Page 11 of Mine Again
When he finally rises, his lips kiss-bruised and glistening, I reach for him like I won’t survive without him.
“I need you,” I whisper, desperate. “Now.”
He doesn’t make me wait. He gets naked, rolls on a condom, and slides into me in one smooth stroke, and the air rushes from my lungs. I cry out, nails digging into his back as he fills me.
We move together in a rhythm that’s older than time. His hands cradle my face as he thrusts deep, worship and need tangled in every movement.
“Isa,” he groans into my neck. “I want to crawl inside you and never leave.”
“Then don’t,mio falco,” I whisper. “Stay. Always.”
His hand finds mine and threads our fingers together, pressing them over my heart.
His thrusts speed up, becoming less controlled, more erratic.
We fall together.
The world narrows to the rush of sensation, the brilliant, sweet burn of release. My cry rips free, tangled with his as everything inside me comes undone.
For a moment, I forget where I end and he begins.
He collapses over me, and I pull him in, arms trembling, not wanting a single inch between us. His weight grounds me, anchoring me as aftershocks ripple through, one after another.
His skin is damp against mine, his breath ghosting over my shoulder. Our hearts pound together until the frenzy slowly begins to ease.
There’s nothing but heat, breath, and the quiet thrum of us.
A closeness that feels unbreakable.
Crushed petals cling to my skin, the scent of roses in the air, reminding me how special today is.
When Luca finally lifts his head and kisses me again, it’s slow. Steady.
He’s in no rush to let me go, and I relish it.
I don’t want to move.
Not from this bed. Not from him. Not from this version of myself.
The one who isn’t a name, or a duty, or someone to be shaped into a future that isn’t hers. Just me. And him.
Luca shifts, leaning on one elbow, brushing the hair from my face. His fingers linger on my skin, slow and gentle, like he’s marking the moment.
His eyes are soft now. The fire in them has quieted, leaving behind something that looks a lot like peace.
My fingers trace the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his shoulder, and the faint scar near his collarbone. The one I gave him last year when my arrow grazed him while he was teaching me to shoot with a compound bow.
Damn, we were lucky it wasn’t worse.
I didn’t want to look at that bow ever again. But Luca wouldn’t let me quit. He said I couldn’t let one setback stop me. And I haven’t. He made sure of it. I’m almost as good as he is now.
“Happy birthday,” he says, smiling, his breath even again. “Now… are you ready for your present?”
A laugh slips out. “I thought this was it.” I motion to the roses, the butterflies, the glow of fairy lights. Him.
He grins and slides off the bed, completely unbothered by his nakedness as he crosses the room.
I sit up, watching him. How could I not?
