I sigh as he bottoms out. I rest my head against my pillow, twist my arms behind his neck, and meet his eyes.
The solemnity staring back at me is as reassuring as it is unnerving.
Tipping my chin, I kiss him. And he begins to move inside me.
It’s steady, relentless, and beautiful. Not the desperate friction I’m used to but this languid build that keeps me teetering on edge. Half of me savors each punishing thrust while the other half craves each sweet caress. It’s a complete mind fuck that turns my body inside out and lasts longer than any sexual encounter I’ve ever enjoyed.
“Luca,” I cry out. “I-I can’t. I don’t…”
“You can, sweetheart. I got you. Let me take care of you.” His voice is tight but sure. Always so goddamn certain.
Closing my eyes, I give myself up to him. Mind, body, and soul.
He quickens his pace, gathering me close. And I shatter, my body breaking apart, fireworks exploding in my mind, and a smile crossing my lips.
Luca follows a moment later, spilling deep inside of me.
Then, he collapses on top of me before rolling so we’re side by side. We lay like that, sated and breathless and spent.
Minutes pass as we stare deep into each other’s eyes. I trace a constellation of beauty marks on his shoulder, my touch light. He drags the pads of his fingers up and down my thigh, languidly.
“I’ve never done anything like that before,” I admit. “I mean, it’s never felt so…soulful.”
His eyes are serious as he admits, “Me neither, Carla. You’re amazing.”
“I think that was mostly you,” I laugh. “I could hardly move at the end.”
“I loved every second of it, cucciola.” He leans closer to kiss me. “Thank you, sweetheart. For trusting me.”
“I’ve always trusted you.”
He smiles at that. Then, he kisses me again. “Let me clean up.”
I point him toward my bathroom, knowing he can find whatever he needs to sort himself out. But he comes back a moment later with a washcloth for me. He cleans me up, so fucking gently, I gape at him in shock.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, rubbing his palm over my inner thigh.
“I’m not…I…nothing.”
He pauses and quirks an eyebrow.
“What are you doing?” I gesture toward the washcloth.
“Cleaning you up so you can sleep.” He continues his aftercare.
“This is new for me.”
He stands and gives me another look. “Good. I want to be your gold standard.” Then, he tosses the washcloth in my bathroom, swaggers back to my bed, and slips in beside me.
“It’s still early,” I admit, glancing at the time on my phone: eight-oh-four a.m.
Luca chuckles. “It’s late for me. But it doesn’t matter. We have all morning.” He reaches for me and I go willingly.
Draping my body over his, I rest my head on his warm chest. His heartbeat thrums, the sound even and soothing. Steady, like him.
Luca’s hand lifts to my back and he draws lazy patterns across my skin—starbursts and fireworks—as he drifts to sleep. Once his hand steadies, his breathing evens out, and I pop my head up to study him.
He’s one of the best men I’ve ever known and last night, well, this morning, he gave me a gift. He showed me that I’m worthy of a man like him. One who can pluck at all the threads I keep in knots and make me want the things I crave but fear.
