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As simple as that. One word, and everything changed.
He scooped her up in his arms. She let him. Moved with him. As if aware of his every thought. “Ice cream can wait,” he declared, his voice a husky growl.
He carried her to the long sofa in the living room and lowered her onto it. Gently removed his clothes from her body. Kissed every inch of her skin he revealed. Her shallow breaths, her swift intakes, her soft whimpers as he did so drove him wild with need and lust, but he didn’t rush.
He explored her entire body with his fingers, his lips. He spent long languid moments worshipping her breasts, her throat, the soft skin high on her inner thighs. He nibbled the back of her knees, the inside of her wrists. He charted a path with his lips from her belly button to her nipples, to her temple, to her mouth.
She moaned and writhed on the sofa, sometimes fisting her hands in his hair, sometimes cupping her own breasts, sometimes directing his mouth to where she wanted it the most.
He made her come twice with his fingers and once with his mouth.
And when she begged him to enter her on a shaky, breathless whisper, he rose to his feet to get a condom, so hard it hurt.
“I’ll be back,” he murmured against her forehead. “Just getting a—”
She caught his fingers with hers and he lifted his head to find her gaze locked on his. “You…you don’t have to.”
A prickling heat swept over him. His breath caught. He searched her eyes, his body thrumming. “Are you sure?”
“I trust you,” she answered. Not whispered. A declaration.
“I trust you,” he said, before brushing his lips over hers.
She helped him undress.
And then, holding her gaze, he pressed her back down onto the sofa again, nestling between her thighs, and entered her.
Lost himself to her.
Completely.
Her heat enveloped him, moved over his skin. He stroked into her, the unadulterated, pure sensations of their bodies sliding together heightening a moment already beyond perfect.
“Dio,” she moaned, suddenly locking her legs around his hips. “I’m…close. Don’t…don’t stop…”
He didn’t. Adjusting his weight, he thrust deeper and deeper and deeper into her. And when her breath began to hitch, when pleasure etched her face, he reached between their bodies, his fingers finding her clit.
She came. And he came with her.
Spent, their bodies still joined, he looked down at her, brushing her hair from her temples with shaky fingertips. “I think I’m in love with you.”
She grew still.
Shit. Shit shit. What…why had he said that? Why—
Tangling her fingers in his hair, she pulled his head down to hers. “Penso di amarti anch’io,” she whispered against his lips.
Breath stuck in his throat, heart hammering, he swallowed. “Penso…?”
The corners of her eyes crinkled with a smile. “I think I love you too.”
He let out a wobbly laugh, kissed her, and rested his forehead on hers. “I am so fucking glad I asked you to marry me.”
She laughed, her tight heat still gripping his length. He kissed her again. Thoroughly. Deeply. He surrendered to everything she awoke in him. Everything he never thought he wanted or could have. And when he finished kissing her, he carried her to his bed and made love to her again. And after that, finally, got the ice cream. One container, two spoons.
“I love the way you’ve served this.” Playful mischief danced in her eyes as—sitting up in his bed, naked and clearly uncaring—she scooped a spoonful from the tub. “Very…rustic?”
He stuck his own ice-cream laden spoon into his mouth, grinning. “It’s an artform.”
