She felt her face flush. “Me, too.”
Something earnest crossed his expression, and he moved his hand up to stroke her face.
“Lilah,” he breathed. “I—”
He cut himself off, shaking his head, then repositioned himself between her legs, braced on either side of her ribs.
“What?” she prompted.
He smiled bashfully, then shook his head again. “Nothing. Someone told me it doesn’t count during sex.”
She felt that same swelling in her chest, the tightening of her throat, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes again. She tried to clear her throat, but her voice was hoarse all the same. “Well. Let’s hope you can still remember it later, then.”
The intensity in his gaze sent a thrill through her. “I will.”
She forced herself to laugh, though she felt like she was in pain. “Are you going to get all corny on me now that we don’t hate each other anymore?”
When he smiled, there was something pained about it, too. Longing, maybe. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”
She felt her expression grow serious, the lump in her throat expanding as she reached up to cup his face, running her fingers through his beard. “I just want you,” she said quietly.
He smiled, ducking down to nuzzle against her collarbone. “Now who’s getting corny?”
She responded by shifting beneath him, raising her knees tocradle his hips, and reaching down to guide him into place. He pushed into her slowly, both of them exhaling heavily, Lilah wrapping her arms tight around his neck and burying her face into it.
She felt raw and exposed, turned entirely inside out. For what might have been the first time, she felt relieved of the burden of performance during sex, of embodying the fantasy of whatever her partner expected. It was all too easy for her to protect herself that way, to intuit what they wanted from her and slip into it seamlessly—taking her work home with her, intentionally or not. There was pleasure in that, too, in its own way.
But as he moved inside her, carefully at first, his breath catching, her goddamn tears once again threatening to spill over, she finally understood the power of letting her guard down, of letting herself be known. It was the kind of connection she’d never felt before. With him, or with anyone. No games, no personas, no manipulation, no detachment. Just the two of them, stripped bare and clinging to each other, as nervous and vulnerable as if it were their very first time.
Lilah let her head drop down to the mattress and met his eyes, her arms loosening around his neck and sliding up to his face. There was hunger in his gaze, but tenderness, too—tenderness she would’ve found unbearable if not for the overpowering awareness that she was likely looking up at him in exactly the same way. Now it came close to unraveling her.
He shifted his weight back so he could press his palms to hers, interlacing their fingers as she stretched her arms high above her head. The gentleness was gone already, his gaze hot and dark; groaning how good she felt as his hips rolled harder and faster, sending pleasure sizzling up her spine. She felt another orgasm building, unhurried, a gathering storm as shewrapped her legs around him and rocked her hips up to meet his.
Once she felt herself start to plateau, she freed one of her hands and tapped his hip gently. They rolled over in one fluid motion until she was straddling him, barely losing their rhythm. It was always easy for her to come this way, especially with him. She closed her eyes and braced her hands on his shoulders, waves of sensation mounting as she ground against him, his hands all over her—her breasts, her waist, clutching her hips so hard she was sure she’d wake up with eight finger-shaped bruises on her ass.
As she got close, her eyes fluttered open again and she caught a glimpse of his face, looking up at her with an expression that could only be described as reverence. She leaned over until they were chest to chest again, and he wrapped his arms around her and thrust up from underneath as she dragged her tongue up the side of his neck.
“God, I fucking missed you,” he growled, and it was the crack in his voice, thick with emotion, that ultimately toppled her over the edge—and, okay, yes, maybe a few tears finally slipped out, too, but only because it sounded like he was on the verge of crying himself. Where her first orgasm was acute and intense, this one felt deep and shimmering and bottomless, her body practically vibrating in slow motion, at a secret frequency only he could access.
He rocked them up so they were both sitting upright, still holding her, stroking her back, planting featherlight kisses on her neck and shoulders. But before the last aftershock had even passed, he’d flipped her onto her back again, slinging both her legs over one shoulder, his strokes turning deep and relentless, his head falling back in unselfconscious ecstasy. She could tell he wouldn’t last much longer, but it didn’t stop electricity fromstarting to coil inside her lower belly again anyway, from the feel of him, the sight of him, the sounds that were coming out of both of them.
He slowed, his thrusts becoming jerky and unsteady. “Fuck.Fuck.” He dropped his head forward, panting.
She reluctantly let him get up to deal with the condom, but he tumbled back onto the bed soon enough, collapsing into her arms.
Eventually, he raised his head to kiss her, and she ran her hands through his hair, damp from both the shower and sweat.
“Lilah?”
“Hmm?”
He rolled them over so they were on their sides facing each other, clutching their hands between their chests like they’d been arm wrestling. He brought his other thumb up to trace her cheekbone. She could tell by the look in his eyes what he was going to say before he said it.
“Would you believe me if I said I loved you now?”
Warmth bloomed in her chest, and she closed her eyes. “Yes.”
“What about if I said I loved you before, too?”
