The moment stretched, fragile and luminous.
I held still, buried to the hilt, feeling every flutter of her around me—the lingering tightness, the soft pulse of her heartbeat where we were joined. Her eyes stayed locked on mine, wide and dark, the last traces of pain melting into something deeper. I brushed my thumb across her lower lip, then leaned down and kissed her with deliberate tenderness, tasting the soft, shaky breath she gave me in return.
"Still with me?" I whispered against her mouth.
She nodded, a small, almost shy motion. "Yeah… just—go slow. Don't you dare rush this, you bastard."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
I began to move.
Not a thrust—nothing so crude. A careful withdrawal, inch by aching inch, until only the tip remained inside her. I paused there, letting her feel the emptiness for a heartbeat, then pressed forward again just as slowly, filling her once more. Her lashes fluttered. A quiet, broken sound slipped from her throat.
