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He moves inside me unhurriedly, each thrust slow and intentional, stretching the moment, turning it into a confession spoken without words.

Not rushed.

Not desperate.

But deep.

Grounded.

Overwhelming in its quiet intensity.

Neither of us speaks now. We don’t need to. Our mouths find each other again and again, lips parting, pressing, tasting, surrendering to the fire building between us.

My arms stay wrapped around his neck, holding him close, unwilling to allow even the smallest distance to exist.

His hands anchor my waist, firm and certain, keeping me pressed against him, our bodies moving together as if they’ve already learned each other by heart.

Every thrust feels like a promise.

Every breath, a reassurance.

Every touch, a declaration he’s no longer trying to hide.

Never—not once—had this been between us before.

We’ve always had fire. Hunger. A tension that burned too fast, too hot.

But this…

This is calm.

This is consuming in an entirely different way.

This is him showing me it’s not just desire, not just a fleeting, reckless need. There’s intention here. There’s meaning.

There’s us.

And as if he hears every thought unraveling inside me, he leans closer, his lips brushing my ear, his breath uneven, his voice strained with need.

“You once told me you need to be in love to make love…”

My heart falters, my breath catching again as a burning and fragile hope blooms inside my chest, rising too fast to contain.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, then kisses me softly, almost gently, sealing the unspoken truth between us.

“So here I am, Thalia,” he murmurs against my mouth, “making love to you.”

If I was crying before, now the tears come freely, unstoppable, my chest tightening as emotion crashes through me without mercy.

I look at him—this man who has always seemed untouchable. Controlled. Intense. The kind of presence that commands attention without ever asking for it. Strong. Reserved. Devastating in every possible way.

And somehow… he’s here. With me.

“You… you’re in love with me?” I whisper, my voice breaking under the weight of it.

“Fucking hell, Thalia,” he groans as he thrusts deeper, sending a wave of sensation through my entire body. “How many damn signs do you need?”

He lifts himself lightly, keeping his eyes locked on mine as he continues moving inside me with that same measured, intentional rhythm—slow enough to feel everything, intense enough to make it impossible to think.