Bruno filled a second wine glass as he spoke. "I'd say your little dinner was a success."
I smiled and slid into the space beside him. "It was. Olivia might grill the hell out of me eventually…"
"All night she watched me. I was scared she'd run into the kitchen, grab a knife, and do what she threatened in college. Cut my dick off," he said, refilling his glass.
Giggling, I leaned into him. The blanket was already warm from his body heat, and for some unexplained reason I wanted to be engulfed in flames. Outside, the city was cold. Snowflakes floated down in thick clusters, gathering along the higher floors of the surrounding buildings. Right here next to Bruno was the warmest place to be.
He pressed a kiss onto my temple. "You looked happier than I'd seen you in a long while tonight."
"I was," I said. And I meant it. Not just because of the girls, Amoré Nights' success, the food, or even the wine. But this. Right here. After that we simply sat there, legs intertwined under the blanket, glasses lifted, the city looking in at us through the large windows. And for once, I didn't feel like I had to fill the silence. It already had everything I needed.
I placed a kiss on his cheek, and Bruno took the glass from my hand and set it on the table beside his. His fingers brushed my jaw, warm and deliberate, his thumb tracing the edge of my bottom lip. He leaned in and kissed me, starting slow, his mouth gentle and exploring. I went still for a heartbeat as the kiss deepened and his hand drew me closer.
I shifted onto his lap, my knees straddling his thighs. The blanket slipped off my shoulders and pooled behind me. The heat of the fire flickered along my skin, but it was nothing compared to the warmth building between us. Bruno's hands moved over me, possessive, slipping under the hem of my dress. I felt the urgency in his touch, the way he pulled me tighter. His mouth then claimed mine like he couldn't get close enough.
My dress crept higher as Bruno explored every inch of my legs, my waist, my back. He pressed his mouth to my neck, wet and open, lips dragging slowly over the curve of my throat. I tilted my head, giving him more, feeling the scrape of his teeth just below my collarbone.
"That feels so good," I purred.
My nails dug into his shoulders, my breath coming faster, body arching against his. I could feel his heartbeat under my palm, steady but quick, matching my own. His mouth found mine again, rougher now, more demanding, and I gave in completely. Bruno's hands gripped my hips as I moved against him, our bodies falling into a rhythm that made the rest of the world dissolve. He pulled back just enough to look at me, his thumb brushing over my cheek.
"Tonight is all about you."
The words cracked something open in me. I nodded, unable to find the voice to answer. Just a nod—quiet, desperate. He stood, lifting me effortlessly in his arms, my legs wrapped around him. He carried me toward the bedroom, past the city lights and the snow and the fireplace that still burned behind us. Every step felt deliberate, like he wasn't rushing it, like he wanted me to feel every second. He laid me down slowly, his body following mine. Eagerly, I reached for his pants, but Bruno caught my wrists before gently pinning them above my head.
"Not tonight," he said, voice low. "You don't have to do anything for me. Just feel."
I let out a shaky breath. My body trembled with the effort of not controlling, not leading, not holding everything together. I let him undress me slowly, his mouth following every exposed line of skin. The way he looked at me, hungry but reverent, made something tighten in my chest.
The fire burned low. Snow tapped the window like a polite guest who didn't demand to be invited in. The wool blanket scratched the back of my knees and smelled faintly of cedar. Bruno's palm rested on my hip, warm, steady, asking nothing. Waiting.
"Should we make things official?" he asked. There was no swagger in it. No pressure. It landed like a soft place to lie down.
I nodded. My throat felt tight and strangely clear at the same time. "Yes."
He moved in that slow way of his, like he was translating a language he did not want to get wrong. Lips to my temple. My cheek. The corner of my mouth. Each touch a question. I answered by leaning, by opening, by not running. Heat rose under my skin. Not the kind that panics. The kind that softens. My hands found his shoulders and then his shirt buttons, small careful clicks that felt louder than the wind outside.
He set the pace. And I was relieved and happy to relinquish control. The fire popped. We both looked, a reflex. Then we smiled, the same crooked curve. I pulled his shirt free and pressed my palms to his chest. Hair rough under skin, heartbeat even. This was what safe sounded like: a steady tempo, not speeding up the second I admitted I was afraid.
"There's no going back now," he said.
I could have said the same to him. Instead, I tugged him closer, legs shifting under the blanket. His mouth found mine fully now, no questions left, and I let my body answer what my mouth could not. The kiss turned deeper.
Clothes went in small piles. Socks off last, laughter at the awkwardness of it, the way adults can laugh in the middle of the most serious things. His hands at my waist. The blanket pulled higher. My skin against his. Warmth, weight, relief, the kind that makes you realize how cold you had been. I let my eyes close. Let the world narrow to scent and heat and the scrape of wool.
He kissed the hollow of my throat, and my breath caught, but not the way it used to, not with dread. My mind tried to rise, to narrate, to warn, and I told it to rest. Just for tonight. Just long enough to see what happened when I stopped standing guard.
"Look at me," he said.
I did. His eyes were not a demand. They were a place. I went there. Something unclenched. My hands moved on their own and found what they wanted. He groaned, quiet, as if he was trying not to break whatever spell we had managed to cast. I didn't want careful anymore. Not all careful. I wanted something honest.
"Please," I pleaded, and he gave me more, but still slow, still taking his time.
Bruno moved first. The blanket slid. The cold air bit my shoulder and then warmed again under his mouth. His fingers laced with mine, anchored. We found a rhythm that was not smooth at first, the way forgiveness never is. It stuttered. It learned. It settled.
When the orgasm came, it wasn't fireworks. It was a deep thaw, a river under ice cracking open, water pushing through the narrowest places. I heard myself say his name like I hadn't said it in a year, not as a weapon, not as a plea, just as a truth. He held me through it. He didn't let go until I did.
After, the room sounded busy. The snow tapped again. The fire sighed. My heartbeat slowed against his chest. He brushed a strand of hair from my mouth and looked like he was about tospeak. I shook my head. Not yet. Words could wait. Trust was busy knitting itself together in the quiet.
