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"Now," she whispers. "Please."

I reach between us, place myself at her entrance, and slowly push in.

It’s so slow it's agony. But I want her to feel every slow inch sliding into her.

Her lips part. Her eyes hold mine.

And when I'm all the way inside her, I stop and my eyes close with pleasure.

This is the part I never knew existed.

Being inside a woman I am falling in love with and feeling everything that comes with it.

Opening my eyes, I start to move with a slow rhythm, watching her face and the way her lips part with each stroke of my cock. The way her brow creases. The way her whimpers spill between us. And I fucking fall in love with that too.

I thrust deeper, and she gasps. Her legs tighten around me and her hips rise to meet mine, and we find an unhurried rhythm together.

"Dante…" Her voice breaks. “This is crazy how it feels…”

I swallow her words with a kiss.

Because I feel it too. The terrifying gravitational pull of falling into someone.

I pick up the pace and thrust harder and deeper, enough to unravel her again.

Her breathing fractures, and her pussy clamps tightly around my cock, almost bringing me undone.

"Come for me," I whisper against her mouth. "I want to feel it."

She does. But this time it’s quiet. Her mouth opens in a silent gasp, and her body arches into mine as she comes around me in long, deep, rolling waves that I feel everywhere.

And I follow.

The wave rolls through me, emptying me into her. I press my face into her neck, breathe her name into her skin, and know something has changed in me forever.

I stay inside her. I don't pull out. I hold her against me and wait until our breathing comes back to us.

"You should know something," I murmur into her hair. "You just took everything from me."

I close my eyes and smile.

44

SUNNY

We haven’t left the apartment for more than twenty-four hours and have made love a disproportionate number of times. I’m surprised I can still walk.

We have barely left the bedroom, only to make food, like the cheese toastie I’m making right now.

Dante hoists himself up onto the counter behind me and sits there with his bare feet dangling. He’s shirtless in a pair of sweatpants, his perfect six-pack on display as he watches me flip the toasties in the hot pan.

"You seem remarkably confident for a woman who murders food with no conscience," he says.

"Cannelloni has layers. This is bread, cheese, butter, heat. Even I can't screw this up." I shrug.

"Cheese toasties are iconic. You’re setting yourself up for failure."

I pull the toasties off the heat and cut them on the chopping board.