“Michael—”
“Please.” His hand slid up my chest. “I need to feel something other than fear. Need to know we survived this.”
I let him pull me down, let our mouths meet in a kiss that was nothing like before—soft, lingering, lips brushing over and over as if we were relearning each other’s shape. I cupped his jaw, thumb tracing the hollow beneath his cheek, and felt his breath catch against my skin.
My hands moved slow, tracing the curve of his throat, the steady pulse beneath, reassuring myself he was still here. Heshivered, not from cold, but from the way I held him like something precious. I kissed him again, deeper now, but gentle—pouring everything I couldn’t say into the slide of my lips over his, the slow tangle of our tongues.
Michael’s hands found my shoulders, my back, drawing me closer until our bodies pressed together, skin to skin. I could feel the frantic beat of his heart, his need matching my own, but neither of us rushed. My fingers skimmed down his chest, mapping every inch, savoring the warmth of him, the soft rise and fall of his breath.
I broke the kiss only to press my mouth to his jaw, his neck, the space just below his ear where he was always most sensitive. He sighed, melting into me, tilting his head to give me more. My hand slipped lower, brushing the line of his ribs, the soft plane of his stomach, drawing lazy circles meant only to soothe, to anchor.
For a while, that was enough—just kissing, touching, slow and steady, letting the world and all its dangers fade to nothing. Every caress was a promise:I’m here. I’m not leaving. We made it through.
He tangled his fingers in my hair, pulling me back for another kiss, this one lingering and sweet. His hips lifted, searching for more contact, but I kept the pace gentle, grounding him, grounding us both in the safety of each other’s arms.
I pressed him back against the pillows, smoothing the hair from his forehead, letting my thumb brush along his cheekbone. “Let me,” I whispered, voice barely more than a promise. “Just let me take care of you tonight.”
He nodded, breath shaky, trust open and raw in his eyes. I kissed him again—soft, slow, lips moving over his until he relaxed under my touch, tension melting away as my hands wandered, tracing the planes of his chest, the lines of his arms,mapping the new scars that told the story of everything we’d survived.
His hips shifted, the need in him surfacing again, but I pressed my palm to his chest, pinning him gently. “Shh. You don’t have to do anything,” I murmured, kissing down the length of his throat. “Let me.”
He tried to argue, stubborn even now, but I shook my head, smiling as I nipped at his collarbone, then kissed my way lower. “Let me love you,” I breathed against his skin, the words a vow.
I took my time, kissing across his chest, over each scar and mark, my tongue lingering at his nipple, drawing lazy circles until he was sighing, arching up for more. I lavished attention there, sucking gently, feeling his heart stutter beneath my lips. My hand drifted lower, splaying over his stomach, grounding him, reminding him he was safe.
When I finally made it down, I hooked my fingers in the waistband of his shorts and looked up for permission. He nodded, breathless, eyes shining in the half-light. I slid them down slowly, baring him inch by inch, letting my hands linger on his thighs, savoring the way his muscles trembled under my touch.
He was already hard, cock flushed and beautiful, thick with want. I leaned in, nuzzling the base, breathing him in, letting him feel how much I needed this—needed to taste him, to worship him, to prove that survival could be sweet.
I pressed a soft kiss to the head, tongue flicking out to taste the bead of slick there, savoring the salt and heat. Michael shivered, a sound caught in his throat, hips lifting instinctively. I held him down with a gentle hand, taking my time, licking a slow stripe up the underside, then swirling my tongue around the head before taking him in, inch by inch, as deep as I could go.
He gasped, hands clutching at the sheets, knuckles white with the effort not to move. I hummed around him, the vibrationmaking him whimper, and started a slow, steady rhythm—drawing back to swirl my tongue around the tip, then sinking down again, savoring the weight and heat of him filling my mouth.
I wanted him to feel everything. I wanted to give him more than comfort—I wanted to give him release, proof that his body could still feel pleasure, that pain and fear didn’t own him.
I took my time as he shivered beneath me, letting him slip from my mouth, pressing a last lingering kiss to the flushed head before trailing my lips down, over the veins, along the base, down to the sensitive skin beneath. Michael’s thighs quivered under my palms, every muscle tense, every breath a soft plea for more.
I kissed the inside of his thighs, then further—scars, fresh and faded, marking his skin like constellations. I mouthed each one, let my tongue trace the lines, my hands gentle but sure as I mapped the places he’d bared only to me.
“Beautiful,” I murmured against a raised ridge on his hip, my voice low and rough. “All of you. Every scar, every mark, every inch. You hear me?” I punctuated each word with a kiss, dragging my lips up over his hipbones, across the groove of his waist, following the map of his body like it was holy.
He made a soft, helpless noise, half protest, half surrender. “Daniel?—”
“Don’t hide from me,” I whispered, breath hot against his skin. “Not tonight. I want you to feel everything. Want you to know you drive me crazy. The way you look at me, the way your body fits under my hands…” I let my tongue flick over his stomach, swirling over the faintest line of hair, making his abs twitch.
I dragged my palms up his chest, thumbs stroking over his nipples, pinching gently until he gasped and arched up for more.I leaned in, tongue circling one nipple, then the other, sucking gently, letting my teeth graze just enough to make him squirm.
“You like that?” I murmured, voice dirty-sweet, blowing cool air over the spit-slick skin. “You want me to worship you? Want me to make you forget the world? I’d spend all night on my knees for you if you’d let me.”
He whimpered, hips rolling up, desperate for contact. I moved back down, kissing the edge of a jagged scar on his ribs, biting softly, soothing the sting with my tongue.
“Every mark on you just makes me want you more,” I told him, letting my words sink in, letting my hands and mouth prove it. “You’re fucking gorgeous, you know that? These scars—they tell stories. Stories where you survived. Stories that brought you to me.”
I cupped his cock, still sensitive and leaking, giving him a slow, teasing stroke as I nuzzled the soft skin of his belly. “You taste so good, Michael. You make me so fucking hard. You don’t even know what you do to me.”
He moaned, his body relaxing into mine, surrendering a little more with every touch, every word. I took him in my mouth again, slow and reverent, while my hands worshipped everywhere else—his thighs, his stomach, his chest, his scars.
I wanted him to remember this, to feel wanted down to the bone, to know that pleasure and pain, past and present, could all belong to him tonight. And as he gasped my name, trembling, I let him feel every hungry, grateful inch of my devotion—without needing to say anything at all.
