The orgasm slammed through me. I came with his name on my lips, my body clenching around him, pleasure washing away everything except this moment.
Matteo cursed. His hands came to my hips—not controlling, just holding—as he thrust up once, twice, and came hard.
I collapsed against his chest. Both of us breathing hard. Both overwhelmed.
"That was—" Matteo started.
"Mine." My voice was firm. "That was mine. My choice. My control. My decision to let you in."
"Yes." He held me close. "Yours. All of it. Thank you for trusting me with that."
We lay tangled together while our breathing slowed. While the intensity faded into something softer but no less real.
"I needed that," I admitted quietly. "After the call. After cutting off my mother. I needed to feel like I had agency over something. Like my body was mine to give instead of something taken."
"I understand." His hand traced patterns on my back. "And Stefan—you always have agency with me. Always have choice. If you ever need to take control like that again, just tell me. I'll give you whatever you need."
"What if what I need is to let you control everything sometimes? To stop making decisions and just let you lead?"
"Then I'll do that too." He tilted my face up to meet his eyes. "This works both ways. Sometimes you need to reclaim control. Sometimes you need to surrender it. Either way, I'm here. Whatever you need."
The acceptance in his voice made my chest tight.
"I love you," I said.
"I love you too. So much it scares me sometimes."
We stayed like that for a long time. Just holding each other. Processing everything that had happened today. The call from my mother. The guilt and grief. The reclamation of control and agency.
Eventually, we cleaned up and got back into bed. Matteo pulled me close, my back to his chest, his arm around my waist.
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly. "Really okay?"
Was I?
I'd cut off my mother. Burned the last bridge to my old life. Isolated myself from everyone I'd known before Matteo.
But I'd also reclaimed my body. My choices. My right to decide what happened to me and when and how.
"I'm okay," I said. And meant it. "I'm sad. And guilty. And grieving for the relationship I wanted with my mother but never had. But I'm okay. I made the right choice even though it hurts."
"The right choices usually do hurt. At least at first."
"Does it get easier? The grief?"
"I don't know. I cut ties with my father's world when I was young. Never looked back. But I didn't grieve because there was nothing worth grieving." He held me tighter. "You're grieving the mother you wanted. The family you deserved. That's different. Harder. But Stefan—you'll survive it. And I'll be here while you do."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
I closed my eyes and let myself believe him.
Tomorrow I'd probably feel the full weight of what I'd done. Would question whether I'd been too harsh. Would wonder if I should have given my mother another chance.
But tonight, wrapped in Matteo's arms, I felt certain.
I'd made the right choice.
