Diego Bittencourt
I used to think power, money, and influence were all I needed to be successful—and, by extension, happy.
For years, I believed those were the pillars of my life. But now, walking along the sand in Porto Seguro with the sound of Arthur and Clara’s laughter behind me and Maria Gabriela at my side, I realized how empty all of it would be without them.
Sometimes life hands you a second chance, and now, more than ever, I felt like I was living mine.
I watched Clara trying to run across the beach, her tiny steps leaving fleeting prints in the sand as Arthur chased after her, laughing. The wind tugged at their hair, and the sound of the waves played like a soft soundtrack to this moment of pure joy.
I remembered who I used to be:
A man obsessed with winning, hiding behind a cold facade so no one could reach him. A powerful CEO incapable of showing vulnerability. That version of Diego—the one who only valued success and control—felt far away now.
Porto Seguro, with its endless sky and calming air, was the perfect backdrop to reflect on that change.
“What’s on your mind?” Maria Gabriela’s voice broke through my thoughts.
She was beside me, watching the kids with that gentle smile that always managed to disarm me.
It had taken me a long time to understand that real strength wasn’t about never showing weakness, but about embracing the changes life throws at you.
“Everything,” I said, keeping my eyes on our children. “How I used to think the world revolved around things that now feel so meaningless. And how you changed all of that.”
Maria Gabriela turned toward me, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. Like me, she wasn’t used to hearing me talk about feelings. But if the past few months had taught me anything, it was that I couldn’t keep acting like before—not with her.
“Who would’ve thought?” she teased, her tone light but edged with that familiar hint of provocation that always unraveled me. “The mighty Diego Bittencourt, rethinking his priorities.”
“Not me,” I admitted with a quiet laugh. “But here I am, trying to figure out who I really am. And liking it.”
Her smile widened, and for a moment, I felt the old spark between us—the playful banter, the subtle glances—but now with something deeper woven through it, something built on years of history and change.
“I’m happy for you, Diego,” she said after a beat of silence. “For us, actually,” she added, looking at Clara and Arthur, now crouched down building a sandcastle. “Seeing you become more open, more… human.”
Her words, simple as they were, carried enormous weight. Because I knew she was still protecting herself, still cautious.
And I couldn’t blame her. Our past wasn’t simple. But what we were building now was on a much stronger foundation.
“They’re amazing, aren’t they?” I asked, watching the kids play together.
“They are,” she replied with a maternal smile before adding, “And I see so much of you in them.”
Those words—so ordinary for any parent—felt brand new to me. In the past, seeing myself in someone else was about legacy and influence. Now, it meant something entirely different.
It was about watching life bloom in a way no amount of power or money could ever give me.
We started walking again, our steps in sync as if the moment could last forever. The warmth of the sun and the ocean breeze wrapped around us, and I felt like I was finally starting to understand what truly mattered.
Not the company, not the success, not the professional victories. It was about being present for the little things: the laughter, the unhurried conversations, the touch of a familiar hand.
“Diego, you really have changed,” she said softly, almost as if speaking more to herself than to me.
“I had to, Maria Gabriela,” I said, stopping and turning toward her. “And all of this—this transformation—none of it would’ve happened without you.”
She looked at me, her eyes reflecting the sunlight and something else. Something that might have been hope.
“And where do you go from here?” she asked, holding my gaze.
“Wherever you’ll let me,” I said honestly. “I’m not here to pressure you or push you into anything. I just want to be part of this—your life, their lives. I want to be the best father I can for Clara and Arthur. And if you give me the chance… I want to be the man you deserve.”
For a moment, there was only silence. Then she smiled—a smile that gave me more hope than I expected. And as Clara came running toward us with a fistful of seashells, I realized that, for the first time, I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
“I’m ready to try…” she whispered.
In the dim light of the room, illuminated only by the soft glow spilling in through the window, I watched Maria Gabriela lying beside me. She was, without a doubt, the woman of my life.
The past few months had brought us closer in ways I never could’ve imagined, and now, all I wanted was to make her happy—the way she deserved.
I reached out, brushing my fingers along her cheek, feeling the smooth warmth of her skin. Her eyes met mine, shining in a way that made my heart race.
“Maria Gabriela,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “You’re the woman of my life—the reason I want to be a better man. I promise you, I’ll never disappoint you again.”
She smiled, just a small curve of her lips, but it lit up the whole room and completely disarmed me.
Without thinking, I leaned in and captured her mouth with mine. The kiss hit like a spark—urgent, hungry—like we were trying to make up for all the time we’d lost, every second suddenly too precious to waste.
Our mouths moved in perfect rhythm, tongues meeting in a desperate, heated dance. Her breath mingled with mine, ragged and full of longing. I could feel the warmth of her body against me, searing through every inch of my skin, igniting something deep inside.
