He didn’t stop there. It was as if madness had taken over us again. He took me against the ground in front of the fireplace. Again on the armchair, while I was on top of him, and again against the wall.
By the time we finished our fifth round, I was swollen and aching, bone-tired, sprawled over him.
He had laid a blanket beside the fireplace, and we lay down together.
"I love you," he murmured against my hair, brushing his hand up and down my back in a soothing motion as I lay over him.
"You have to stop saying it. Saying it once is enough."
"Why do I get the feeling you don't believe me when I say it?"
I lifted my chin to rest on his chest and looked at him.
"I do," I said.
But he didn’t look like he believed it.
"I don't still understand why your feelings for me are so intense,
