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His weight grounds me.

His eyes search mine.

And still, he doesn’t speak.

Because he doesn’t need to.

Our mouths meet again, but it’s not hunger this time. It’s need. Quiet and aching and full of too many things to name.

When he enters me, it’s with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, and I gasp into his mouth, fingers fisting into his hair. He groans softly, forehead pressed to mine, and I feel every inch of him—inside me, around me, all-consuming.

It’s different this time.

No wild rhythm. No dominance.

Just him.

Just us.

His hands cradle my face like I’m made of glass, and his hips move with slow, unrelenting precision—deep, tender, steady. My body arches into his with every stroke, meeting him, welcoming him, wrapping around him like I can’t bear to let him go.

We don’t speak.

We feel.

Our eyes don’t stray. His gaze holds mine like an anchor, and I see it there—behind the sweat, the restraint, the beauty of him falling apart—he’s afraid too.

That this is fleeting.

That this is real.

That something might take it away.

Our fingers tangle. My legs wrap around his waist. And when his thrusts pick up, just slightly, building toward that slow, rising wave, I feel myself fall into it with him.

“Laney,” he breathes, barely audible, barely human.

I nod, pressing kisses to his jaw, his temple, wherever I can reach. “I’m here,” I whisper. “I’ve got you.”

He groans, low and deep, and I feel his rhythm stutter. My body clenches around him, pulsing with the rise of my own release. He feels it, reacts to it, kissing me harder, hips rolling deeper, everything building like a tide that can’t be stopped.

We come together—his name a broken moan in my mouth, my body writhing beneath his, his release hitting as mine does, crashing into each other in perfect, exquisite silence.

And then I feel it.

The tears.

Warm and sudden, slipping from the corners of my eyes.

Not from pain. Not from sadness.

From everything.

He sees them instantly. Pulls back just enough to brush a thumb over my cheek. His brows draw together, and his voice is so soft it breaks me all over again.

“Hey… what’s wrong?”

I shake my head, choking on a breath that feels too full. “Nothing,” I whisper. “You’re just… perfect.”