The first thing I feel is his mouth.
Warm, soft kisses trailing slow, deliberate paths across my skin. I float somewhere between sleep and waking, suspended in the dreamy haze of dawn.
His lips brush my shoulder first, gentle, lingering. My breath stirs, pulse quickening softly beneath his touch.
“Kane?” I whisper, eyes still closed, voice barely audible.
“Shh,” he murmurs against my collarbone, pressing a kiss there so delicate it feels like reverence. “No hables, mi cielo. Solo siente.”
Don’t speak, my heaven. Just feel.
I exhale slowly as his mouth moves lower, tracing the curve of my breasts, slow and careful, pausing to lavish gentle attention on each nipple. He draws one between his lips, swirling his tongue until my body arches softly beneath him, fingers threading through his hair.
He hums softly against my skin, the sound low and pleased. Then he drags his mouth down, placing feather-light kisses along my ribs, my stomach, stopping to press his lips tenderly against my belly, lingering there as if in silent devotion.
Our baby.
My heart squeezes.
His hands follow his mouth, skimming slowly down my waist, my hips, his palms warm and possessive. My thighs tremble as he spreads them gently apart, his mouth tracing the soft skin there, lips brushing each inch with unbearable patience.
“Kane…” I gasp, my voice trembling.
“Tranquila, cariño,” he whispers, breath warm against my inner thigh. “Déjame adorarte.”
Quiet, sweetheart. Let me worship you.
His tongue strokes tenderly, slowly, maddeningly between my thighs, coaxing me into wakefulness. My breathing deepens, becomes ragged, pleasure unspooling inside me with every slowflick and gentle suckle of his mouth. He murmurs sweet, filthy Spanish between kisses, words I barely understand, words that still sink deep into my bones:
Hermosa…tan dulce…tan perfecta…tan Mía.
Beautiful…so sweet…so perfect…so mine.
He rises slowly above me, his eyes dark and warm, still filled with sleep and something far deeper. He brushes his lips against mine, slow and reverent, tasting of me.
“I need you,” I whisper against his mouth.
“You have me,” he replies softly, brushing my hair from my face, eyes burning into mine. “Always.”
His hips press forward slowly, gently, sinking into me inch by aching inch. My breath shudders from my lips, body arching up to meet him, hips shifting instinctively to take him deeper.
He doesn’t rush. His movements are slow, deliberate, achingly tender. He makes love to me carefully, like I’m precious, fragile, sacred. Like he’s afraid if he moves too fast, he’ll shatter something delicate between us.
I cling to him, breathless, wrapping my legs tight around his waist, urging him deeper.
“Kane…” My voice cracks, breath trembling.
He lowers his forehead to mine, breath ragged, eyes locked with mine.
Then, in the quiet dark of our bedroom, tangled in sheets, skin damp, hearts racing in unison, he whispers words I never expected to hear from him.
“Marry me, Camille.”
My heart stops.
My breath catches.
“What?” I whisper.
