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Finding the clasp of her bra, I undo it before sliding the straps down her arms, baring her breasts to my hungry gaze. They’re fuller than I remember, the delicate veins beneath the skin a little more prominent, a beautiful testament to the life growing within her. I cup one in my hand, my thumb brushing over the already pebbled nipple, feeling her shudder in response. When I lower my head, my mouth closes over the taut peak. I suckle gently, my tongue swirling around the sensitive nub, learning how she responds to my touch all over again. I lavish the same attention on the other, until she’s arching against me, her breath coming in ragged pants, and her hands clutching at my shoulders.

“Vance… please,” she begs with a breathy moan.

“Please what, sweetheart?” I pepper the words against her skin as my lips dust down her quivering stomach. “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” she gasps. “I need you.”

“You have me,” I promise, my fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties. I slide them down her legs, my gaze following the path of the lace until she’s completely bare before me. She’s a vision, a goddess, and I am her humble devotee.

I settle between her thighs. When my shoulders nudge them wider, I can feel the tension coiling in her body, the anticipation. I press a soft kiss to the inside of her knee, then higher, my lips blazing a trail toward the perfect little pussy I’ve been denied for far too long. Inching closer, I can smell her arousal. It’s a sweet, intoxicating scent that goes straight to my head like the finest whiskey.

When I finally taste her, it’s like coming home. My tongue delves into her, over the delicate pink flesh. She’s wet, ready for me, and the knowledge sends a primal surge of satisfaction through me. I find her clit and circle it slowly. Fluttering at it teasingly, I savor the way her hips buck off the chaise, and her cries slowly become more desperate.

I build her pleasure slowly and meticulously, using my lips, fingers, and tongue, to stoke the flames. She throws her head back, her lips slightly parted, and her eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy. I want to memorize this moment, the way she looks when she’s completely lost in pleasure. The pleasure that only I can give her.

“Vance… Oh, God… Vance,” she chants, a litany of my name.

“Daddy, sweetheart,” I remind against her slick mount. “Daddy makes you feel this good.” I increase the pressure of my tongue, my movements more deliberate and demanding as I slide two fingers inside her, curling them to find the spot that drives her wild. I suckle her clit, my tongue flicking against it in a relentless rhythm as I relentlessly rub her walls.

She shatters, her body bowing off the chaise and a strangled cry tearing from her throat as her orgasm crashes over her. I don’t stop. My tongue and fingers work her through the waves of pleasure, drawing out her release until she’s a boneless, quivering mess draped over my shoulders.

I press a tender kiss to her pussy before crawling up her body. My lips claim hers in a deep, possessive kiss, letting her taste herself. It seems to ignite a new fire in her. Her hands are suddenly everywhere, tearing at my shirt, her nails scraping against my skin as she tries to undress me.

I pull back long enough to rip the shirt over my head, sending all the buttons flying, before kicking off my shoes. My fingers fumble with my pants, the urge to be inside of her so potent I can barely think straight. I need to feel her surrounding me, to claim her, to seal this fragile new bond between us in the most primal way.

Finally managing to free myself, my cock springs free, hard and aching. I settle over her, my elbows braced on either side of her head, my weight resting on her just enough to let her feel my presence without smothering her. Reaching down, I guide myself to her entrance. My length brushes against the heat of her as I slide through the slickness of her arousal before settling at her entrance. It takes every ounce of my self-control not to slam into her, to bury myself so deep we can never be parted again.

When I look at her, I find her face is flushed with the aftermath of her pleasure, and her gorgeous blue eyes are dark with a renewed desire that mirrors my own. “I love you.”

“I love you,” she whispers back, and the words feel like balm to my battered soul. It’s a healing I don’t deserve, but one will spend the rest of my life trying to earn.

I press forward, nudging the tip inside of her, both of us groaning as she stretches around me. Her eyes flutter shut as her lips part on a silent sigh. I watch her face as I slowly—inch by agonizing inch—slide into her. The tight, wet heat of her body welcoming me home is a feeling I’ve craved and ached for every single second of the past three weeks. It’s more than just physical pleasure. It’s a sense of rightness, of completeness, of finally being where I belong.

When I’m buried to the hilt, I pause to stare down at the beautiful woman I have the pleasure of calling my wife. We are both breathing heavily, our bodies trembling with the force of the emotions surging between us.

This is it. This is the moment.

The past is gone. The future is unwritten. All that matters is this.

Us.

I’ve never felt this way with Vance. Definitely not in the beginning, when our encounters were fueled by a dangerous, magnetic attraction. Not in the weeks that followed, when our marriage was a battlefield of control and resentment. Not even in the rare moments of tenderness that always felt like a prelude to him quickly building another wall around his heart. This is different. This is a connection that goes deeper than the physical; a soul-deep recognition that feels like coming home after a lifetime of being lost.

He moves his hips, and his strokes are slow and deliberate, a measured rhythm that speaks of worship. He’s not taking. He’s giving. He’s giving himself—all of himself—to me in a way he never has before. His hands, which have always been instruments of control, are now instruments of adoration. They roam over my body, tracing the curve of my hip, the dip of my waist, and the swell of my breast, as if he’s never experienced me before. His lips follow the same path, pressing soft, reverent kisses to my skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

This isn’t the Vance I thought I knew. This is a man I’ve only ever dreamed of. A man who loves me.

My pleasure builds, a slow, steady burn that starts in my toes and works its way up, until my entire body is humming. His body moves against mine as his hands explore my curves, and his lips claim mine in a searing kiss that’s both possessive and tender. My control slips, and my carefully constructed composure crumbles under the weight of his devotion.

“Vance,” I gasp, my voice a breathy moan that sounds nothing like me. “Don’t stop.”

“I have no intention of stopping, sweetheart,” he growls against my lips in a low, hypnotic rumble that vibrates through my entire body. “I’m going to make you feel every ounce of my love.”

He adjusts his angle, and a strangled cry tears from my throat. My nails rake down his back as a wave of pleasure so intense it borders on pain crashes over me. My body convulses around him, my inner muscles clenching and releasing in a rhythmic pulse that’s both involuntary and utterly exquisite.

His thrusts become more demanding and urgent, relentlessly pushing me to the brink, until I’m teetering on the edge of another orgasm. The tension coiling in my belly, the pressure building until I think I might explode. “Come for me, Sophia,” he commands. “Let go. Let me feel you.”

And I do. I surrender to the overwhelming sensations that are consuming me. My body bows beneath his, a silent scream tearing from my throat as a second orgasm crashes over me, even more intense than the first. It’s a tidal wave of pleasure that washes away every bad memory, every moment of doubt, and every ounce of pain, leaving me floating in a sea of euphoria.