"You're sure about this?" he asks again.
"I'm sure," I say resolutely. "It's yours."
He emits a strangled sound I don't have time to interpret, because he follows it by slowly pushing the head of his cock into my ass. I breathe slow and steady as he presses forward.
My muscles resist at first but he reaches between my legs and plays with my clit, distracting me with tingles of pleasure as he seats himself fully inside me.
"How does it feel?" he asks.
There are a million words to describe the fullness, the stretch, the slight burn. I could wax lyrical for hours about the sense of completeness I feel at giving him his last part of me. I could tell him how in this moment I”m sure everything will be alright. Instead, I opt for a single word.
“Good."
I whimper as Damiano slides out then drives forward, his hips slamming against my ass. He does it again, harder this time. He's experimenting, seeing what I can take.
"More," I urge him.
My plea pours fuel on the fire burning inside him. His fingers dig almost painfully into my hip as he fucks me. I push back against him, taking him as deep as he can go.
"Touch yourself," he commands.
Instantly obeying, I slide a hand between my legs. I'm drenched. I run a finger over my clit until the pressure starts to build at my core.
"Put a finger in your pussy," Damiano grits out as he pounds into my rear. "Fuck yourself with it."
I shove a finger inside myself and begin to move it back and forth in a steady rhythm.
"I feel you. It's like you're stroking my cock." Damiano echoes what I was thinking.
As my breathing becomes more erratic, Damiano shoves my hand away and replaces it with his. He drives two fingers into my pussy and presses down on my clit. I scrabble at the sheets trying to find something to hold onto.
And then it happens. My arms and legs tremble as the most intense orgasm I've ever felt sweeps over me. I forget how to breathe. Blood thunders through my veins and my vision blurs. I collapse against the mattress, a boneless mass.
Damiano drops down next to me. I lie there beside him, his cum leaking from my ass, and smile as he stares over at me. He reaches over and strokes my hair back from my face.
There's a tenderness in the action at odds with the tumultuous look in his eyes. The contradiction is so like my husband. I think I understand him better in this moment than in all the time I’ve known him.
I open my mouth to, what? Offer him assurance? Tell him that everything is fixed between us when I know that it's not.
I don't get the chance to say anything. He speaks first.
"If you want to leave, to return to your old life, I won't stop you."
Stunned, I take a moment to absorb that. Is that what he wants me to do? Before I can challenge him, his phone buzzes on the nightstand, the sound becoming more insistent the longer he goes without answering.
With a curse, he sits up and grabs his phone. He checks who's calling. He gets up from the bed and disappears into his walk-in closet, presumably for privacy.
Damiano emerges a few minutes later, dressed in black pants and a black shirt. It’s like a slap in the face. One minute we were lying naked on the bed together and now he’s dressed like he’s going to the office.
“I have to go.”
He offers no explanation. As he leaves, I shake my head in disbelief. What business won't wait until morning?
It smarts that whatever the call is about it's more important than me, than us.
Wrapping myself in a sheet, I get up and head for my own room.
As I clamber into bed, tears prick my eyes. I gave him every part of me and it still wasn’t enough to bridge the gap between us.
