Page 140 of My Husband’s New Fiancée

Then he comes, spilling into my mouth.

I take every last drop of him.

And that act of reclaiming loosens something tight in my chest.

Our healing runs through our physical reconnection too.

When his breathing settles, he kisses me hungrily before his hands push me back and lay me down on the bed.

“Let me taste you,” he says.

He settles between my legs, his breath still unsteady. He takes his time looking at me.

“Perfect. You’re perfect.”

Then his tongue finds its way and I arch off the bed.

One hand slides into his hair, the other presses over my mouth to muffle what escapes despite me.

He alternates between long strokes, suction, and the flicker of his tongue.

Then two fingers push inside me and curl with a precision I had forgotten.

I’m right at the edge.

A hand cups my breast, squeezes gently. His fingers curl.

I shatter.

His name tears from my throat.

My thighs tremble and clamp around his head as my whole body convulses.

My vision blurs.

It takes me a few seconds to come back to earth.

As the aftershocks fade, Dante stretches out beside me.

I feel his heart beating against my chest—fast at first, then slower and slower, falling into sync with mine the way it always has.

Our bodies haven’t forgotten. But our hearts… are still learning.

He rolls us onto our sides without loosening his hold. His leg hooks around me, like he’s refusing to let me go.

That fragility of his cuts right through me. Because I understand—it’s going to take time for him to heal from what our separation did to him.

We don’t speak.

Words would be too much. They belong to tomorrow.

For now, there’s only us.

His skin against mine. His breathing settling.

The quiet of this room, where the rest of the world stopped existing for a few hours.

34. Christmas Surprise