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Because Nicolas is here. Because he’s alive. Because he’s trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along my jaw.

I gasp as he finds my sensitive spot at the nape of my neck. His mouth seals over my skin, sucking gently, marking me the way he always does.

I run my hands carefully over his body, threading my fingers through his damp hair. My touch glides over his tattoos, tracing old scars while avoiding the fresh wounds.

His dark eyes burn with desire. Mirroring my own, and when I kiss him, he groans into my mouth, deepening the fire already spreading between us.

I should tell him to rest. To recover. But I can’t. I need him—beside me, inside me. And from the way his hands grip my waist, pulling me closer, I know he needs me just as much.

When I’m close enough, he fingers slip between my thighs, finding my pussy effortlessly.

Of course, he does. I’m bare. So is he.

This isn’t like the other times. It’s softer. Slower. But somehow, it feels more intimate than anything we’ve ever done.

He groans as he feels how wet and ready I am for him, his lips breaking from mine. I watch as he brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking on them, tasting me. Then, he slides them between my lips, and I do the same.

“The thought of tasting you again can pull me through any hellhole I find myself in.”

I bite my lip, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I love you, Nicolas.

The words press against my tongue, but I can’t say them. What if I scare him off? What if it changes things?

He leans down, his lips brushing over my breast before closing around my nipple. He sucks gently at first, then bites down just enough to make me gasp. A shiver runs through me as he lavishes attention on the sensitive peak, his tongue flicking teasing, worshipping.

It’s too much. Or maybe not enough.

The sensation builds, tightening every nerve in my body, and for a moment, I swear I could fall apart from just this. But then he pulls back, his fingers slipping between my thighs.

Everything is so slow. Intentional. I know I’ll never forget this moment.

His fingers find my clit, circling in lazy, teasing strokes before slipping two deep inside me. My breath hitches, hips arching toward him, begging him without words. But he takes his time, dragging out the pleasure.

I see the flicker of discomfort on his face, but it’s gone before I can say anything. Then he pumps deeper, harder, his fingers curling just right, and my knees tremble.

“Come for me,Bambina,” he murmurs. Let me taste your glory.”

I cry out as the pleasure snaps, my body shuddering against the mattress. He doesn’t stop watching me, taking in every desperate moan, every pulse of my release.

I writhe beneath him, grinding against his fingers, chasing the release I so desperately need. My body trembles, wrung out and weak, but I don’t stop. I can’t.

He finally pulls his fingers from me and, without breaking eye contact, brings them to his lips. His tongue flicks over them, tasting me, savoring me.

“Please,” I whisper, breathless. “Fuck me. I need you inside me. I’m begging you.”

His lips curve into a slow knowing smile. He shifts, reaching for me, guiding me to straddle him. But I hesitate.

“We should take it easy,” I murmur. “Your injuries-“

His jaw tightens. “Sit on my cock, Aria. I’m not a weak man.”

There’s frustration in his tone, as if my concern offends him. But beneath that, there’s something raw, something aching. A need to prove himself—to me, to himself, to the world.

So I obey. I straddle his lap, and the second I sink onto him, he thrusts up to meet me, burying himself inside my pussy in one deep, devastating stroke.

A sharp cry rips from my throat. His hands grip my hips, holding me there, stretching me, filling me completely.