I obeyed, limbs shaking as I settled onto the bed, and watched him stand at the edge of it like he wasn’t sure whether to worship or devour me.
“Come here,” I said again, soft but commanding.
He climbed over me slowly, fitting our bodies together with a precision that felt like coming home. And when he pushed inside me — deep, careful, reverent — everything else disappeared. I let out a broken sound, clutching at his shoulders, and he stilled.
“Okay?” he whispered, forehead pressed to mine.
“Perfect,” I breathed. “You’re perfect.”
We moved together in slow, hypnotic rhythm, our hands roaming, our mouths finding each other over and over again. There was no rush. Just rediscovery. Just awe. Just Jimmy murmuring praise against my skin like a litany:So beautiful. So strong. So fucking brave.
Rain had started pattering against the windows, creating a gentle rhythm that matched our breathing. "I missed this," I gasped as he found that spot inside me that made stars explode behind my eyelids. "I missed you touching me like this."
"Like what?" he asked, his breath hot against my ear.
"Like I matter," I said, the words coming out more honest than I'd intended. "Like I'm worth fighting for."
Jimmy stilled for a moment, pulling back to look at me with something that might have been anguish.
"Izzy," he said, his voice rough. "You are worth fighting for. You're worth everything. Don't ever doubt that."
When his hand slipped between us to circle my clit with steady pressure, my voice cracked on his name. “Jimmy — God — I’m — ”
“Let go,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “I’ve got you, Izzy. I’ve always had you.”
And I did. I let go of the control I'd been clinging to for weeks, let go of the fear that loving him would cost me everything I'd worked for, let go of the idea that I had to be perfect to be worthy of love. The orgasm that crashed over me was more than physical — it was emotional, spiritual, a complete surrender to the man above me and the love between us.
Jimmy followed me over the edge with a broken cry of myname, his body shuddering against mine as he buried his face in my neck. We clung to each other as the aftershocks faded, both of us breathing hard, both of us trying to process what had just happened.
We lay tangled in silence for a long time, just breathing, just holding each other. But something restless thrummed beneath our skin.
We weren't done. Not nearly.
As our breathing slowed, as the golden light outside began to fade toward evening, Jimmy began pressing soft kisses to my collarbone, my throat, the sensitive spot behind my ear that made me shiver. He kissed the curve of my shoulder, then the underside of my breast, then lower, letting his mouth trace a path that sent shivers racing through me.
“Baby?” he murmured.
“Mmm?” I murmured in return.
"Baby?" he asked again, his voice suddenly taking on a playful note I hadn't heard in weeks.
He sang softly, and began humming a familiar tune, swaying his hips against mine in a way that made me laugh despite myself.
"Are you seriously serenading me with Marvin Gaye right now?" I asked, but I was grinning, feeling lighter than I had in months.
"Maybe," he said. "Is it working?"
"Jimmy Dalton," I said, mock-seriously, "you are absolutely ridiculous."
"Ridiculously in love with you," he countered, punctuating his words with a roll of his hips that made me gasp.
This time, there was nothing careful or tentative about what happened between us. This was celebration, pure and simple — a joyous reclaiming of our bodies, our connection, our future. Jimmy moved above me with a rhythm that was part dance, part worship, making me laugh and moan in equal measure.
What followed was athletic, urgent, a little bit ridiculous, and absolutely perfect. We moved together with the kind of abandon that comes from knowing you're safe, knowing you're loved, knowing that the person above you would do anything to make you feel cherished.
It wasn’t careful this time. It wasn’t tender.
It washungry.
