Tangled In Strings

Chapter Twenty-Three

A knight in shining armor. A real-life hero, who picked me up from my lowest place and nurtured me with gentle patience, utmost caution, overwhelming tenderness.

A thank you isn't enough.

Instead, I lift onto the tips of my toes to bestow kisses to him, telling him the only thing that blows thank you out of the water. And still, love isn't enough either. Love confessions fall flat compared to what I feel when I'm with him, what I feel when he takes me firmly between his hands as he is doing now.

Our foreheads press and as our mouths gape against one another to inhale air that isn't available to us anymore, both of our grips tighten, desperation taking over in madness. We sink to the floor, adoring each other with need. My hands fumble with his belt as he pulls the sweater over his head. Unnaturally graceful, he kicks off his remaining clothes, already reaching out. When he pulls me into his lap, I smile, running my hands over his hair while he tilts his head to graze the corner of my chin with his lips. Extending his legs out, I settle onto his thighs, wrapping my arms around his head as he guides me onto him with silent urgency.

We both suck in breaths when he's firmly within, despite the tension between us still making air hard to swallow. We're both panting, holding each other so tight it hurts. He ushers me to and fro with his palm flat against the base of my spine, doing the work my weak bones can't. I let him go just to remove the t-shirt I'm wearing and the second it's off, his mouth is against my collarbone. My cheek rests against his hair, a rough shiver seizing my body when his tongue slides between my breasts, rounding the peak until his mouth takes in my nipple.

I'm gasping, hard, finding much more pleasure than usual as he tugs on my nipple, nearly heightened to the point of orgasm. I beg him not to stop, fisting his hair tighter and realizing how close I am so early on in coitus, his other hand leaves my back to palm my neglected breast, his thumb rolling over the peaked areola. I'm sure he can hear my teeth gritting together as I drop my head to his shoulder, rocking myself onto him as he praises my feminine places, right down to my sex, to which his fingers only have to press up upon my clit, and I'm instantly sent into intense pleasure like a flick to a switch.

His warm tongue drifts up over my breast to my throat, where he bites down in coaxing nibbles until he's just below my ear. When his hand is in my hair, pushing the crazy mane away so to reach my cheek, I do the rest of the work, wanting his mouth. I'm trembling, even my lips, finding it hard to breathe when I kiss him.

His touch is more gentle, more coaxing—just more—as he lifts me to lay me down flat against the ground. He moves between my legs, knowing where he wants to go, what he intends to do. I let him do whatever he wants, moving at his own movements, knowing his mind is set intently on how to bring me back to that place of pleasure. My legs trap him to me, my stomach buzzing as he fills me to the brink, groaning against my mouth. The sound is a low rumble, a deep confession of his desire and it turns me inside out. My fingers can't stop touching him, needing to cover every surface. I'm pillowed against the petals, which coat my skin in sweet fragrance.

With one hand bracing himself beside my head, the other grasping my face, he works over me with vigor, finding both intense passion which brings him into me with deep, forceful drives and also, a touching gentleness, which sends his hips toward me in slow, penetrating grinds. Either way, I'm lost in him, accepting every bit of love and gratitude he has to give, because it's the fuel that drives my days. He's thanking me. For what I'm unsure, but I think it's for the baby. The news of this baby, which is something I know he has always craved. His love is showering and spell-binding, and keeps away anything and everything else.

Which is why we don't race toward the end of this. In fact, we prolong every second, even stopping when we get too close. His mouth, a shapely masterpiece, consumes mine, bruising my lips in the process while we settle down, letting our pumping hearts slow. And when we start back up, our lips curve into smiles against one another, knowing we both realize exactly what we're doing.

It's only when we're too exhausted to continue, to bone-weary to go on that we both begin to nod. His hand tightens behind my neck, holding my mouth to him. My hands slide down over his long, smooth back, and then back up until the hard muscles of his shoulders twist beneath my palms. We're both covered in sweat and flowers, trembling with a violence that only comes from the strongest type of praise, an assault to our bodies. I can't even feel my toes anymore; they've been curved into the ground for so long.

We whisper the other's name in soft, building declarations, trapped in our own intimate sensuality. The outside world is too tame for us. I don't allow it in. My hands travel into his hair, forcing his face to me.

"Giovanni."

Look at me.

He does, in all his vulnerability. I soak all of it up, knowing it's in these moments that I love him most. When his eyes can just barely stare into my own, knowing he's showing me too much.

I'm instantly reminded of our first time together, how erotic and calculatedly perfect it all was. He was a magician of pleasure, transporting me to otherworldly experiences. But I remember, his eyes didn't have this look. Wild abandon. I can't even pinpoint the first time I saw him like this.

He's unable to be his usual collected, larger than life self. In this moment, he has no identity. He's given it to me, in its entirety, leaving me with only his raw emotions. It's the reason we can connect so easily—we're not two people right now, but one.

And I'm sure of it, because I know that when I look into his eyes, finding all of the unmatchable devotion, he's seeing the same thing in my own.

We come apart, both completely devoid of breath, eyes locked at the brink, and immediately after, we crumble in the strong aftershocks, faces burrowing into each other's throats as we feel the full, striking effect of our love.