It was a kiss that lingered, deepening only when she gently leaned into it. Ilaria's breath stuttered against his mouth, her uncertainty folding into trust with every quiet press and every shared warmth.
For so long she had loved him quietly, loving him in patience, loving him while unsure if she was allowed to. And now, the steady weight of his hands and the certainty of his lips on hers made something inside her cave in with relief. Because this was not a kindness, or a duty, or a husband's formal affection.
He was holding her like… like he loved her as well.
Levan breathed her in, one hand cupping the back of her neck, the other bracing the table beneath her as if he refused to let her carry even her own weight. Ilaria moaned into his mouth as she unconsciously grind herself against him.
That… was when he felt it.
