That night, they make love like they're reestablishing something fundamental.
He undresses her slowly, carefully, asking permission with his hands. She undresses him with deliberate slowness, touching every inch of skin like she's trying to claim him, trying to make sure he knows he belongs to her as much as she belongs to him.
"I'm sorry," he whispers against her neck as he traces his fingers down her body.
"Don't apologize," she says. "Just be here with me."
He positions her on the bed—on her back, her legs wrapped around his waist. When he enters her, it's not a performance. It's a conversation. Every movement is a question, and her body is answering yes, yes, yes.
He moves inside her with a slowness that suggests he's trying to make this last, trying to extend this moment where th
