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“Hi,” I said back, unable to keep the smile from spilling across my face. I couldn’t remember the last time I smiled like this—genuine, unguarded, utterly happy. My thumb traced a lazy circle along her shoulder, grounding myself in the reality of her, the softness of her skin.

She shifted slightly, and I caught her wince. The movement was small, but it tugged at me, a reminder of last night—how many times I’d taken her, how rough I’d been, how thoroughly I’d marked her. “Are you sore?” I asked quietly, my hand moving to her hip, gentle now, as if apologizing with touch.

“Yes,” she admitted, but she was smiling, her lips curving as she looked at me. “But I don’t care.” She nudged my hand playfully, then pressed her forehead to mine—a gentle gesture, warm and intimate. “You’re worth it,” she added with a half-laugh, the sound wrapping around me like a promise.

Something in my chest cracked open at those words. At the way she was looking at me, as if I were something precious instead of something dangerous. Like I was worth the pain, worth the risk, worth everything she was giving up by being here with me. I let out a shaky breath and brushed her hair back, letting my fingers linger. “I promise I’ll make it up to you,” I murmured, playful and earnest all at once.

She grinned, squeezing my hand, and the moment felt suspended—fragile, yes, but alive with everything we might become.

The stakes were real, hovering between us like the scent of her hair and the warmth of the sun. Trust could be broken, love could be lost, but in this moment, I was hers, and she was mine—dangerous and precious.

I kissed her softly, my hand cupping her face, and she melted into me. The kiss deepened slowly, lazily, without the desperate urgency of last night—a promise, a risk, and a haven, all at once.

This was different.

This was savoring.

This was worship.

My hand slid down her body, over her breasts, her ribs, her hip as she made a small sound against my mouth. I could feel her body responding, her skin warming under my touch despite her soreness, despite her exhaustion.

“I want you again,” I murmured against her lips. “I’ll be gentle this time. I promise.”

“Okay,” she breathed. The trust in that single word destroyed me.

I took my time with her. Kissed every inch of her skin, her neck, her shoulders, the valley between her breasts. Sucked her nipples gently until she was arching into my mouth, her hands in my hair. Traced patterns on her stomach, her thighs, everywhere except where she needed me most.

“Salvatore,” she whimpered, her hips lifting. “Please.”

“Shh,” I soothed, kissing the inside of her thigh. “I’m going to take care of you.”

I settled between her legs and tasted her slowly, thoroughly, my tongue exploring every fold, every sensitive spot. She was swollen and tender from last night, and I was careful, gentle, using just the tip of my tongue to circle her clit while my fingers traced patterns on her inner thighs.

She was making these small, breathy sounds that drove me insane. Her hands were in my hair, not pulling, just holding on, and I could feel her trembling under my mouth.

I slid one finger inside her, just one, because I knew she was sore, and she gasped. I moved it slowly, carefully, finding that spot inside her that made her see stars while I continued working her clit with my tongue.

“Oh God,” she breathed. “That feels... I can’t.”

But she could. I felt her building toward it, felt the way her body was tensing, the way her breathing was becoming ragged. I increased the pressure slightly, my tongue moving in slow circles, and she came with a soft cry, her body shuddering, her inner walls clenching around my finger. I worked her through it gently, then kissed my way back up her body. She was flushed and trembling, her eyes glazed, and when I kissed her, she could taste herself on my tongue.

“I need to be inside you,” I said against her mouth. “Can you take me?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Just go slow. Please.”

I positioned my hard cock at her entrance and carefully pushed inside, inch by inch, giving her time to adjust. She was so tight, so hot, and even though I was trying to be gentle, the sensation was overwhelming. When I was fully seated inside her, I stayed still for a moment, just feeling her wrapped around me, feeling her heart beating against my chest.

This was different from last night.

Last night had been desperate, consuming, almost violent in its intensity.

This was reverent.

I moved slowly, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, and she made a sound that was half pleasure, half relief. Her legs wrapped around my waist, her hands on my shoulders, and I set a gentle rhythm, deep but slow, savoring every sensation.

“You’re so beautiful,” I murmured, kissing her neck, her jaw, her lips. “So fucking perfect. Do you know what you do to me?”

“Tell me,” she breathed.