“I want to see you,” she breathes. “Like this. While you feel me.”
Her gaze locks to mine—brown tinged with golden desire and wonder and something that feels like devotion.
I pulse forward once—slow, controlled—dragging along the external heat of her, and the sound she makes is the most beautiful thing I have ever heard.
I brace one hand beside her head, the other gripping her hip, guiding the rhythm. “Look at me,” I murmur.
“I am,” she whispers, voice breaking. “I can’t look away.”
Her hips lift to meet mine—small pulses at first, then harder, more certain.
Slow. Grinding. Relentless enough that pleasure builds in unbearable waves.
Her breath breaks with every movement. Mine turns ragged. The world shrinks to the place where our bodies press against each other and the place where our gazes refuse to break contact.
“Flavius…” she breathes. “Please—please don’t stop—”
“Non desino,” I whisper, my voice frayed as I assure her I won’t stop. She shivers at the sound of the Latin even though she can’t translate it.
Her fingers trace my cheek as if she’s seeing me for the first time. “Tell me,” she breathes. “Tell me what you feel.”
I lower my forehead to hers. Everything in me—everything—is exposed.
“Te volo,” I murmur. “Totus tuus sum. Animam meam tangis.”
Her lips part, caught on the rawness even before meaning arrives.
“What does it mean?” she whispers.
“It means…” I slide again—hard against her, slow enough that we both cry out— “It means you touch my soul.”
Her eyes fill with something fierce and tender all at once.
“Flavius… I’m… I’m going to—”
“I know,” I rasp. “I’m with you.”
Her orgasm hits first—swift, a loud whining moan is ripped from her mouth as her body clenches under mine. Her gaze locks onto mine like she’s falling and holding on at the same time.
Her pleasure drags mine with it. A raw, shuddering groan tears from my throat as pleasure slams into me so hard I bury my face against her neck, shaking with it.
We collapse together—breathing hard, bodies tangled, hearts racing in the same uneven rhythm.
She strokes my hair once, then again—slow, careful, loving.
I kiss her collarbone. Her shoulder. The quiet space beneath her jaw.
She whispers my name like the word itself gives her pleasure.
I hold her, lowering us onto our sides, pulling the blanket over her, keeping her pressed to my chest as the last tremors fade.
I bring myself to leave her side for a moment to clean myself. When I lie back next to her, she nestles closer, her thigh hooking over mine, her hand pressed to my heart.
I breathe her in—her warmth, her softness, the steady, grounding weight of her trust.
This wasn’t about the heat I’ve wanted for weeks. It was about letting her hold the part of me I never let anyone touch.
And letting it matter.
