“Faith,” I groan.
I hold my hips still. If she keeps at this, it’ll be over before it starts. I gently pull her mouth off my cock.
“Cain,” she whines.
“Next time, you can swallow me dry. This time…sweet thing, I need inside you.”
She pulls me down with her, on top of her.
I reach to turn on the bedside lamp. Its amber glow throws our shadows on the wall, and there’s nothing hidden here.
Every movement is deliberate, every touch an affirmation.
This isn’t the frantic hunger of the first time; it’s the profound, unhurried truth of two people who have learned what it means to trust.
I crawl down her body, kissing all the way.
I suckle her nipples.
Plump.
Hard.
Beautiful.
I kiss her between her legs. She watches me. I lick her slowly, and her eyes turn languid.
We haven’t made love many times, just twice in one night, all those months ago. Our bodies don’t know each other. But I knowher. I know what’s inside her. I know.
I suckle her clit, holding her still with a hand on her stomach.
She writhes, crying out.
Just as she’s about to come, I race my way up to slam my mouth on hers.
I grab a condom and slide it on.Fast, fast, fast.
I enter her, feeling her spasms.
I pinch her clit as I move inside her, she finally comes, hard. It’s glorious to feel her milk me.
I’m gentle. I want this to last.
She traces my chest with her fingertips, as if memorizing my skin.
“I love you,” I tell her.
“I love you, too.” She gives it back to me, bigger, stronger, so much more.
Together, we make love like survivors who have reclaimed their stories.
Our breaths come in slow waves, our sighs low and certain.
“Don’t leave me again,” I plead as I pour into her.
“I won’t,” she promises.
In the aftermath, our touches are soft like gossamer, like the wings of a butterfly. She curls into my chest, her hair fanning across my collarbone. Her hand drifts in lazy circles over my ribs, and for a long time we lie motionless, listening to our hearts.
