Aria pov
When we reached the bedroom. He lowered me onto the mattress with surprising gentleness, then stepped back. His eyes raked over me—slow, reverent, starving.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he said, voice low and thick. "Every time I look at you I still can't believe you're real. That you're mine again."
I sat up on my elbows, held his gaze for one charged second, then pushed myself to the edge of the mattress and reached for him — pulling him back by his shirt until he was standing between my knees. My fingers attacked his buttons.
"I'm real." One button, then another. "And I'm yours, just like you're mine."
"Always." He helped me strip the shirt away. Muscles flexed under my palms—hard planes of chest, ridged abdomen, the dark trail of hair disappearing into his waistband. I traced it with my fingertips and felt him shudder.
