The tenderness of it broke something open in my chest.
When he moved back up, I reached for him, needing to give back what he'd given me. But he caught my hands gently.
"Tonight is about you," he said. "About showing you how loved you are."
"I want to touch you too."
"You are touching me." He brought my hands to his chest, held them over his heart. "Right here. Where it matters."
But I felt him hard against my hip, and I wasn't having it. I pushed at his chest until he rolled onto his back, then I straddled him carefully, mindful of my changing body.
"My turn," I said firmly.
I kissed down his chest, his abdomen, took my time exploring the scars I'd traced a hundred times before. When I reached his waistband, I looked up and found him watching me with such love it stole my breath.
I freed him carefully, wrapped my hand around his length, and watched his eyes flutter closed.
"Valentina—"
"Shh. Let me worship you too."
I took him in my mouth slowly, learning what made him gasp, what made his hips jerk involuntarily. I didn't rush, didn't try to push myself. Just loved him the way he'd loved me—thoroughly, devotedly, with my whole heart.
His hand found my hair, not directing, just touching. "Amore, I'm close—"
I doubled my efforts, wanting to give him this release, this pleasure, this proof that I loved him just as fiercely.
He groaned my name as he came, and I took everything he gave me.
When I crawled back up his body, he pulled me close and kissed me deeply, tasting himself on my lips.
"I love you," he said against my mouth. "So much it scares me sometimes."
"I love you too." I settled against him, our legs tangling together. "So much."
We lay like that for a while, just breathing together, hearts syncing.
Then his hand slid down my body, found me still wet and ready.
"Again?" I breathed.
"I need to be inside you." His eyes were dark, intense. "Need to feel connected to you completely."
He rolled me onto my back carefully, settled between my thighs, and positioned himself at my entrance.
Our eyes locked as he pushed inside—slow, filling me completely.
"Okay?" he asked, always checking, always careful.
"Perfect." I wrapped my arms around him. "You're perfect."
He moved with the same unhurried devotion he'd shown all night. Long, deep strokes that made me feel worshipped rather than claimed. His hand found mine, fingers interlacing, pinning them gently beside my head.
"Look at me," he said softly. "Stay with me."
I held his gaze as pleasure built again—different this time, deeper, tied to the emotional connection between us rather than just physical sensation.
"I'm here," I whispered. "Always here."
