He wipes them away and crawls back up my body, tucking me tight against him. Jamie holds my eyes, his hand traveling down my stomach, softly parting my thighs. He presses a tender kiss to my mouth, as his fingertips gently travel my skin’s stretch marks, tracing each spidery soft line. We kiss, then kiss more, while his hand wanders my thighs and my stomach, everywhere but where I know he’s going to touch me next.

“Please,” I whisper.

He smiles into our kiss. His fingers part me softly, cupping me gently, covering me with such cherishing touch, I have to swallow more tears. Jamie watches me, dragging my body’s wetness up to my clit in soft, lulling circles.

His other arm hooked beneath my neck, he draws me close, tucked against him, warmed by his body. I search his eyes as he touches me. It feels so different from what I’ve had with someone before. Like it’s not just touch and hormones and impending release, but something deep inside me recognizing something deep inside him. Like our bodies keep taking these tiny steps toward each other, and when there’s nowhere else to go, it won’t just be coming together. It will be the connection that I was always waiting for but never found in that perfect fit.

“Show me, sweetheart,” he says quietly, before he steals a slow kiss. “Show me where it aches. What you need.”

I watch my hand shakily travel my body until it slips over his, our hands entwined as I adjust him slightly. A little lighter, a bit faster. I guide one of his fingers, then two, inside me to stroke my G-spot.

Time is lost to me as Jamie touches me, as he watches me for every sign of pleasure, every indication of what makes me climb higher and higher.

“So beautiful,” he says. Words pour out of him, French whispered against my skin. Deep and quiet, rich and dark. Their meaning escapes me, but it doesn’t matter. They turn my body hot, make me melt in his arms.

Jamie groans, feeling me clench around his fingers, watching me ride his hand.

Pleasure blossoms rose red behind my eyes. His touch is smooth and warm, perfectly steady, and I release his hand, my arm flopping above my head. Jamie’s free hand finds mine and locks our fingers together, pinning my hand against the mattress.

I moan, surrendered, held, weightless. My breasts brush the soft hairs of his chest. My cheeks warm against his gentle kisses. Breathing becomes harder, as a white-hot ache builds inside me and I writhe against his hand. Jamie’s mouth meets mine again, first gentle, then hard and possessive, urging me on. The ache turns sharp and urgent, shivery and molten.

Release swells inside me. My toes curl, my feet slide frantically along the sheets. “Oh God, Jamie. Oh God, please.”