Chapter 16 #2
His eyes hold mine as his mouth trails lower, reverent, adoring. He kisses each inch of my skin as though replacing every scar, every shadow, with something sacred. My breast. My stomach. My hips. Each kiss feels like a vow: you’re safe, you’re mine, you’re loved.
“Dorian…” My voice wavers, but it’s no longer from fear.
“Let me love you,” he murmurs, voice threaded with devotion.
His hand glides up over my abdomen, fingers tracing the soft curve of my ribs.
He doesn’t rush. His mouth follows, warm and insistent, lingering just long enough to tease each sensitive peak with the flick of his tongue before moving lower.
He brands every inch of me with soft, deliberate kisses—like he’s rewriting every touch that hurt, every moment I was made to feel anything less than cherished.
The other hand finds mine, our fingers threading together tightly, holding me there—anchored—like he’s afraid I might slip away.
“You feel incredible,” he whispers, his eyes never leaving mine.
His mouth finds me slowly, tenderly, like he’s memorizing every reaction.
The first touch of his tongue between my legs makes me cry out, my hips jerking helplessly, and his hand presses lightly at my waist, guiding me, steadying me.
His mouth worships me with a skillful patience that has my pulse racing, his lips and tongue unleashing waves of pleasure I can’t contain.
Pleasure builds like a tide I can’t control, rising higher and higher until it swallows everything else.
For the first time in five years, I don’t fight it.
I let myself feel.
His fingers stroke me slowly at first, teasing, circling, making my breath hitch with every pass. Then one finger slides inside me, curling just right, and another follows—stretching me, filling me.
My hips arch instinctively, chasing the sensation as his tongue continues its slow, deliberate caress against my clit, each flick sending shivers through me while his thumb brushes over the sensitive bundle of nerves above.
I’m shaking, clutching at his hand, my nails biting into his skin like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to this world. And then—
His mouth closes over my clit. Warm. Demanding. The flick of his tongue makes my back bow, and when he sucks lightly and adds that soft, wicked scrape of his teeth— I break.
“Oh God, Dorian…” I gasp, voice strangled, my breath catching as the orgasm tears through me like a storm I can’t hold back.
It’s raw. Powerful. Shattering.
My body arches, shuddering violently as wave after wave overtakes me.
Tears spill freely down my face—not from pain, but from something deeper. A cleansing. A surrender. Every tremor feels like pieces of me being knit back together, even as I fall apart in his hands and mouth.
He kisses his way up my body, slow and reverent, until he’s hovering above me. His hands frame my face, brushing away my tears with the tenderness that undoes me completely.
“Come here,” he murmurs, shifting onto his back and guiding me gently over him.
I hesitate for a fraction of a second—then climb astride him, my knees bracketing his hips. The way his eyes roam over me, dark and full of awe, makes my heart pound. He settles his hands at my waist, not pushing, just grounding me.
“This has always been yours,” he whispers. “Take what you need, Della.”
He shifts beneath me, strong hands anchoring at my hips, and I feel the hard length of him pressed against me, straining, waiting.
The heat that surges between us is almost overwhelming.
My breath hitches as his fingers slide down, slow and deliberate, brushing through my slick folds. He looks up at me with that devastating focus, like I’m the only thing in his world.
“Please…” My voice is already trembling.
“Soon, love,” he murmurs, his tone a soft promise. “Just feel it.”
He circles my clit with the gentlest touch, coaxing, teasing, until my body arches into his hand. Then he dips lower, coating his fingers with my wetness before returning to stroke me, to open me for him.
My thighs tremble on either side of his hips, the anticipation curling tighter and tighter inside me.
“You feel so perfect,” he says, his voice low, almost reverent. “So, soft.”
I glance down and see him—thick, hard, every vein standing out. The sight steals my breath. He’s always been like this for me. Hard and strong, yet so achingly tender.
My hand wraps around him without thinking, stroking once, twice, feeling the weight and heat of him before I guide him to my entrance.
I sink down slowly, inch by inch, the stretch exquisite.
“Oh, God…” The words break from me as he fills me completely.
He’s deep now, fully inside me and for the first time in five years, I feel centered. Real. Here.
I start to move, slowly at first, letting my body adjust to the fullness, to the way he presses against every sensitive place inside me. His hands guide my rhythm, not controlling, just steady, letting me take what I need.
I rock against him harder, chasing the pleasure that’s building with each movement.
His eyes never leave mine, drinking in every sound, every expression.
“You’re so beautiful,” he rasps, his voice cracking as he thrusts upward to meet me. “So strong, my love.”
My hips roll continuously, the sensation coiling deep inside me, unbearable in its intensity.
My hands slide up my own body, cupping my breasts, pinching my nipples as his gaze darkens.
I feel his length slide back and forth, in and out, hard and smooth, each thrust sending waves of heat through my body, drawing pleasure from him with every movement.
But this time, it’s different.
Every pulse of pleasure belongs to me.
This moment. My body. My choice.
I lift my hands, threading them through my hair, pulling just enough to feel the tug at my scalp as I tilt my head back, my nipples hardened by the cool air and the heat of his gaze—my heart fully open to him.
