I watch her come back to herself, bit by bit. The fear doesn't disappear, I'm not naive enough to think one confrontationcan erase years of trauma, but it recedes, becomes manageable again.
"Better?" I ask quietly when I feel her fully relax against me.
She nods against my chest. "Better."
When she pulls back to look at me, her eyes are clearer, more present. She reaches up, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw with a tenderness that makes my heart ache.
"Thank you," she says simply. "For everything."
"No thanks needed."
Her hand slides to the back of my neck, pulling me down until our lips meet again. This kiss is different, not desperate but deliberate. Slow. Purposeful. Her mouth opens under mine, her tongue teasing along the seam of my lips until I grant her access with a low groan.
My hands find her waist, steadying her as she rises to her knees on the bed, bringing our bodies flush against each other.
"I need you," she whispers against my lips. "I need to feel you."
I draw back, holding her jaw, searching her eyes. My voice comes out rough, low. "Tell me you want this."
She doesn’t answer, just slides her hands to my buttons. Her fingers work steadily, but her eyes stay locked on mine, daring me to stop her, to take control like she knows I want to. I let her undress me, my hands curling tight on her hips, ready to take over if she falters.
"I've never been more sure of anything," she says, her palms sliding over my bare chest with deliberate slowness.
I take her mouth, plunging my tongue deep, my hands greedy as they slide under her sweater, needing skin, needing proof she’s really here, really choosing me. I pull back just long enough to lift it over her head, revealing the simple cotton bra beneath. No lace, no fancy lingerie, just Sadie, real and unadorned and perfect.
“Look at me. You have no idea what you do to me.” My voice rumbles, all grit and ownership.
A blush spreads across her cheeks, down her neck to her chest. "Even with all this?" she asks, gesturing to the stretch marks on her stomach, the softness of her hips.
"Especially with all that," I say, bending to press a kiss to each mark, each curve she tries to hide. "Every part of you tells your story. And I love every chapter."
Her breath hitches when I bite her shoulder. She tangles her fingers in my hair, pulling me closer. My mouth moves over her skin, tasting, marking. I want her to feel it for days. This isn’t just comfort. This is need, raw and driving, the urge to possess, to claim, to make damn sure she never doubts she belongs to me.
When I look up, her eyes are shining with unshed tears, but her smile is radiant. She reaches for me, and I go willingly into her arms, into the warmth of her embrace, into the future we're building together one moment at a time.
She touches me like she’s worshipping, and it nearly undoes me. When her fingers fumble with my belt, I cover her hands, needing to feel that pulse of surrender, that need to be taken.
"Slow," I whisper against her temple. "We have all night."
She nods, but there's an urgency in her movements that tells me what she needs—connection, proof that this is real, that she's alive and safe and here with me.
I understand that need. I feel it too, pulsing beneath my skin like a second heartbeat.
I lay her back against the pillows, taking my time as I remove her jeans, sliding them down her legs inch by inch. Her skin is pale in the soft hotel lighting, goosebumps rising in the wake of my touch. I press kisses to her ankles, her calves, the sensitive skin behind her knees.
"Axel," she whispers, her voice catching. "Please."
I look up at her, spread out before me in nothing but simple cotton underwear. No pretense, no performance, just Sadie, trusting me with her body, her heart.
"Tell me what you need," I say, my hands steady on her thighs.
She reaches for me and pulls me up until we're face-to-face. "I need to feel something good," she whispers against my lips. "I need to feel you. All of you."
I kiss her deeply, pouring everything I can't say into the connection. My hands find the clasp of her bra, waiting for her nod before unhooking it and sliding it from her shoulders. Her breasts are full, marked with the silvery lines of pregnancy and motherhood. Beautiful. Perfect.
"God, look at you," I murmur, cupping their weight in my palms. "So fucking gorgeous."
A flush spreads across her chest, up her neck to her cheeks. Not embarrassment, pleasure. Pride, maybe. I bend to take one nipple in my mouth, swirling my tongue around the sensitive peak until she arches beneath me, a soft moan escaping her lips.