My hand traced a slow path down her body, following every curve until I reached her waist. I pulled her closer, pressing her against me.
She moaned softly into the kiss, a sound so sweet, so teasing, it unraveled whatever control I had left.
Her hands slid up my back, nails scraping lightly across my skin before tangling in my hair, pulling me even closer, like she couldn’t stand the thought of any distance between us.
I kissed her harder, nipping at her lower lip before taking her mouth again, deeper this time, more urgent.
Then my lips trailed down her neck, scattering hot, lingering kisses, sucking gently at her soft skin until I heard her sigh—a breath of surrender.
Her taste was intoxicating, her scent mixed with desire dizzying enough to make me lose myself completely.
Time seemed to stop. There was only us—every teasing glance, every spark that had ever passed between us—culminating in this, in breathless kisses and touches that tore quiet moans from deep in our throats.
When there was no more space left for barriers, our clothes fell away one by one, forgotten on the floor. Each piece revealed more skin, more need, more urgency. My hands roamed across her body, memorizing every inch, every curve, like I was tracing a map that belonged only to me.
With every garment that hit the floor, our breathing grew heavier, rougher.
Our bodies, already pressed together, became pure need.
I kissed her with a hunger I didn’t know I had left in me, devouring her mouth as my hands explored her bare skin—gripping, caressing—drawing out sounds that drove me wild.
She arched when my lips moved lower, down her neck, across her shoulders, until I took one of her breasts in my mouth.
I sucked gently, then harder, while my hand massaged the other, pulling from her a sharp, breathy moan that was almost a plea.
Her nails dug into my back, urging me on, pulling me closer still.
“Diego…” she gasped, her voice trembling, pleading.
I guided her gently back onto the bed, following her down, covering her body with mine. Our hips met in a hard, perfect fit, and I could feel how much she wanted me—wet, ready, aching. The friction made us both moan at once, the sound swallowed by another hungry kiss.
My hand slid between her thighs, parting them, finding her heat. She arched instantly, a rough moan escaping against my mouth. I teased her with my fingers—slow at first, then firmer—feeling every tremor ripple through her. Her breathing quickened, her moans rising higher, pushing me to the edge.
When I couldn’t wait any longer, I positioned myself between her legs, the tip of me brushing against her entrance. She whimpered, impatient, tugging at my back.
“Please…” The word came out as a breath, thick with need.
And then, in one smooth motion, I slid into her. The heat, the tight, velvety pressure pulled a guttural sound from my throat as she arched beneath me, moaning my name. I stayed still for a heartbeat, savoring the feeling of being inside her, completely surrounded, before I started to move.
The first thrusts were slow, deep, as if I wanted to carve every detail of this moment into both of us. But soon the rhythm grew faster, harder, each thrust drawing louder cries from her, mingling with the sound of my ragged breathing.
Her hands clutched at my back, my shoulders, anywhere she could reach, holding on like she was afraid to lose herself. I kissed her again, biting her lips, sucking her tongue, moving faster, harder, until our bodies met in a frantic rhythm that consumed everything around us.
The pleasure built between us, hot and unstoppable. She cried out my name again, her body trembling beneath mine, shattering in waves of release as she clung to me like the world was falling away.
A few seconds later, I gave in too, thrusting deep as the orgasm tore through me. A low, raw groan escaped my throat, and I collapsed over her, still inside, breathing hard, our bodies pressed tightly together.
We stayed like that, tangled, breathless, hearts racing. And for the first time, I knew with absolute certainty—it wasn’t just desire. It was more. So much more.
It wasn’t just physical need, but something deeper, something complete—a surrender where every touch, every kiss, was a silent promise of love and devotion.
She cupped my face in her hands, her eyes reflecting the same intensity I felt. There was strength and vulnerability in her gaze, that same rare mix I’d always admired in her.
Maria Gabriela was strong—stronger than anyone I’d ever known—and in that moment, I knew, without a single doubt, I would never find another woman like her.
The way she held me, like she needed to be sure I was really there, that we were real, made me feel a kind of vulnerability I hadn’t allowed myself in years. But with her, it wasn’t frightening—it was grounding. Because I knew she was right there with me, feeling exactly what I was.
Her eyes met mine with an intensity that seemed to capture everything we were—our fears, our hopes, our deepest desires. There was power in her, a quiet, magnetic force that drew me in and held me there, completely captive—and I didn’t want to resist.
Maria Gabriela wasn’t just the woman I loved; she was the woman who completed me, who made me want to be better—not just for myself, but for us.
“I love you, Maria Gabriela,” I whispered against her ear, feeling the weight and truth of every word.
“I love you too, Diego,” she murmured, her voice soft but filled with sincerity.