Viața mea

Ben looked at me like the words had altered the air in the room.

"You," I had said. Nothing more. 

His eyes moved over my face, searching for hesitation, for the moment I might take it back. When he did not find it, something in him loosened and tightened at the same time.

"Me?" he said like he wouldn't believe I would choose him 

He kissed me hard.

There was no careful testing left in it. His mouth opened against mine, one hand gripping the back of my neck, the other sliding down my spine and pulling me flush against him. I felt the full length of his body, the heat of him, the controlled strength that was no longer interested in staying controlled. My fingers went to the buttons of his shirt. I worked them open while we kissed, pushed the fabric off his shoulders, and set my palms on bare skin. He made a low sound into my mouth.

"I want you," he said against my lips. "I've wanted you so long I fear I am losing my mind." He drew back just enough to meet my eyes. "I love you."

I did not say it back.

His hands were not steady when they rose to my face. I felt the fine tremor in his fingers and covered them with my own, holding them there against my cheeks. The shaking did not stop immediately. He closed his eyes for a second as if the contact itself was almost too much.

We undressed each other between kisses. His belt. My top. The rest of it in a rough, imperfect sequence that left clothes on the floor and the bed behind my knees. When the back of my legs hit the mattress he followed me down, bracing his weight on his forearms, mouth moving from my throat to the tops of my breasts. I arched into him. The air in the room felt thin.

"If you love me that much," I said, voice rough, "then take me. Make love to me."

He lifted his head. His eyes were dark and very clear.

"We should leave," he said. "This family. All of it. You and me. I'll take you out of here."

I reached between us and found him, hard and warm in my hand. I stroked him once, slow, and watched the way his breath broke.

"I'm not leaving a virgin," I said.

He went completely still.

For a moment the only sound was our breathing. Panic flickered under my ribs - the sudden fear that the truth of it had been too much, that he was about to pull away and put his clothes back on and turn back into someone careful. I kept my hand on him, not moving, waiting.

He searched my face again.

"Is this what you want?"

The question was something I have always thought of but I have never been sure about anything in my entire life as I was sure of my answer.

"Yes." My voice did not shake. "I'm yours."

Something in his expression fractured open.

He kissed me again, deeper, and this time when he settled between my thighs there was no more discussion.

 He pushed into me slowly, giving my body time to accept him. The stretch burned and then eased into a full, overwhelming pressure. 

I gripped his shoulders. He held still once he was seated inside me, forehead against mine, breathing like he had run.

"I love you," he said, the words rough against my mouth.

He began to move.

The rhythm built in careful increments that did not stay careful. Every stroke dragged sensation through me in a widening current. His hand slid under my hip to angle me closer. I met him without shame, without the old instinct to make myself smaller. The room narrowed to the places we were joined, the sound of skin, the heat of his breath on my neck. When my body started to tighten he dropped his mouth to my ear.

"I've got you, Viața mea. I love you."

The second time the words landed I broke. The climax tore through me in hard, shaking pulses. I clung to him and let it take everything. He followed with a low, broken sound, driving deep and holding there as he came, the third *I love you* spoken against my temple like something he could no longer keep inside.

I have heard this from John before but not like this. This love bore straight into my soul, so deeply i knew I would feel it in my third life.

For a long time afterward we stayed like that - his weight braced so he would not crush me, my legs still around him, both of us trying to remember how to breathe normally. Eventually he shifted onto his side and drew me with him. My head settled against his chest. His arm locked around my back. The skin of his shoulder tasted like salt when I turned my face into it.

His fingers moved once through my hair.

"I can help you end it with him," he said quietly. "Divorce. I promise it will be fast. We don't have to stay inside this. We can leave."

The words should have felt like a door opening.

I moved.

I eased off him and sat up, pulling the sheet with me. The loss of his body heat was immediate. Ben pushed himself up on one elbow, then fully upright when he registered my face. The post-sex softness in his expression drained into something sharper and more uncertain.

"I don't want to leave Sam yet," I said.

The silence that followed was different from every silence we had shared before. He sat there looking at me as if the sentence had rewritten the room, the night, and every version of the future he had just allowed himself to reach for.

"What?" He blinked.