“Thank you for being so understanding last night,” he says, kissing the top of my head.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I ask, peering up at him. “You can always talk to me. I went for so long without anyone to talk to. I had a psychologist, and that helped, as did the meds he gave me. But sometimes you want to open up to someone you’re invested in.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re invested in me,” he says. “In all my parts, or just some of them?”
I laugh, noting the heat building in his eyes. I slide my hand down his firm stomach and over his cock, hard and waiting.
“There might be one I favor over the others,” I joke, making a fist, watching as his eyes roll back in his head.
The way we make love in the mornings might just be my favorite. It’s a little sleepy and slow. It’s easy. It’s intimate. There’s never any pressure, we just seem to find each other at the right time, and we’re always ready to go.
I work my fist until I can tell he’s close to coming, then I let go and slowly pull myself up on top of him.
“Did I tell you good morning?” I murmur to him, kissing the corner of his full lips, his jaw, his neck.
“Buenas dias,” he says, groaning as my nails rake over his chest.
He puts his hands down at my waist, shrugging me up a little until I feel the head of his cock between my legs, pressing eagerly against me. Slowly he pushes up and I spread around him, feeling breathless already.
I’m about to push myself up to ride him like a cowgirl, but he quickly pulls out, grabs my shoulders and flips me over so that he’s on top, his shoulders moving over me.
“Maybe this morning I want to be in control,” he says, staring down at me with a heady mix of lust and tenderness, his gaze only wavering when he starts to push himself in again.
My legs spread, feeling every inch of him as he thrusts inside. I close my eyes and bite my lip in a lazy grin.
“This is my favorite view,” he says to me. “You, beneath me, smiling. Don’t ever change.”
“Don’t ever stop fucking me like this,” I tell him, briefly sticking out my tongue.
His lips curl in a lopsided smile, and he leans in, kissing me.
This, this, this.
I want this forever.
I love how he kisses me when he’s inside me, the way his lips rarely leave my skin, whether they’re working my mouth or pressed against my cheek or brushing over my breasts. There’s always some connection between us, as if our bodies only get greedier the more they’re with each other.
He pulls back for a breath and rests his forehead against mine as his pace continues to be easy, slow, and intensely deliberate. “Thalia,” he whispers to me.
“Yes?” I stare up into his eyes.
“Thank you for coming here,” he says to me. His voice is low and brimming with so much gratitude that it unravels me to the core. “Thank you for stepping into my world. I hope you stay. I hope you let my world become yours.”
And just like that, I know.
I know what I’ve been trying to figure out.
I’m hit with a feeling so acute, so potent, I feel it physically manifest in my chest.
In my heart.
I love you, I think, the elation growing by the second.
I’m so fucking in love with you.
I have to close my eyes and nod, trying to keep back the tear that wants to be released.
Every emotion seems to rush at me, wanting me to acknowledge them, to give them attention, but all I can think is love, love, love.
This is it.
He’s it.
I love him.
I love him.
“Thalia,” he whispers again, and my name sounds so beautiful that it burns. “I’m yours.”
He continues to rock into me, our bodies synchronized in an easy rhythm, our hearts beating like wings.
I come first, something soft and slow, the kind of orgasm that pulls at every feeling you hold dear, bringing them to the surface. I cry out his name and I shed a few tears, letting the waves break over me again and again.
He comes right after, hard and intense, and he bites my shoulder to keep from yelling and waking up the house.