Only want. And something that looks dangerously close to reverence.
"I'm going to make love to you," he says, positioning himself at my entrance. "Not fuck you. Make love to you."
He pushes inside slowly, so slowly, until he's fully seated.
We both groan.
"You feel perfect," he whispers. "Like you were made for me."
Then he's moving.
Long, deep strokes that hit every perfect spot inside me. His hands tangle in my hair, cup my face, splay across my stomach where our baby grows.
"Mine," he breathes. "My wife. My Sera."
"Yes," I gasp. "Yours."
He picks up the pace, driving into me harder, deeper. I wrap my legs around his waist, taking him even deeper.
"Touch yourself," he orders. "I want to feel you come around me."
I slide my hand between our bodies, finding my clit. The added sensation makes me cry out.
"That's it, baby. Just like that."
The orgasm builds fast and hard. I clench around him, and he groans, his rhythm faltering.
"Fuck—Sera—I can't?—"
"Come inside me," I urge. "Fill me up."
He buries himself deep and comes with a shout, pulsing inside me. His whole body shudders, and I hold him through it, stroking his back, his hair, whispering his name.
When it's over, he collapses beside me, pulling me against his chest. His heart pounds beneath my ear.
We lie there in silence, catching our breath.
"Sera?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For giving me a chance." His arm tightens around me. "For choosing me."
I tilt my head up to look at him.
"Thank you for trying."
He kisses my forehead. Soft. Tender.
"I'm going to keep trying. Every day. I promise."
I close my eyes, listening to his heartbeat slow, feeling his warmth surround me.
Tomorrow, reality will come crashing back. Gabe will still be out there. The danger will still be real.
