“I wasn’t looking for praise. I only want to make you happy. And if there was something I could do to give that to you—to give it to her, and Elias too—then I wanted to do it.”
Something splinters inside me in the best way.
I lean in, pressing my forehead to his, fingers weaving into his damp hair. “You’re the best man I’ve ever known.”
His hands slide beneath my dress, pulling me tighter against him.
“I love you, Alex.”
“I love you more,” he says, voice low and gruff.
Then we stop talking. Because some gratitude needs no words.
His hands flex against my thighs, strong and sure, and I can feel it—the tension pulled tight between us. Not urgent. Not frantic. Just full of love and everything he gives me without asking for a single thing in return.
I tilt his chin toward me and kiss him again—slower this time. Open-mouthed. Worshipful. My fingers slip through his damp hair as I move over him, the weight of my body pressing close, my dress riding higher.
He groans into my mouth, hands sliding up my thighs under the hem of the dress, thumbs tracing the soft, sensitive skin of my butt cheeks.
“You sure?” he says, voice rough with restraint. “Right here… this way?”
I nod, breath catching. “Just like this. I’m sure.”
His grip tightens. One smooth shift of his hips and I feel him ready beneath those athletic shorts, pressed hard against me through the whisper-thin cotton of my panties.
He hooks a finger into the crotch of my panties, tugging them aside. I reach between us, pushing the band of his shorts down just far enough, and he slides into me. I gasp as he rocks up into me, the friction sparking low and hot.
Deep. Full. Right.
A slow exhale leaves both of us at once.
My body wraps over his and I move, slow and purposeful, setting the rhythm with the roll of my hips. Every movement is deliberate, a silent vow poured from flesh to flesh. I take him deeper, over and over, driving both of us to the edge with nothing but the strength of wanting and the grace of knowing it’s safe to give in.
I press kisses to his jaw, his throat, his shoulder. He moves beneath me with those controlled, powerful thrusts—each one steady, claiming, anchored in love and everything he’s too humble to say out loud.
We don’t rush.
And when I come, it’s soft and intense all at once—my body arching into his, every nerve alight. His name falls from my lips in a whisper.
He follows moments later, holding me so tightly I can feel his heartbeat in mine.
Afterward, I collapse against him, forehead to forehead, both of us now slick with sweat and breathless, tangled on the bench.
He strokes a hand down my spine. “You okay?”
I nod, eyes closed, heart still thudding. “Better than okay.”
Silence stretches between us, peaceful and whole.
“I don’t need recognition,” he says after a beat, voice quiet against the top of my head. “Just this. You. Happy.”
I press my lips to his chest, right over his heart.
“Then you’ve got it.”
His arms tighten around me, one hand brushing slow and lazy down my back. My dress is hitched high on my thighs, and his shorts are a mess. Neither of us moves to fix a thing.
I tilt my head, trailing soft kisses across his shoulder. The slope of his neck. Back to his mouth.
