A Love So True
There are moments in life that feel suspended—weightless in time—like they exist outside the world entirely.
This was one of those moments.
Ariana sat in my lap, her skirt hiked just enough to tease, her blouse slightly wrinkled from my touch, and her lips swollen from my kisses. Her eyes—those soft, ocean-deep eyes—looked at me like I held the stars in my hands.
And God, I would’ve given them to her if I could.
Her breath was still shallow, her fingers resting lightly on the open collar of my shirt. I could feel her heartbeat thumping against mine, two rhythms slowly syncing into one.
“Take me to bed,” she had whispered.
Three words that shattered my control and mended every broken piece of me at the same time.
But I wasn’t rushing this. Not tonight.
I cupped her cheek again, brushing my thumb across her skin like I was trying to memorize the texture, the warmth, the way she leaned into me instinctively.
“Not yet,” I whispered, voice husky. “Let me take my time with you, baby.”
She didn’t answer. Just nodded slowly, eyes wide and vulnerable, full of trust.
That trust humbled me. Undid me.
I eased her off my lap and stood, reaching for her hand. Her fingers slid into mine like they were made to fit there. I led her through the darkened penthouse, the only light spilling in from the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the night like a living painting.
My bedroom door swung open, and I turned on one soft lamp, bathing the space in a golden glow.
Ariana stepped inside and turned to face me. Her hair had come a little loose from its earlier style, and she looked almost ethereal like that—barefoot, slightly flushed, lit by amber light like a flame I never wanted to extinguish.
I stepped in front of her, close enough to feel her warmth. I touched her face, then traced the line of her neck, down to her collarbone.
“You’re so beautiful,” I said softly.
She smiled, but I saw the way her lashes lowered—like she still didn’t quite believe me. Like she didn’t always see what I saw.
I leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. Then her temple. Then the soft spot just below her ear.
“I love your mind,” I whispered. “Your fire. The way you argue with me about everything and still make me feel like the luckiest bastard alive.”
She let out a soft laugh, her fingers sliding up my chest.
I continued down, kissing the slope of her neck. Her pulse fluttered beneath my lips.
“I love your laugh. The way you hum under your breath when you’re focused. I love how you look at me—like maybe I’m not as lost as I feel sometimes.”
She let out a shaky breath, her hands now curling into the fabric of my shirt.
“I love your strength,” I murmured. “Your stubbornness. The way you care so damn deeply even when you pretend not to.”
I kissed the hollow of her throat, then began undoing the buttons of her blouse, one by one, with slow, reverent fingers.
“I love this skin,” I said, brushing my knuckles along her chest. “Every inch of it. Every mark, every freckle. All of it.”
Her blouse slipped from her shoulders, revealing her bra—simple, white lace. My mouth went dry. I swallowed hard and leaned down, pressing a kiss to her collarbone, then lower, between the swell of her breasts.
“You make me lose my mind,” I breathed.
She shivered.
I slid her skirt down next, kneeling in front of her as I eased it over her hips. She stepped out of it, and I looked up at her—standing in nothing but her bra and panties, cheeks flushed, hair messy, eyes full of love and desire.
“You are art,” I whispered. “A masterpiece I get to worship.”
Her lips parted slightly, and her fingers threaded into my hair as I pressed kisses along her thighs, slow and lingering. She sighed my name, her voice soft and trembling.
I rose and pulled her gently to the bed, laying her down like something precious.
She reached for me, but I shook my head with a smile. “Tonight’s about you.”
I stripped off my shirt and climbed onto the bed beside her, kissing her slowly, sweetly, until she melted beneath me. My hands explored every inch of her, mapping her like sacred ground. I kissed her stomach, her hips, her ribs, her shoulders—leaving nothing untouched.
“You deserve to be adored,” I whispered between kisses. “To be loved like the treasure you are.”
She whimpered softly, arching into me.
When I slid her panties down and kissed the inside of her thighs again, I took my time. I didn’t rush, didn’t race toward the fire. I wanted her to feel cherished—to know that this wasn’t about release or lust or need. This was about love.
I worshipped her with my mouth, whispering to her between every soft stroke of my tongue.
“So perfect.”
“So sweet.”
“So mine.”
Her hands fisted the sheets, her breath ragged and desperate, but still, I didn’t let up. I gave her everything I had—every word, every kiss, every tender touch. I loved her until she cried out my name, her body trembling as she came undone beneath me.
I climbed up beside her, pulling her into my arms as she tried to catch her breath. She looked up at me through damp lashes, cheeks flushed, chest heaving.
“I can’t—” she started to say.
“Shh,” I whispered, kissing her forehead. “You don’t have to say anything.”
She blinked up at me. “But I want to.”
I waited.
“I didn’t know love could feel like this,” she whispered. “Like it’s soft and warm and everywhere. I didn’t know you could feel like this.”
I smiled gently. “I didn’t either. Not until you.”
Her hands slid down my chest, then to the waistband of my pants. I let her undress me this time. Let her pull me close.
When I entered her, it wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t hurried.
It was everything.
Her body welcomed me like we were two halves of the same whole. Like we were made to fit together. She gasped, arching into me, and I kissed her lips, her cheeks, her jaw, whispering love into her skin with every breath.
I moved slowly, savoring every second.
Her legs wrapped around me, her hands tangling in my hair, her lips seeking mine again and again. I held her close, chest to chest, heart to heart.
We moved together like a slow dance—like a promise made flesh.
She moaned my name, over and over, and each time it felt like a prayer.
I told her she was everything.
I told her she was mine.
I told her I would never stop loving her.
The world outside disappeared. There was no Chicago, no Seraphim, no ghosts or shadows.
There was just Ariana.
Soft. Sweet. Beautiful beyond words.
When she came again, she buried her face in my neck, trembling with the force of it. I followed her moments later, spilling into her with a low, broken sound, overcome by the sheer intensity of it all.
We stayed wrapped around each other, our breathing slowly returning to normal. I brushed the hair back from her damp forehead and kissed her again—gently, slowly.
She sighed and curled into me like I was home.
And I was. Because wherever she was—that’s where I belonged.
“I love you,” I whispered into the quiet.
She didn’t hesitate.
“I love you more.”
I smiled, pulling the covers over us and tucking her into my arms.
In that moment, there was no room for doubt. No room for fear. Just love.
Just us.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt whole.
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