She exhales shakily, her hair falling forward to curtain her face. "More than okay," she murmurs, and then she begins to move. “But damn you feel so big this way.”
It’s slow at first, exploratory. She finds her rhythm, her body learning mine, each roll of her hips deliberate, each breath a little louder, a little more unsteady.
The air between us is thick with the sound of skin against skin, the creak of the bed, the wet heat of her breath against my neck as she leans down, her lips brushing my jaw. I reach up and cup her breasts, rolling and tugging the hard nipples.
I let her lead, let her take what she needs. My hands stroke her ass, her thighs, but I don’t rush her. I don’t push.
I just watch, my own breath coming faster as her movements grow bolder.
"You’re so beautiful like this," I tell her. The words feel inadequate as I watch her ride my cock, her lashes fluttering as she arches her back, her hair spilling down her back.
She bites her lip, her nails scraping lightly over my chest, and then she’s moving faster, her breath coming in sharp little gasps.I guide her hips with gentle pressure, helping her find the angle that makes her whimper, but I never take over.
This is all her.
Her head falls back, the line of her throat exposed. The sound she makes is half my name, half something wordless, a cry that fills the room, that vibrates through me.
I can feel her tightening around me, her body trembling as she comes apart, her fingers clutching at my shoulders like I’m the only thing keeping her from floating away.
"That’s it," I murmur, my own control fraying at the edges. "God, you’re so fucking gorgeous when you come."
And then I’m there with her, the world narrowing to the feel of her, the sound of her, the way her name tastes on my lips as I come deep inside her.
Afterwards, she doesn’t pull away. She stays draped over me, her cheek pressed to my chest, her breath warm against my skin. The room is quiet except for the sound of our hearts slowing, the occasional rustle of sheets as we shift closer.
Her fingers trace idle patterns on my chest, her touch light, almost absentminded. I run my hand through her hair, untangling the knots, smoothing it down her back. Neither of us speaks. There’s no need.
Last night, I gave her what she needed.
Tonight, she’s given me something I didn’t know I’d been waiting for.
And as she settles deeper into my arms, I realize she’s no longer the only one healing.
Eventually, she pulls away. Back to her room before dawn, maintaining the lie that this doesn't exist in daylight.
"Camilla?" I catch her hand before she can leave.
She pauses, looking back at me in the darkness.
"Thank you," I say simply. "For coming back. For choosing this again."
"Don't thank me," she says softly. "I'm doing this for me."
"That's why it means so much."
She's quiet for a moment, then leans down and kisses me softly. It's different from the urgent kisses earlier—this one is gentle, almost tender. A promise, maybe. Or an acknowledgment.
Then she's gone, slipping out into the pre-dawn darkness, leaving me alone with sheets that smell like her and the devastating knowledge that this is becoming something more than healing.
Something neither of us is ready to name but both of us keep choosing.
Chapter 43: Camilla
The car is not what I expected. I'm standing in the villa's courtyard after breakfast, when one of his men pulls up in a sleek silver sports car.
"Good morning," he says, climbing out and handing keys to Renato who's appeared beside me. "She's fueled up and ready to go."
"Thank you." Renato dismisses him with a nod, then turns to me with something that might be nervousness in his expression. "I thought we'd take something fun. If that's okay."
