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"Are you alright?" I ask, searching her face for any signs of discomfort.
"Yes, it's just...a moment to adjust," she admits, cheeks flushing. I chuckle, then lean down and capture her lips in another deep kiss.
"Let me know if it's too much." I rock into her, slowly at first, giving her time to adjust to my size.
She moans into my mouth, wrapping her legs around my waist. The feeling of her clenching around me sends bolts of electricity arcing through my veins.
"Faster, please," she begs.
I oblige her, picking up the pace. I begin to thrust in earnest, hips slamming against hers with each deep stroke. Clara meets me thrust for thrust, her nails digging into my shoulders. I bite back a curse at the sensation.
"You feel so fucking good," I groan. I grip her hip and slam into her, setting a relentless pace. She gasps, eyes squeezed shut with pleasure.
"Look at me, Clara," I command, voice husky with desire. She opens her eyes, gaze locking onto mine.
"I want to see the look in your eyes when you come undone around my cock," I growl.
She whimpers, but doesn't look away. I can feel her body coiling tighter, her inner walls gripping me like a vise.
Knowing her release is close, I slip a hand between us and caress that sensitive bundle of nerves that will tip her over the edge.
"Come for me, tesoro mio. I want to feel you come undone."
With a breathless cry, Clara tumbles over the edge. She clamps down around me, sending me spiraling into my own release. I thrust into her one last time, my cock pulsing as I fill her.
For a moment we stay like that, hearts racing in unison as we gasp for breath. I press my forehead to hers, savoring the intimacy of the moment.
At last I summon the strength to roll onto my back, gathering her along with me. Clara sighs contentedly, draping herself half across my chest and tangling our legs together. She smiles up at me softly.
"Well...I suppose that settles the question of me staying or going."
A low chuckle rumbles through my chest. I press a kiss to her tousled hair, tightening my arms around her. "So it would seem."
She hums in agreement, nuzzling against my throat. I close my eyes, perfectly content to hold her this way forever.
"Stay with me tonight," I murmur, tilting her chin up to meet her gaze again.
She smiles, her expression soft and open in the dim light. "Always," she whispers, sealing our promise with a lingering kiss.
EPILOGUE - CLARA
I tread carefully across the shaky, portable stage to where the dean stands, ready to shake my hand. Each step echoes through the outdoor field, over the hushed crowd. My heart pounds wildly in my chest, anticipation and nervous excitement crashing through me in waves. This is the moment I've been working towards for the past four years.
I keep my gaze focused straight ahead as I walk, determined not to trip or stumble in front of the hundreds of people watching. I search the indistinct faces of the audience, seeking the ones who matter most.
There, near the front, Dad is beaming up at me, pride shining in his tired but happy eyes. Beside him sits Antonio, resplendent in an impeccably tailored charcoal gray suit that fits his athletic frame to perfection. His dark hair gleams under the afternoon sun, his ruggedly handsome features soft with admiration as our eyes meet. I can't help the radiant smile that spreads across my face at the sight of him, knowing he's here sharing this special moment. Lorenzo, Pietro, Rafael and Giovanni fill out the rest of the row, looking up at me like doting older brothers seeing their sister graduate.
"Clara Thomas, Bachelor of Arts in Art History," the Dean's voice rings out, pulling my attention back to the present.
I reach out and shake his hand firmly, accepting the embossed leather diploma folder. Pride surges through me as I face the applauding crowd, this tangible proof of years of hard work and sacrifice clutched in my hands. But greater than the satisfaction of personal achievement is the joy of sharing this with the people who matter most.
With a final wave to the cheering audience, I make my way across the stage and take my seat amongst the other black-robed graduates. The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur of speeches and names I don't hear over the thundering beat of my heart. At last the recessional music swells, opening chords of Pomp and Circumstance signaling our class to rise. I join my peers in turning our tassels and throwing our caps joyously into the air. A shower of black and gold rains down as we erupt into cheers and laughter.
I'm instantly engulfed by a sea of ecstatic graduates hugging, crying, and congratulating one another. I exchange tearful hugs with a few close friends, bittersweet nostalgia warring with exhilaration.
Eventually, I extract myself from the chaotic swarm of graduation robes pressing in on all sides. There are still two people in the auditorium who I am most eager to see. I scan the milling crowds for that familiar beloved face until finally I spot him.
"Dad!" My voice cracks with emotion as I fling my arms around him. Dad pulls me into a fierce hug, his wiry frame as comforting and steadying as ever despite the lingering softness around the middle. He's come so far since those dark days just a few months ago when his addictions and bad choices delivered us both into a deadly feud between warring mafia factions. The memory sends a pang through my chest, quickly replaced by relief. Here in my father's arms, his familiar tobacco and sandalwood scent enveloping me, I'm reassured of how far we've all come.
