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He began moving slowly out of her, and then as slowly, back in again, circling his hips to reach the deepest places within her, and to give her the most pleasure.

“Ohh, Craig,” she moaned. “Ohhh…”

He increased his rhythm slightly, both greedy to have her and willing this to never end.

He worshiped her with his body. Every thrust a praising song to her beauty. Every brush of his fingers a prayer to her. Every breath a confession of love.

He was stretching this. Each plunge in and out bringing him closer to her, soothing the pain, expanding the boundaries of his body and soul. He was a ship becalmed on a stagnant sea and she was the wind.

He was the ground, frozen after winter, and she was the first sun of spring.

He was the iron, and she was the fire, melting it and turning it into a sword.

Together, they were one.

At least for now.

And he wanted this now to last forever.

But too soon, her body was trembling on the edge of release, and he knew she needed him to be rough at the end because that would give her the most pleasure.

He sped up, in a smooth, relentless rhythm, just enough to heighten her sensations but not so hard as to cause her pain.

He was close himself, intense heat pulsing through his blood from the points of their connection, from where he owned her and she owned him.

She clenched around him, crying the sweet, urgent sounds of her need for release. Everything tightened within him ferociously, and without stopping, he leaned forward and turned her head to him, finding her mouth and sealing a desperate kiss on her lips.

The orgasm ran through him in a fiery gust of bliss, releasing him in a charring wave. Amy convulsed and unraveled in his hands.

He spilled himself into her, their moans melting together, their breath one song.

He crushed her to him, pressing her harder, as though to make her part of himself. They breathed together, their chests heaving in the same rhythm.

“I love ye, Amy,” he whispered.

“I love you, too,” she echoed.

He closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him, trying them on to test their truth, but not quite believing them.

Slowly, she turned to him, silky in his arms.

“Craig…” she said.

He marveled at her, trying to memorize every small detail of her face. The big eyes, the full lips, the nose, a little pointy.

She cupped his jaw, then planted the softest, sweetest kiss on his lips. She buried her face in his neck and he felt something hot and wet on his skin. He brought her to him, tighter, and felt her uneven breath as she cried gently in his arms.

They fell asleep like that.

And when he woke up, the space by his side was empty and the fire was long dead. He sat up, cold sadness creeping into his heart.

He looked around the room, but it was empty save the first aid kit and Amy’s shift on the bed.

Was she gone?

Was that it? No goodbye, nothing?

He supposed last night was all the goodbye they could have said, but still, why did it feel like he’d lost something more valuable than his life?