When he came, it was with my name on his lips, body arching off the bed. I swallowed everything he gave me, then kissed my way back up his body.
He was panting, flushed, gorgeous. "Jesus."
"That was the appetizer." I kissed him deeply, letting him taste himself. "I'm nowhere near done with you."
"Good. Because I'm nowhere near done with you either."
He pushed at my shoulders and I let him roll us over. Suddenly he was straddling me, looking down with those intense eyes.
"My turn," he said.
And then he set about taking me apart the same way I'd taken him apart. His mouth on my neck, my chest, working lower. His hands everywhere. When he finally took me in his mouth, I thought I might die from it.
"Fuck, Valentino—" My hands tangled in his hair. "That's perfect. You're perfect."
He hummed around me and the vibration sent sparks up my spine. I was already close—twelve months of nothing but my hand and memories—but I didn't want this to end yet.
"Stop," I gasped. "Stop, I'm too close."
He pulled off with an obscene sound. "Isn't that the point?"
"Not yet. I want—" I pulled him up, kissed him hard. "I want to be inside you. Need to feel you. Need to remember what this is like."
"Yes. God, yes." He reached for the bedside drawer, pulled out supplies. "Please. I need you inside me."
We took our time preparing him. My fingers inside him, stretching him open, making sure he was ready. He was shaking with need by the time I finally pressed inside.
"Fuck." The word punched out of me. "You feel—so fucking good—"
"Move," he demanded. "Please move."
I started slow, savoring every moment. The tight heat of him. The way he clenched around me. The sounds he was making. Perfect. Everything was perfect.
"Harder," he said. "Luca, harder, I need—"
I gave him what he needed. Picked up the pace, angled my thrusts to hit that spot that made him see stars. He was clinging to me, nails digging into my back, meeting me thrust for thrust.
"I love you," I said against his neck. "I love you so fucking much. Missed you so fucking much."
"Love you too—fuck, right there—love you so much—"
We moved together, desperate and emotional and perfect. When he came again, clenching around me, it triggered my own orgasm. I buried myself deep and let go, his name on my lips.
We collapsed together, breathing hard, clinging to each other.
"I'm not done," I said after a moment. "Give me ten minutes and I'm going again."
He laughed, breathless. "Ten minutes? You're not twenty anymore."
"I don't care. I've got a year to make up for."
And I did. We made love twice more that night—once slow and tender, once desperate and fast. By the time we finally fell asleep, we were both exhausted and sated and complete.
I held him close, feeling his heartbeat slow, his breathing even out. Home. Finally home. Finally together.
"I love you," I whispered into the darkness.
"I love you too," he murmured, half-asleep. "Welcome home."
