He slots lean hips between my spread legs. When he looks up, his face still wet from the time and care he took ensuring my pleasure, his eyes connect with mine, searing a thousand unspoken promises into my heart. There’s a knowing between us, an intuition of body and soul and mind that I’ve never had with anyone else. At his first thrust, a hard, sure possession, I know I never will. He doesn’t pull back, but stays buried inside me, his temple pressed to mine. He angles his head until only a breath separates our mouths. He closes the space, kissing me fiercely as he pushes in deeper. I wrap my legs around him, linking my ankles at the base of his spine. He moves, one sure thrust after another, slowly building the momentum between our bodies. Sweat beads, drips as he never lets up, the only sounds in the room our grunting and gasping and panting and urgent whispers of more, faster, harder, please don’t you ever stop.

Finally, he groans into the curve of my neck, spilling into me, a hot flow of love and unleashed passion. I want it all, tightening my arms and legs around him like he’s wisps of smoke that might drift away, like I could lose him if I’m not careful. The percussion of our hearts, mallets in our chests, slows. Our love-slicked limbs are a tangle of copper and bronze. I run my fingers through his hair, trace the muscles in his belly, caress the sinew at his hip, the corded arms. I hold his hand. My body is sated, but my heart hungers for him still, for unbroken contact. I want him until I’m full and running over and exhausted with affection. I can’t stop touching him, making sure he is real and here and mine.

Still only mine.

Our bodies have cooled when he rolls away.

“No,” I protest, my voice raw and husky. “Don’t go yet.”

“I’ll be right back.” He leans down and kisses my forehead.

I close my eyes and pull the duvet up and over my shoulders, relishing the warmth, the scent of us in the sheets. When he gently turns me over to face him, he’s on his knees beside the bed, elbows propped on the mattress.

“Hey, handsome,” I say sleepily, caressing the line of his brows, the bridge of his nose.

“Hey,” he replies, his lips quirking, even though his eyes remain serious. “I want to talk to you about a few things.”

“Okay.” I drag myself up to sit with my back against the headboard and the covers tucked beneath my arms. “Talk.”

“We kind of jumped right in,” he says, linking our fingers on the sheets. “But I want to talk about what happened while we’ve been apart.”