And to please me.

“Ryan,” I whisper, tears welling in my eyes as emotion overcomes me. He’s stroking my face, compassion softening his features, and if we had more light in the room the shadow over his face would reveal worlds unseen, love unfelt, time unlived.

“I do love you, Carrie. Have for a long time. It’s killed me to wait, but now here we are.” His palm goes flat against my cheek, gliding slowly, achingly meandering down my shoulder, over my collarbone, leaving a trail of tingling anticipation. Ryan’s gaze goes dark as he looks at me, following his hand, the smooth, confident touch growing bolder.

As his fingertips close over my nipple I gasp, a tight pain zinging through me, followed by a wellspring of desire that courses through my body, making me ache to have him in me. So soon, I know, and yet I can’t wait any longer.

We’ve waited too long already.

“Kitten,” he says, making me smile, the nickname a shared secret, an inside joke that makes me want him inside me. Forcing myself to slow down, I press my fingertips into his shoulder, the layers of definition mine to explore. Mine.

“This is Ryan,” I say, reveling in the words this time, unafraid and with a finality to my tone, shoulders lowering, body relaxing.

“Yes,” he says, his hand moving down, finding me wet and very, very ready. “You were expecting someone else?” He’s playful but serious.

“When we were at the Inn, I kept thinking to myself, ‘This is Ryan,’ because I couldn’t believe we were naked and in bed and that you were touching me and we — ” The sheer beauty of it all makes me stop, my throat tightening. He moves his hand to my hip, forehead touching mine, his eyes closed as he honors what I’m saying. Grief has no place between us now, and yet a sliver of regret has to be let in for this to remain honest.

To remain real.

“This is Ryan, Carrie. I’m here, all the way.” His kiss makes sure I know it. “I’m not sure I can hold back,” he adds as I stroke him, enjoying the feel of him, his body rising up as I touch him, hips drawing toward me.

“Then don’t. Don’t hold back. Don’t ever hold back,” I implore him, my fingers traveling down the wide plane of muscled torso, reaching for him with a greedy hand and a needy soul.

And then he’s between my legs and I open to him, fully and freely, whispering his name as if it’s become my heartbeat. As he enters me he groans, the sound resonant and I am so wet, he slides straight in, making me gasp with joy, enjoying the power of having someone so close to me.

This is Ryan, indeed.

“I’m here. Not going anywhere, Carrie,” he says as he thrusts, so slowly, the movement reverent. All the ways that I feel disconnected from the world fade away as he moves inside me, my hands on his ribs, fingers divining the way to his heart. I feel it beat beneath my flattened palm, my appreciation for his very existence mingling with the soulful, steady gallop.

He finds my hands and moves them beside my head and weaves our fingers together as he begins to thrust and I meet him, bracing myself with one arched foot. I can see my other foot above his shoulder, stretching to the ceiling and the universe beyond, the feel of him exquisite, the feelings inside me more ecstatic.

This is all I want in the universe. Ryan.

“I never, ever want you to doubt me,” he says tenderly, kissing me as he makes love to me, my hands now finding all the corners and curves of him, yearning to show him all my corners and curves, too. We’re just planes of existence folded and twisted by life and love, and it’s the unraveling, the blossoming of a tight bud that allows us to let the love in.

“I don’t. I doubt myself, but not you. I wish I’d seen you as you are, like this. I never thought I had a chance with you,” I murmur in his ear as he dips down to take one nipple in his mouth, teeth doing something that makes me tighten, makes me spiral to a place without form, without anchor, where pure pleasure fills in the gaps of who I am.

“You’re all I want, Carrie. Let me love you.”

“Let me love you back,” I beg, unable to talk, moving against him as I match his quickening pace.

I can’t hold back any longer, the lovely buildup reaching its intense peak and cascading over, going on and on as my sounds tell him it’s time and he lets himself go, exploding into me with such force. I can feel every pulse, all shyness long gone, our openness more erotic than any stroke. He is still for a moment, then he moves again, his breathing ragged, his cheek against mine, all his weight on me.

I love it. I can’t move, can’t escape, can’t avoid.

Can’t help but love him.

My body is like thousands of ribbons blowing on the wind, carefree and unmoored, following nature’s plan. We are still feeling the last waves of our lovemaking, Ryan’s hands pressing into the mattress as he lifts himself up, kissing the tip of my nose as I smile.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “That was fast.”

“What? No. That was perfectly normal.”

“Normal isn’t good enough, kitten. You deserve far more than normal.” He rolls off me, resting by my side, every bit of his thigh, hip, and torso touching me. My side boob rests against his arm like an obedient, well…

Kitten.

I frown. “If that was just ‘normal’ sex in your world, Ryan, what the hell is ‘great sex’?”

He grins, a shock of brown hair matted to his sweaty forehead. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll show you.”

“Ten minutes?” I lift the sheet, look down at his endlessly delicious body, and raise one eyebrow. “Besides, twice in one night? No one does that.”

“What’s your sample size of experience?” he asks, reaching for my breast, stroking until I can’t quite answer him. He shakes his head. “No one does that?” he mimics, face hard to read. “We’ll see.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything sooner?” I gasp, rolling against him, lifting my knee against his thigh, my curves against his muscles a beautiful paradox.

“Because I was stupid. Cowardly. Afraid you’d reject me.” He rolls slightly toward me until we’re face to face, breathing each other’s breath.

“Reject you? You?” I wave at his body like my hands have become hummingbirds. “Who in their right mind would reject you?”

Like a wounded animal, his shoulders hunch, just for a second before he squares them and answers me forthrightly. “Lots of women.” His heart speeds up under my hand, like someone pressed the gas pedal of a car. I trace the thick, colorful outlines of the tattoos on his left arm. Mandelbrot Set. It was one of the most compelling details about Ryan when I first met him. Anyone who tattoos fractals on himself has a commitment to nonconformity.