Continues....

smut warning

That night, he for the first time made love to her instead of being brutal

That night was different.

No force. No rage. No desperate, punishing grip of ownership.

Just her. And him.

The way his hands moved—slow, reverent—over her body as if she were something sacred. The way his lips traced her collarbone, then her chest, then lower—worshipping every inch like it had been denied for too long.

He didn't rush.

Didn't claim with fire alone.

There was a feeling. Tenderness in the rough edges of a man who'd only ever known how to take—and now finally learning how to give.

She gasped when he entered her—not from pain—but from rightness. A slow, deep joining that made them both shudder like they'd come home at last.

His forehead pressed against hers, breath hot and trembling on her lips as he began to move—deep and steady—a rhythm that wasn't conquest... but connection.

"Look at me," he whispered, voice breaking.

And when she did—he saw it: no walls left. Just love, raw and unguarded in her eyes... mirrored by the truth in his own heart:

This wasn't just sex anymore.

It was devotion.

---

And afterward?

He didn't roll away or leave silence between them.

No—he pulled her close—cradling her against his chest with one arm wrapped tightly around her waist—the other hand resting gently on the soft curve where their child grew inside of her—with a whisper into the dark:

"Thank you." he stayed silent for a long moment—his fingers gently tracing slow circles over her stomach. The room was quiet, only the soft sound of their breathing between them.

Then, voice low—almost raw—he said:

"For letting me in."

His lips brushed her temple—a whisper of a kiss.

"For not hating me completely."

"For trusting me with this..." his hand pressed slightly on her belly, "with you."

A shaky breath.

"And for saying 'yes' tonight... when you could've kept pushing me away forever."

She was silent, heart pounding in her chest. There were a million words she could've said.

But the one that came up unbidden from her lips wasn't "I'm sorry" or "I couldn't help it." It was just a simple, almost broken whisper:

"I never wanted to push you away."

She reached out, letting her hand rest lightly on his chest, over his heart. Each beat was strong, steady under her palm... a familiar rhythm that grounded her in this quiet, dark room.

"I was scared."

His own hand came to rest over hers, pressing it in place over his heart.

"I know."

He turned his head—just enough to look down at her.

"But don't be anymore."

His hand moved again, tangling in her hair—fingers tracing a slow line down her jaw to her throat... then lower, to the soft curve where their child slept beneath her skin.

"I won't leave."

Then—so quietly, she almost missed it—he added:

"Not even if you try."

He was already half-wild with need—his breath ragged as he hovered over her, one hand braced beside her head, the other sliding up her thigh to position her just how he wanted.

Her legs lifted easily onto his shoulders—open, trusting—and the sight of it nearly undid him.

"Still so tight," he murmured, voice dark and rough. "Still made for me."

He didn't enter slowly this time—not fully. Just enough to tease—the tip nudging at her entrance—making her gasp.

"You feel that?" His hips flexed forward slightly—just a taste. "That's not control. That's barely restraint."

His eyes burned into hers.

"One word... and I take you hard."

"But if you want it gentle—"

He pulled back just a fraction... waiting.

"Not sure I can last either way."

He didn't wait for a word. Didn't need one.

The moment her back arched—her breath hitching—he lost all restraint.

A deep, hard thrust ripped through her with a growl from his lips. No mercy. No slow build. Just pure, raw possession—faster, deeper—hips slamming into hers like he was branding her from the inside out.

"Mine," he snarled between ragged breaths, "every damn inch of you."

His hands gripped her hips hard enough to leave marks tomorrow—fingers pressing into soft skin as he drove into her again and again, relentless.

The bed rocked beneath them—the headboard knocking against the wall in time with his thrusts—and still he didn't slow.

"You feel it?" he panted, forehead glistening with sweat as he leaned over her, "You feel how much I need this? Need you?"

Each word came on a thrust—each syllable driven home by fire and hunger.

And when she cried out—a broken moan swallowed by his mouth descending on hers—he knew—

This wasn't just sex.

It was claiming.

Survival.

Love spoken in the only language they both truly understood:

Bodies saying what hearts were too afraid to.

With a low, possessive growl, he drove deep, fully into her in one brutal thrust. Her back arched off the bed with a gasp, nails raking down his arms.

"Mine," he bit out, thrusting again—harder—chasing the heat, the tightness that was made to take him.

No rhythm now. Just need.

Just want.

Just her, taking every inch of him like she was built to hold it.

His hands slid under her hips, lifting her higher—driving deeper—and each time he pulled out and slammed back in, she cried out—a sound swallowed quickly by his mouth as he kissed her hard and deep.

"Feel me," he panted against her lips, "feel how deep I'm inside you."

"How I'll always be."

His pace turned feral—hips slamming into hers without mercy.

"No more hiding."

"No more silence."

"Just you... taking all of me... over and over."

And when she shattered beneath him—he didn't stop.

He chased his own release only when he felt her pulse around him—one final groan ripped from his throat as he buried himself completely—

"Siya..."

A prayer. A claim. A name finally spoken like a vow.

"Every touch was not just desire, but a vow unspoken."

Is this surrender forever... or just for tonight? 🖤

Every like = one heartbeat they shared tonight ❤️