She gasps into the kiss, and I take the sound straight into me, deepening the kiss with everything I’ve been holding back since the day I met her.
She tastes like sleep and warmth and the future I never believed I could have.
When her fingers slide up my chest, exploring the hard lines of muscle, I swear I lose my mind.
Her touch—every stroke, every pass of her fingertips—lights me on fire. I am instantly over her, pressing her firmly into the mattress.
“Slow,” I manage to say against her lips, even as I drag her impossibly closer. “Let me—God, let me take care of you.”
Her breath stutters, and I can feel her heart pounding where her chest presses to mine.
I run my hands over her—her waist, her back, the curve of her hip—worshipping her with every slow, reverent movement.
“You’re so beautiful, Elena,” I murmur into her jaw, kissing my way to the corner of her mouth. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
Her fingers clutch my shoulders. She arches into me. “Alessandro…” she whispers, and it sounds like surrender.
I kiss her again—slow, consuming, claiming—pouring every unspoken thing into her mouth. Her hands roam my torso, learning me, trusting me, wanting me.
And I cradle the back of her head, my forehead pressed to hers, forcing myself to breathe before I take things too far.
“Dove,” I whisper, my voice almost shaking, “I want every piece of you… but only when you’re truly ready. Not because you think you owe me anything.”
She looks at me with so much emotion it nearly buckles me. “I’m not doing this because I should,” she says quietly. “I’m doing it because I want you.”
My control wavers—dangerously. I cup her face, kiss her again—slower this time, deeper—letting her feel exactly how much I adore her.
“Every inch of you is mine. Tell me what you need, Dove.”
Her breathing accelerates as my touch moves lower. “I don’t know what I need,” she admits, her eyes wide.
“Then I’ll show you,” I whisper. I settle between her legs, spreading them gently. My mouth finds the soft heat of her core.
She cries out, a startled sound that quickly turns into a long, drawn-out moan.
I use my hands to anchor her hips.I use my tongue, circling and pressing with agonizing slowness, driving her higher.
“This is mine, Elena.” I murmur against her skin. “Every tremor, every gasp. I want to hear it. I want you screaming my name.”
Her fingers tangle in the sheets, her back arching, the pressure building until she is breathless.
“Alessandro! Please—oh, God—”
I only intensify the focus, using my fingers now, slow and deep, guiding her to the very edge. I make her wait, savoring the building intensity, ensuring her body knows only my touch. When she finally shatters, the cry she lets out is primal, beautiful, and utterly free. She convulses against the mattress, her body shivering, lost entirely in the wave of pure sensation. I hold her, watching the raw, gorgeous display of her release. I slide up, pulling her tight against my chest, waiting for the tremors to subside. Her skin is flushed, her eyes wet with pleasure.
“You are exquisite,” I say, pressing a kiss to her damp forehead. “My beautiful, strong wife.”
I move between her legs, my body finally claiming the space that will be mine forever.
She is still sensitive, still slick from her release. I use one hand to part her, and the other to guide myself slowly, carefully.
“Tell me if this hurts,” I instruct, my voice rough with strain as I pause at the entrance. “Don't lie to me, Elena. I stop if you say stop.”
She shakes her head, her gaze fierce. “No. I trust you. Please.”
I enter her with excruciating slowness, passing the final, fragile barrier. She gasps, a sharp sound of pain and adjustment. I freeze instantly. “Are you okay?”
“Pressure,” she manages, panting. “Just... be slow. Don’t go back.”
