Chapter Nine - Aleta

Waking up in Elio’s arms feels like discovering a piece of myself I never knew was missing. His chest rises and falls beneath my cheek while his fingers trace patterns against my shoulder blade. Sunlight filters through the curtains, covering everything in golden tones that make this moment feel stolen from a dream.

“Good morning, mia bella.” His voice carries the rough edge of sleep, and the Italian endearment sends heat spiraling through my belly.

“How long have you been awake?” I tilt my head to study his face, noting the stubble that’s darkened overnight and the way his hair falls across his forehead.

“Long enough to memorize the way you look when you sleep.” His thumb brushes across my cheekbone with devastating gentleness. “You were restless again. Another nightmare?”

“I don’t remember. My dreams feel important, like they’re trying to tell me something, but they dissolve the moment I wake up.”

“Dr. Moretti says that’s normal with this type of brain injury.”

“What if my memories never come back? What if I’m stuck like this forever, only knowing pieces of who I used to be?”

“Then we’ll build new memories together. The past doesn’t define us, Aleta. What matters is what we choose to do now.”

As he reaches up to cup my face, my body remembers his touch even when my mind cannot, and being this close to him awakens needs I don’t fully understand.

“Elio,” I whisper, not sure what I’m asking for but knowing I need it desperately.

His eyes darken as he reads the want in my expression. “Are you certain? You’re still recovering, and I don’t want to push—”

“I’m tired of being treated like I might break.” My hand finds his chest to rest against the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palm. “I want my husband. I want you.”

The word husband seems to spark something in him. His mouth captures mine in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly turns hungry. Years of marriage supposedly exist between us, yet this feels like a first kiss, electric and overwhelming.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he murmurs against my lips. “These past few days, watching you struggle to remember us, it’s been torture.”

“Then remind me.” I tangle my hands in his hair, pulling him closer. “Show me who we are together.”

Elio rolls me onto my back with careful strength, and his body covers mine as his mouth travels down my throat. Each kiss feels like a revelation, awakening nerves I didn’t know existed. When his teeth graze my collarbone, I bow beneath him with a gasp.

“You always loved it when I did that,” he says against my skin.

His words paint pictures of intimacy I can’t remember but desperately want to reclaim. My nightgown becomes an obstacle between us, and when I tug at the fabric, he helps me pull it over my head without breaking the spell.

“Perfect,” he breathes as his gaze travels over my exposed skin with reverence that makes me feel powerful and cherished. “You’re absolutely perfect.”

When his mouth finds my breast, I cry out in pleasure so intense it borders on pain. His tongue circles my nipple while his hand palms the other, and coherent thought abandons me entirely. Nothing exists except the fire he’s building in my body and the desperate need for more.

“Please,” I whisper, though I’m not sure what I’m begging for.

“Tell me what you want, tesoro.” His voice carries a command that sends electricity straight to my core. “Use your words.”

“You. Inside me. I want to feel you everywhere.”

Elio groans at my confession, and his control seems to snap. His mouth travels lower, kissing and nipping down my ribs while his hands map every curve. When he reaches the junction of my thighs, he pauses to look up at me with dark promise.

“Let me taste you first,” he pleads. “Let me remind your body what pleasure feels like.”

Before I can respond, his mouth is on me, and his tongue finds my clit. The sensation overwhelms every sense, and my back arches off the mattress as pleasure crashes through me in waves.

“Elio, God, yes—” My hands fist in the silk sheets as he works me with patient skill, alternating between gentle licks and firm pressure that has me sobbing his name.

Just when I think I might shatter completely, he adds his fingers, stretching me carefully while his mouth continues to work against me. The dual sensation pushes me over the edge, and I come undone with a scream that bounces off the bedroom walls.

“Beautiful,” he comments against my thigh as I struggle to catch my breath. “You taste exactly like I remember.”

Need still pulses through me, unsatisfied despite the orgasm. When I reach for him, my fingers encounter the hard length of his cock straining against his boxers, and he hisses at the contact.

“I want you naked,” I demand as I tug at the fabric. “I want to see all of you.”

He strips quickly, and when he returns to hover over me, I take a moment to appreciate the masculine beauty of his body. Muscles earned through violence and discipline, scars that tell stories I wish I could remember, and tattoos that mark him as dangerous.

“You’re staring,” he observes with amusement.

“You’re my husband. I’m allowed to stare.” My hand wraps around his length, and he groans at the contact. “Am I doing this right? It feels familiar, but—”

“Perfect,” he cuts me off. “Everything you do to me is perfect.”

When I guide him to my entrance, he pauses despite the obvious strain of holding back. “Are you sure? We can wait if you need more time.”

“Stop asking me that.” I wrap my legs around his waist to pull him closer. “I need you now. Please.”

He enters me slowly, giving my body time to adjust to his size. The stretch burns initially, but as he sinks deeper, pleasure replaces discomfort. When he’s fully seated inside me, we both go still for a breath.

“Fuck, you feel incredible,” he breathes against my neck. “Like coming home.”

And then he starts with slow, deep strokes that build sensation gradually. Each thrust awakens nerve endings throughout my body, and I meet his rhythm instinctively. This feels natural, right, like a dance we’ve performed countless times before.

“Harder,” I gasp when the gentle pace becomes torture. “I won’t break.”

Elio’s thrusts become more demanding, and our bodies move together with perfect synchronization, building toward something explosive.

“Come for me,” he commands as his thumb finds my clit again. “Let me feel you fall apart around my cock.”

The combination of his words and touch sends me spiraling into another orgasm, stronger than the first. My inner walls clench around him as I cry out, and he follows me over the edge with my name on his lips.

Afterward, we lie tangled together, panting and slicked with sweat. My head rests on his chest while his fingers comb through my hair with gentle strokes.

“That was...” I trail off, lacking words for what just happened between us.

“Incredible,” he finishes. “We’ve always been incredible together.”

“I wish I could remember our first time.” Sadness creeps into my voice despite the satisfaction still humming through my body. “Or our wedding night, or any of the moments that brought us here.”

“We’ll make new memories. Better ones.”

“Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Promise you’ll be patient with me while I figure out who I am again. Promise you won’t give up on us.”

“Never.” His lips press against the top of my head. “You’re my wife, Aleta. Nothing will ever change that.”

The conviction in his voice should comfort me, but something underneath his words sounds almost desperate, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as me.