"Take me to bed," he said quietly. "Show me what you're fighting for."
I lifted him into my arms and carried him to the bed. He wrapped his arms around my neck and buried his face against my shoulder. I could feel him trembling slightly.
I laid him down carefully. Covered his body with mine. Kissed him slowly and thoroughly until he relaxed into the mattress.
"I love you," I said against his mouth. "More than I thought I was capable of loving anyone."
"I know. I love you too." His hands framed my face. "Now stop talking and show me."
I undressed him slowly. Reverently. Taking my time with each piece of clothing. Mapping his skin with my hands and mouth. Memorizing every detail in case this ended. In case six months from now I was locked away and these memories were all I had left.
He shivered under my touch. "Sandro—"
"Let me." I kissed down his chest. His stomach. "Let me worship you. Let me show you what you mean to me."
I took him in my mouth and he gasped. Threaded his fingers through my hair. I worked him slowly. Carefully. Paying attention to every sound he made. Every way his body responded.
When he was trembling and desperate, I pulled back. Reached for supplies. Prepared him with gentle fingers that took their time. That made sure he was ready.
"Please," he gasped. "Sandro, I need—"
"I know. I've got you." I positioned myself. Pushed inside slowly. Watching his face. Watching the way his eyes widened and then fluttered closed. The way his mouth fell open on a silent moan.
I seated myself fully and stayed still. Let him adjust. Let us both feel the connection.
His eyes opened. Met mine. And I saw everything there. Love and trust and absolute certainty.
"Move," he whispered. "Please."
I did. Long, slow strokes that built heat gradually. That weren't about rushing toward release but about savoring every moment. About connection more than pleasure.
Though there was plenty of pleasure.
I shifted angles. Found that spot inside him that made him cry out and arch off the bed. Did it again. And again. Watching him come undone beneath me.
"Look at me," I commanded softly. "Keep your eyes open. Let me see you."
He did. His gaze locked on mine as I moved inside him. As I took him apart piece by piece with deliberate precision.
"You're so beautiful like this," I told him. "So perfect. So mine."
"Yours," he agreed breathlessly. "Always yours."
I felt my control starting to crack. The emotion was too intense. The reality of what we had and what I might lose overwhelming me.
My rhythm faltered. My breath hitched.
Emilio saw it. Pulled me down to him. Kissed me deeply.
"It's okay," he murmured against my mouth. "I've got you. Let go."
And something in me broke.
I made love to him with desperate intensity. Pouring everything I couldn't say into the physical connection. All my fear and gratitude and overwhelming love.
He took it. Took all of it. Met me stroke for stroke. His legs wrapped around my waist. His hands gripping my shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
"I love you," I choked out. "God, Emilio, I love you so much—"
