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Inch by inch, I slowly lowered onto him, taking my time, adjusting to his size until finally, I was seated around him.
Xavier shuddered. “Fuck, that’s right. God, you feel so fucking perfect.”
“I—oh!” I gasped as he slipped a hand into the cleft of my ass and toyed one long finger over that delicate back entry.
And then I couldn’t move anymore. Pleasure started to stripe through me, coming in lashes that threatened to toss me completely off the bed. I felt like I was strapped to a horse racing toward a cliff, but I had no way to steer. No way to control the horse at all.
Xavier grabbed my body and held me in place, then thrust upward from beneath me, again and again, until we both toppled off the cliff.
“Xavi!” I screamed as my second orgasm of the night pounded through me, numbing my senses to anything but the man inside me, the pleasure he brought, and the complete and utter bliss of our union.
“Ces!” Xavier’s roar was harsh and strained. His entire body tensed to the point where I could see nearly every muscle, every vein popping from his considerable physique. He reached out his long arms, hands wrapping around my shoulders as he pulled me down to his chest while he continued to pummel into me from below.
“Feel it,” he ordered in a harsh whisper. “Fucking feel me. Feel us!”
“I do,” I whimpered into his slick skin. “Oh, God, Xavi, I do. I love you so, so, so…”
“So fucking much,” he finished for me as his hips finally slowed to a gentle rock and his breaths lengthened, though his heart continued to throb beneath my cheek.
He held me in his desperate clutch, filling me with his seed and his love and so many other unnamable things.
I barely comprehended what happened after that, how we fell from such great heights into a near slumber by each other’s limbs, how Xavier managed to lift me from the bed and carry me back upstairs, or how we crawled into my bed together and curled into each other in the quiet of night just across the hall from our daughter.
But I did remember the way his eyes sparked as he cupped my face in the dark. I’d never forget the softness of his lips as he pressed one last kiss to mine, as if to seal our reunion one more time.
“Say it again,” he whispered just as sleep arrived to claim us both.
“Yes,” I whispered, barely able to keep my eyes open. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
“Again,” he prodded.
I laughed.
But he didn’t laugh with me, just pulled me closer, sheltering me with the broad warmth of his shape. “Say it again,” Xavier murmured into my neck. “I’ll always want you to say it again.”
“Yes, Xavi,” I told him. “The answer will always be yes.”
TWENTY-ONE
We awoke with the dawn.
Or at least I did, with Xavier between my thighs, chasing me into the fourth state of pre-matrimonial bliss I’d experienced since putting his sparkling ring on my finger.
And when we were finished, I lay on his chest, oblivious to the sheen of sweat on our skin, while he stroked my back, and I tickled his tattoo and listened to his heart gradually coming down to something like normal.
I sighed, utterly spent and feeling oddly well-rested. Despite the fact that neither of us had gotten more than a few hours of sleep—it was like we migrated to each other in our dreams, waking up multiple times to consummate whatever dark fantasies had been playing while we slept—it was probably the best rest I’d gotten in years.
This was what love felt like. Real love, made of devotion as much as passion, the kind you took with you for what I knew would be life.
When I was young, I had dreamed it would be the stuff of the old sentimental novels, sculpted from angst that made you want to scream and keep you from your sleep. Where you’d obsess about the man, terrified he wouldn’t reciprocate your feelings, delighting in his company but forever anticipating the inevitable heartbreak that might follow. I’d be Catherine to his Heathcliff, maybe. Charlotte Temple to the roguish soldier. Doomed to misery and ruin because of my uncontrollable passion.
I had experienced that angst with Xavier. And probably would again—at least some of it, anyway.
But this was different. Real love was nourishing. It superseded my body’s needs because of the way it fed my soul rather than taking it. It made me feel safe and sated, and so, so alive.
“How shall we tell her, then?” Xavier wondered as he combed through my hair with one hand.
“Who?” I asked, arching into his touch.
