My breath caught.I didn’t soften it.
“Then don’t,” I said.
That stopped him.
Just for a beat.
Something shifted—deep, quiet, seismic.
When he kissed me again, it was different.Still hungry.Still intense.But steadier.Intentional.
Not taking.
Choosing.
The seconds spun out between our bodies, heat rising like smoke between joined flames.He moved us—off the wall, across the room—with careful steps, never breaking the kiss.My dress was bunched at my hips, but I didn’t care.My skin burned for him.And him for me.
When he reached the bed, he didn’t drop me.He laid me down.With reverence.His eyes never left mine.Not when he peeled off his clothes, not when he knelt between my legs and ran his hands—slowly, deliberately—up my thighs, pushing the fabric out of the way.Not when he pressed his palm flat against the apex of my body and felt exactly what he did to me.
“I stayed away because I didn’t know how to hold this,” he said, voice rough but grounded.“Not without breaking it.”
I reached for him, pulling him closer, anchoring him where he stood.
“Then don’t break it,” I said softly.“Stand here.With me.”
The sound he made was low, strained—but his hands were steady now.
He entered me with a reverence that left me breathless.
Not a claim.
A joining.
His forehead pressed to mine.His body buried deep inside mine.His breath, sharp and uneven, whispered the shape of surrender.
And this time, he didn’t pull away.
Hestayed.In the feeling.In the burn.In the space where neither of us had to pretend.
The rhythm was unhurried.Deep.Intentional.Every movement a promise he wasn’t ready to speak out loud—but I heard it anyway.
His hand found mine.Fingers threaded.Anchored.
He didn’t let go.
Even when he came, his eyes stayed locked on mine, his lips against my temple, his breath ragged but present.
We didn’t speak right away.
We didn’t need to.
He stayed inside me.Both of us breathing hard.Hearts thundering.The yacht swayed gently.
And for the first time in weeks, the storm wasn’t between us.
It was around us.
Outside.
