I duck down, my lips ghosting over her inner thigh. My tongue leaves a wet line but never quite touches her where she wants it most. I savor the way her hips buck, the way her breathing hitches when I pause just shy of her heat, letting my breath tickle her until she curses me under it. I smile against her skin. I pin her thighs with my elbows, anchoring her open and helpless, and then finally—finally—I taste her.
She's hot and slick and trembling, and the shock of it makes her head thump back against the mattress. I listen for that little sound she makes, the gasp she tries to swallow, the one that always meant she was losing her grip. I go straight for the spot, tongue working slow circles, relentless, patient, keeping her right at the edge. Her hands are in my hair now, her nails are digging, yanking hard enough to make my eyes water. I don't stop.
She says my name once, then again, her voice sounds like it's breaking. Her whole body arcs, either trying to break free or force me closer, I can't tell which. I hold her down, sealing my mouth to velvety skin, my tongue is working harder, faster, finding every old map and every new place that makes her quake. She starts to plead, the words chopped by moans, but I don't let up. I want her wrecked. I want her ruined for anyone else.
She comes apart, finally, a shattering and beautiful thing. Her thighs lock around my head, her hips try to jerk away, but I'm stronger, I hold her there and drink every second of it. Shesobs, a real sob, and then she's limp, spent, eyes closed, mouth open. I don't let go. I keep kissing her, softer now, cleaning her up, gentling her until she whimpers from the sensitivity and pushes at my shoulders.
Only then do I rise; my heart is pounding. I shrug out of my shirt and kick off my pants, she gazes at me with that same gentle awe she had ten years ago, as if my scars are something beautiful she wants to memorize. "You've gotten bigger," she whispers.
I grin, slipping off my socks and shoes. "After all those hours in the gym, I sure hope so, sweetheart." I lean down and kiss her collarbone, fingertips grazing the curve of her hip. The tremor under my touch sends a thrill through me.
There's a moment when I'm so hard it hurts, when she's clutching at my back and drawing me down like she'll never let me go again. I press her into the sheets, carefully and possessively all at once, and lower my weight so she feels every inch of me, real, scarred, and hers. The way her thighs tense around me, the way she arches up and guides me, makes the years of violence and loneliness collapse in a blink. I'm inside her before I know it, slow and tight, and the heat of her is making me dizzy. She tastes sweet and salty at her throat, her moaning is ragged, and she's breathing me in like oxygen.
She wraps a leg around my waist, locking us together, and I drive deeper, impossibly slow, savoring the friction and the way her body fits mine. Each thrust is a negotiation, a question she answers with a tightening gasp or a shudder, her hands tangling in my hair, down my flank.
"You're mine," I claim her.
She meets my eyes, and even in the half-light I can see the tears gathering, unfallen, fragile as glass.
"I've always been yours," she cries in a thready voice, and my heart—my whole fucking chest—nearly caves in. I don't dareread into them what I hope they mean. Not now. Not yet. This is our moment.
I want to grind my soul into her bones, fuse our aching pieces together until we're something new. But I hold enough back, enough control, to cradle her head and kiss her cheeks and smooth her hair away as I move. Her walls flutter around me, grip and pulse. Her moans get louder, reckless, and I watch her shatter.
When she comes, it's like a dam breaking. She spasms around me and sobs out my name, nails digging so hard I'm sure I'll wear the marks for days. I last a second longer—just long enough to see her break, to taste the salt of her tears as I press my mouth to her lips—and then I lose myself, emptying into her with a groan that sounds like her name and a curse in the same breath. I collapse and gather her up, my arms a cage, a promise.
She buries her face in my neck, panting, her hair sticking to my lips and jaw. I stroke her back, gently now, tracing the line of her shoulder blades and the rise of her spine, memorizing the shape of her in my arms. We stay like that, the two of us, until our breath slows and the sweat cools on our skin. My heart hammers so loud I'm sure she hears it, and her hand presses there, palm flat, like she needs to confirm I'm real.
We lie tangled, bodies lined up seamlessly, and her pulse matches mine even as it gradually settles. I nuzzle her hair, nip gently at her ear, and she laughs, a real one, breathless and unguarded. She rolls her eyes, but holds me tighter.
"You okay?" I murmur, thumb tracing lazy circles over her hip.
She snorts. "I can't feel my legs. Is that normal?"
I grin into her neck. "You'll get used to it."
She shifts, sliding her thigh over my waist, pinning me. "I'd better not." Her mouth finds mine, hungry, and we kiss again,less desperate but no less intense. When she pulls away, her eyes are open and unafraid.
"Does it hurt?" she asks, brushing her fingers over the old scars on my ribs. "Be honest."
The question is unexpected. "Not as much as it did," I admit, and it's mostly true. My body throbs in a dozen places, but being with her dulls every ache. "You take my mind off the pain."
My head restson his chest, right over his heart. I listen to its slow, steady, settling beat until it finds that familiar rhythm I remember from years ago. Strong. Sure. Alive. The sound wraps around me like something I thought I'd lost forever. It's the same. And it's not. Old and yet new, like a song you loved once and forgot how much until you hear it again and realize it never really left you.
Massimo's arm tightens around me slightly, an unconscious gesture, protective even in rest. His fingers trace idle patterns against my shoulder, like he's reassuring himself I'm still here.
"I used to fall asleep like this," I murmur, my voice barely louder than the hum of the city outside. "Counting your heartbeats. It made everything else quiet."
He exhales softly, his chest rising beneath my cheek. "You always did that," he agrees. "Like you were memorizing me."
"I was," I admit. "In case I needed to remember."
His hand stills for a moment, then resumes, gentler now. "I never forgot you," he reveals, roughness creeps into his voice despite how calm he's trying to sound. "Not once."
I lift my head just enough to look at him. His eyes are half-closed, dark lashes cast shadows, and his face is stripped of armor in a way I've never seen before. Not even back then. He presses his lips to my hair, not rushed, not claiming, just there. Present.
"I don't want to sleep," I whisper. "I'm afraid I'll wake up, and this will feel like a dream."
His arm tightens again, unmistakably solid. "Then don't sleep," he murmurs. "Stay right here. I'm not going anywhere."
