21. Beatrice #2
“You’re breathtaking,” he says quietly, voice rough with emotion. “Every curve. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.”
He strips himself quickly, then guides me down onto the bed, arranging pillows under my back and hips so I’m completely comfortable.
He starts at my mouth again - long, deep, romantic kisses that make me melt - then maps downward with lips and tongue and reverent hands.
He spends endless minutes on my breasts, suckling gently at the sensitive nipples, flicking them with his tongue, whispering how perfect they are.
His hands stroke my sides, my hips, grounding me.
By the time he settles between my thighs I’m already trembling and dripping onto the sheets.
He looks up the length of my body, eyes soft and burning at the same time.
“Can I taste you again, love?”
I nod, already lifting my hips.
He spreads me open with gentle thumbs and groans at the sight.
Then he licks me like he has all night and nowhere else he’d rather be - slow, lavish strokes, circling my clit, dipping inside, sucking softly.
He builds me up with devastating patience until I’m gasping his name, then slides two fingers into me and curls them while he nurses on my clit.
I come undone with a quiet, shaky moan, pulsing around his fingers, and he works me through it with soft praise against my soaked flesh.
“That’s my girl… just like that… so beautiful when you come for me…”
He climbs up my body, wiping his mouth on his forearm, and settles carefully between my legs.
The thick head of his cock nudges my entrance.
He doesn’t push in yet. Instead he brushes hair off my damp forehead, kisses me slow and deep - letting me taste myself - and waits until my eyes focus on his.
“I love you,” he says, voice shaking with sincerity. “I’ve loved you every single day. Even the worst ones. Especially the worst ones. I’m so in love with you, Beatrice.”
Tears prick my eyes. I don’t say it back - not yet - but I cup his face and pull him down into another long, heartfelt kiss that I hope says everything I can’t voice tonight.
He pushes into me on a shared groan.
Slow. Inch by thick inch. Stretching me open on the slick left from his mouth until he’s buried to the hilt, his pelvis flush against mine. He stays completely still once he’s fully inside, forehead against mine, both of us breathing the same air, letting me feel every pulse of him deep inside.
“You okay?” he whispers.
“Yes. God, yes. Move… please move.”
He does.
The first thrusts are long, rolling, almost lazy - the kind of deep, deliberate lovemaking that feels like a vow.
He keeps most of his weight on his forearms, but he stays close enough that I feel surrounded by him.
Every stroke drags perfectly over the sensitive front wall of me.
Every time he bottoms out he grinds in a small circle that sparks against my clit.
One hand threads through my hair while the other grips my hip.
“So warm… so perfect… missed being inside you like this,” he breathes against my lips between tender kisses. “Missed the way you take me. Missed watching your face when I’m this deep… fuck, Bea, you feel like home…”
I wrap my legs higher around his waist, heels pressing into his flexing ass, urging him deeper. The angle changes and suddenly every thrust hits a spot that makes stars burst behind my eyes. I’m making soft, helpless sounds against his mouth. He swallows them all with kisses.
He makes love to me like that for a long time - slow and deep and romantic - building the pleasure in thick golden waves until I’m shaking apart around him with a broken cry of his name.
He groans through my orgasm, hips stuttering as I clench and flutter and soak him, but he doesn’t come yet.
He just keeps rocking me through it, kissing my cheeks, my tears, my swollen mouth.
When I go limp and pliant he carefully eases out, turns me onto my side with pillows supporting my top leg, and spoons up behind me.
He slides back in from behind in one smooth thrust that makes us both moan.
This angle is deeper, tighter. His chest is flush against my back, one arm under my head, the other draped over my waist so his big hand can hold me close while he fucks me in perfect, rolling thrusts.
“Still with me?” he murmurs into my hair, pressing open kisses to the back of my neck and shoulder.
“Yes - don’t stop - feels so good-”
“Never.” His voice cracks with emotion. “I’ll never stop loving you. Never stop wanting this. Wanting you.”
He reaches down between my legs and finds my clit with clever fingers, rubbing slow matching circles while his cock works me from behind.
The dual sensation is overwhelming. I come again harder - longer - clenching rhythmically around him while his name spills out of me like a prayer.
Only then does he let go, burying himself as deep as he can and pulsing hot inside me with a low, broken groan of “Beatrice… love you… love you so much…” against my skin.
We stay locked together afterward, sweaty and trembling, his hand resting on my waist, his lips brushing soft, repeated kisses over my shoulder and the side of my neck.
When he finally softens he eases out carefully.
I feel the warm rush of his release following, but instead of reaching for tissues right away he just holds me tighter, throwing one heavy leg over mine, cradling me like something irreplaceable.
“That was…” I try, voice hoarse.
“Yeah.” He kisses the hinge of my jaw, smiling against my skin. “It was everything.”
We doze like that for a while, tangled and close, trading slow, lazy kisses every time one of us surfaces. Eventually I feel him hardening again against the curve of my ass. I laugh softly, amazed, and push back against him in clear invitation.
Round two is even slower. He pulls me on top so I’m straddling him and lets me sink down onto him at my own pace.
His hands never stop moving: stroking my thighs, cupping my breasts, gripping my hips as I ride him in deep, rolling undulations.
He looks up at me like I’m made of starlight, whispering how perfect I am, how well I take him, how much he loves watching me use his cock for my own pleasure.
I come that way with him sitting up so we can kiss through it, then again when he flips us carefully and finishes inside me with long, deep strokes and my name on his lips like a sacred word.
After the second time he finally cleans us both with a warm cloth, then pulls the covers over our cooling bodies and gathers me against his chest. I rest my head over his heart, listening to it gradually slow, his fingers tracing idle, loving patterns on my bare back and hip.
“I should go back to my room,” I whisper eventually, even though every cell in my body wants to stay exactly here.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know. But…” I lift my head and look at him - kiss-swollen lips, soft eyes, the faint red marks of my nails on his shoulders, the completely open love on his face.
“Baby steps, remember? We’re starting from the beginning.
I meant what I said about not moving you into my bed permanently yet. I still need… time. Even after this.”
“Okay.” He cups my cheek, thumb stroking my lower lip, and smiles the softest, most understanding smile. “Baby steps. I’ll take any step you’ll give me.”
I kiss him one last lingering time - slow and sweet and full of everything I can’t quite say out loud yet - then reluctantly slip out of bed and gather my clothes. At the door I pause and look back.
He’s propped on one elbow watching me, sheets pooled low around his hips, looking thoroughly debauched and utterly content.
“Kenneth?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re doing it right.” My voice comes out softer, warmer, more certain than I expect. “All of it. Just so you know.”
Something luminous moves through his expression.
“Thank you,” he says quietly. “For trusting me with you tonight. For letting me love you like that.”
I smile and slip out, closing the door gently behind me.
I go back to my own room.
But I lie awake for a long time, deliciously sore and still pulsing with aftershocks, his scent on my skin, his release still a faint slickness between my thighs, replaying every tender word and deep thrust and whispered “I love you.” The terror of hoping is still there…
but tonight it feels smaller than the warmth spreading through my chest.
I fall asleep with the ghost of his heartbeat under my cheek.
In the middle of the night, I feel it.
A twinge. Low in my belly. Different from the kicks and flutters I’ve grown used to.
Wrong.
I sit up, heart suddenly pounding.
Another twinge. Sharper this time. A cramping sensation that makes me gasp.
“Kenneth!”
He’s at my door in seconds, barefoot and wild-eyed, still pulling on a shirt.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Something’s wrong.” I press my hand to my stomach, trying to feel for the baby’s movement, trying to convince myself this is nothing. “Something’s happening.”