.”
"I want more now. I want you."
"Are you sure? We can wait, we can—"
"I'm sure." Her eyes lock on mine. "I want to feel you. All of you. I want that to be what I remember."
I remove my fingers slowly and strip off my clothes, letting her see all of me. When I settle back over her, I can feel her trembling—but it's anticipation now, not fear.
“Are you scared of me?” I ask, waiting for her to tell me to stop.
“No,” she says, reaching up to touch my face. “I’m not scared.”