The only place we touch is where he fills me, deep and thick, and I savor the sensation— how intoxicating it feels to take what I need while giving all of myself to him at the same time.
“Della, …” His voice is hoarse, reverent, his hands clenching at my hips as I ride him harder, sinuous rolls of my hips forward and back. His jaw tightens as he watches me, his hands slide up my sides, his thumbs grazing my sensitive peaks, and I feel the weight of it—of him seeing me like this.
Our eyes lock—and neither of us looks away.
“Stay with me. Here,” he whispers.
“I’m here,” I breathe, and I am. Every nerve, every beat of my heart belongs to this man beneath me.
His hand cups one breast while the other finds my clit, circling with slow, deliberate pressure—his gaze pins mine, unblinking. As if he can hold my soul still with his eyes alone. The dual sensation steals my breath, tremors building fast and hard—tension winding tight, too tight.
His black, endless, deep eyes… are full of me.
And just like that first night—the night I chose him—I feel it again. He sees me. All of me.
The girl I was. The woman I became. The part of me I thought was gone forever.
He brought me back to life.
And then I shatter.
Pleasure detonates inside me—sudden, violent.
My body grips him, tight and desperate, as a moan tears from my throat, deep and raw, shaking in its first breath before climbing—higher, wilder—until it rips free as a cry I can’t hold back.
It’s not just sound.
It’s a piece of me breaking free.
My vision blurs with tears, but I don’t look away.
Because in this moment, I’m not just wrapped around him—I’m inside him. And he’s inside me, all of me.
No beginning. No end. Just one soul, burning.
Tears stream down my face, hot and relentless.
From the overwhelming pleasure, and the weight of five years finally breaking loose.
From the sheer force of feeling—the grief, the longing, the love I kept locked away, until it all collides in this moment—shaking me apart and putting me back together in a single heartbeat.
I can feel Dorian holding on through every tremor, taut and trembling beneath my hands, waiting for me.
And only when he feels the final, desperate wave of my release pulling me under, does he finally let go. He thrusts deep, spilling inside me with a low, guttural moan as the last of his strength breaks.
His arms lock around me, holding me as though he could anchor me to him forever.
“Yours,” he breathes, raw and certain, the word breaking something open inside me. “I am yours.”
I close my eyes, stitching together parts of me I thought were lost forever.
“Mine. You are mine.” He said the first time we made love and every time after. More like a vow than a claim.
This time it is another kind of vow. A surrender.
My fingers thread into his hair, clutching him closer, needing him closer.
“Yours. I’m yours.” I whisper back, my voice unsteady but sure.
I bury my face in his chest, inhaling the scent of him, and let the tears fall—quiet at first, then unrestrained. They soak into his skin, warm trails running over his chest, and he doesn’t say a word.
One of his hands slides up, cradling the back of my head, fingers stroking gently through my hair as if to soothe the ache I’ve carried for so long.
Because this isn’t just sex.
This is more.
This is love, raw and whole and unafraid.
And it saves me.
* * *
Dorian
I shift slightly, rolling us onto our sides so I can wrap her fully in my arms. My palm glides slowly up and down her spine, grounding both of us, as if the rhythm of my touch can soothe the storm that still lingers behind her eyes.
She’s soft and warm against me, her cheek resting over my heart, and for the first time in years, I feel whole. Like everything I’ve lost somehow found its way back to me.
She shifts slightly, her lips brushing my collarbone as she murmurs, “Me, too.”
I pull back just enough to see her face, brow furrowed.
She lifts her head, and our eyes meet—and the words that leave her lips nearly stop my heart.
“I love you, too” she says softly, but it lands in my chest like a lightning strike.
For a moment, I can’t speak. Can’t breathe. I just look at her, the rush of emotion threatening to undo me completely. Then I cradle her face in my hands and press my forehead to hers, closing my eyes, needing her to feel what’s breaking open inside me.
“God, Della…” I murmur, my voice rough, fraying. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you what you mean to me—so you never have to question it again.”
I press my lips to the top of her head, breathing her in.
She smiles—a small, fragile thing that makes my heart pound harder. Her lips brush mine as she whispers.
“I accept.”
I kiss her. Slow at first, then deeper, as though I could pour every ounce of love I have into her. There’s no rush, no desperation—just the certainty that we belong exactly here.
One touch becomes another, a gentle brush of my hands along her sides, her fingers threading through my hair. She clings to me, laughter soft against my throat, and I swear I’ll never forget that sound.
The world falls away as we come together again. Tender. Fierce. Healing. Every sigh, every movement seals us closer, stitching together the cracks left behind by the years apart. Our bodies and hearts find their rhythm in a way that feels like the purest form of home.
After, I hold her against my chest, her breath warm and steady over my heart. My hand lingers on her hip, anchoring her to me.
I close my eyes, letting the weight of her words sink in—the truth I’ve prayed to hear again but never dared to hope for.
She’s here. In my arms. Mine.
And I swear—on every breath I have left—nothing will ever come between us again. I’ll never doubt her. Or us.
I’ll hunt down every shadow that touches her, burn every nightmare to ash, and replace them with dreams of the life she deserves.
Her happiness will be my mission. Her smile, my reward.