"Please," she breathed. "I need—"
"What do you need?"
"You. I need you."
I kissed down her stomach, hooking my fingers in her underwear and dragging it down her legs. She was already wet—glistening in the golden light, swollen with want. I pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, breathing in the scent of her, making her wait.
"Vasily." My name came out desperate, pleading. "Please. Don't tease."
"I'm not teasing." I spread her open with my thumbs, exposing the pink flesh that was mine alone. "I'm savoring."
I lowered my head and tasted her.
She cried out, her thighs clamping around my ears, her hands tangling in my hair. I licked through her folds slowly, deliberately, tracing patterns on her clit that made her writhe beneath me. She tasted like honey, like salt, like home. I would never get enough of this—of her falling apart on my tongue, of the sounds she made when pleasure overtook her.
"More," she gasped. "I need more."
I slid two fingers inside her, curling them to find the spot that made her see stars. She was tight—tighter than before the pregnancy, the muscles of her core rebuilt through months of recovery. I worked her slowly, my tongue never leaving her clit, building her toward the peak I knew was coming.
"I'm going to—" She couldn't finish the sentence. Her body tensed, her inner walls clamping down on my fingers, and then she shattered. I felt her orgasm pulse through her, felt her cry my name to the evening sky, felt her thighs tremble against my cheeks.
I worked her through it, gentling my touch as the waves subsided. When she finally relaxed, I kissed my way back up her body, settling over her with my weight on my forearms.
"Hi," she said, her voice dazed and sated.
"Hi yourself."
She reached between us, finding the hard length of me through my trousers. "You're overdressed."
"Easily remedied."
I stood just long enough to strip—shirt, trousers, everything—then returned to her, skin against skin, her body soft and welcoming beneath mine. She wrapped her legs around my waist, pulling me closer, her heels pressing into the small of my back.
"I love you," she said. "I don't say it enough. I love you, Vasily."
"You say it every day."
"It's not enough. I want to say it every minute. Every second." She pulled me down for a kiss, her tongue sliding against mine. "I love you."
"I love you too." I positioned myself at her entrance, feeling her slick heat against the head of my cock. "More than I knew I was capable of loving anyone. More than my own life."
I pushed inside her.
The sensation was overwhelming—tight, wet, hot, perfect. She moaned into my mouth, her nails raking down my back, her hips rising to take me deeper. I stilled for a moment, buried to the hilt, savoring the feeling of being joined with her.
"Move," she commanded. "Please, Vasily. Move."
I moved.
Long, slow strokes at first—pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in. She matched my rhythm, her body rising to meet each thrust, her breath coming in soft gasps. The sun was setting behind us, painting her skin in shades of amber and rose, making her look like something out of a dream.
"Harder," she breathed. "I need—"
I gave her harder. Drove into her with increasing force, the lounge creaking beneath us, the sound of skin against skin mixing with her cries and my groans. She was so responsive, so uninhibited, her pleasure written across her face for me to read.
"That's it," I growled. "Take it. Take all of me."
"Yes—God, yes—"
