I froze, waiting until Elsie’s breathing evened out. She exhaled and said, “Move. I’m okay, now.”

I pressed kiss after kiss to her damp cheeks. “You sure?”

Elsie’s gaze softened and she rolled her hips, her teeth biting along her lip. But it wasn’t in pain. The sight of her, the feel of her, rolling against me, sliding along my hard dick caused me to instinctively push forward, then pull back, only to push back inside her heat once again.

“Ah,” Elsie moaned into my ear. My breath was shaky as I began to pick up speed, the feel of taking what was mine—of making love to my beautiful girl—completely consuming me.

My pulse raced and my heart thudded as my hips began picking up speed. My arms were tense, my back burning as Elsie’s nails dug into my skin. Soft moans trickled from Elsie’s mouth into my ear and her nipples hardened and brushed against my chest.

“Levi,” she whispered, and I inched back to look at her face. Elsie’s mouth was parted, and I held her gaze as my thrusts picked up speed, Elsie’s channel gripping me tight.

“Elsie,” I groaned. “You feel so good.”

“Levi,” she whispered back, but her voice was cut off by a gasp, a gasp that took hold of my soul. “It…” she murmured, “it feels so good.”

Gritting my teeth, I shed my restraint. I plowed forward, filling Elsie with everything I had. I groaned, my breathing out of control. I dropped kisses to her bare shoulder, her cheeks and her lips, and with every single touch, pressure built at the bottom of my spine. I knew I was close, the feeling too good to describe.

Elsie’s moans increased until her channel began to contract and her forehead fell to my shoulders as she screamed out her release, gripping me so tight that light flared behind my eyes. I came, I came so hard that I roared out my release, filling Elsie as I tucked my head into her neck.

Her sweet scent filled my nostrils as I inhaled, my body slick as I shuddered inside of her. Her hands wrapped into my hair, her fingers yanking on the strands.

I rocked inside her slowly, sure that I wouldn’t ever stop coming, when Elsie’s legs slipped from my thighs, her hands dropping from their grip on my hair.

I breathed. I breathed and calmed my racing heart, before lifting my head and seeing my girl’s eyes closed tightly. I swallowed, seeing her face flushed and warm. Moving one of my hands, I brushed it down her cheek, her eyes fluttering open.

“Hey,” I said and saw her read my lips—a habit she had still yet to break.

Elsie smiled shyly and replied, “Hi.’

“Are you okay?” I rasped, my voice hoarse and cut.

Elsie rolled her head to nuzzle my palm. She exhaled and nodded, her warm breath dusting over my face. Cautiously leaning down, I kissed her lips, and sighed against her mouth when Elsie kissed me back. It was soft and slow, and it was different. Different because I now knew all of her.

I knew her body. I knew her heart; all I had yet to claim was her soul.

Breaking from her mouth, I rolled to the side, gently sliding out from inside her. Elsie hitched a breath as I withdrew, removing the rubber and throwing it in the trash. Turning back to Elsie, she was staring at the ceiling, her face beautiful, glowing. “Tu sei bella,” I whispered. Elsie rolled her head to me. She smiled and reached out for my hand.  As soon as our fingers were linked she pulled me forward until we were sharing the same pillow.

Elsie gave me the softest kiss and asked, “How do you say ‘kiss’ in Italian?”

Her eyes focused intently on my mouth, and I said clearly, “Bacio.”

“Bacio,” she repeated, her mouth plating out the unfamiliar language. I smiled seeing her face so excited, so bright, when she asked, “What’s your favorite Italian word?”

I frowned, then nearly broke apart with light when Elsie laughed, she sounded an adorable laugh and shook her head. “You probably think I’m crazy?”

I laughed back and shook my head. “I’ve just never been asked my favorite word before—in any language.”

That didn’t seem to deter Elsie and I thought about what she’d asked. I smiled when a word came to mind. “You have one?” she suspected. I nodded.

“I like the word farfalle, I suppose. I remember being a kid and finding any excuse to say it to my mamma or brothers.”

Elsie shuffled closer. “Farfalle. What does it mean?”

I shrugged. “Butterfly.”

Elsie’s responding smile could have lit up the damn room and I shrugged. “What?” she questioned.

“I think… I think my favorite sentence would now have to be ‘bella mia’.” I shifted, embarrassed, then translated, “My beautiful.”

Elsie froze, all humor fled her expression. I shook my head. “That was probably real damn cheesy.”

“Shh,” Elsie interrupted, her hand on my cheek. I glanced up and she said, “It was beautiful, Levi. Nothing from your mouth could ever be wrong or ‘cheesy’, as you say.” I stilled, waiting for her to finish, when she said, “You are the kindest, most sweet soul, I’ve ever met. Nothing you ever say has anything but honesty and gentleness to it.” She dropped her eyes. “Because that’s you, the kindest person there is.”

My heart swelled as she said that, and I slid my arm around her shoulders, pulling her into my side. Elsie’s head settled on my shoulder and she gazed at the stars. I did too.

After minutes in silence, she asked, “How do you say stars in Italian?”

“Stelle,” I replied and felt her head nod against my skin.

She was silent again, until her hand took hold of mine and she confided, “I couldn’t look at the stars for years after my mom died.”

Ice ran through my veins at the sadness in her voice. She pointed at the plastic stars. “Every time I looked up at them, I felt small, unimportant… and completely alone. I’d look at them and wonder where she was, wonder if there was even a heaven.” She shook her head. “My mom did so many bad things, Levi. Maybe not bad, but reckless things. Drugs, never having a home for us.”

“Where did you live?” I asked, my voice husky with sympathy at the pain she was in.

Elsie sighed and replied, “Mainly on the streets.” She looked up at me. “It’s all I’ve ever really known. And being here has been…” she inhaled and exhaled, “divine.”

There was nothing to say, so I held her closer. She didn’t say anything else about her mamma and I didn’t want to make her any sadder than she was, so I asked, “Why do you love poetry so much?”

This time when she took in a breath, it wasn’t filled with pain. “I don’t really know. I’ve just always been fascinated with words—how they sound, their structure, their meanings,” she cut herself off, then said, “how they can be used for good… and used for bad.”

I frowned, wondering what she meant when she flipped onto her stomach and laid her hands on my chest. I ran my fingers through her hair, completely infatuated with everything she was saying.

“Bad?” I questioned, when Elsie immediately paled. “What?” I asked, my hand stopping mid-stroke on her hair.

Elsie shook her head. “Nothing.”