Page 31 of Marcello DeLuca

“Says who?”

She rolls her shoulders and bounces lightly on her feet. “My internal alarm.”

“Need a sparring partner?” I offer, stepping closer.

“Think you can keep up?” she teases, raising an eyebrow.

“I'll give it my best shot,” I reply, slipping on a pair of gloves. I can feel the leather molding to my hands. “Ready when you are,” I say, positioning myself in front of her.

We circle each other, the tension palpable between us. Her focus is unwavering, her punches precise and powerful. I match her rhythm, letting the energy build between us. As we spar, our touches linger, our breaths grow heavier—a familiar heat building with each exchange.

Moving closer, I catch the fire in her eyes, the same fire that drew me to her all those years ago. The distance between us shrinks, a magnetic pull I can't resist.

Before I know it, our sparring takes a different turn. It begins subtly—a lingering touch here, a heated glance there—until it becomes impossible to ignore. Gloves are discarded, forgotten on the floor as our bodies collide in a passionate embrace. Safia's back meets the padded wall with a soft thud as I press against her, my hands tracing the curves of her body.

“Now, do you think you can keep up with me?” I playfully tease.

“Oh, you know I’ll give it my best shot,” she responds, wrapping her arms around my neck, pulling me closer, her fingers threading through my hair.

With a swift motion, I lift her, feeling the strength and softness of her thighs around my waist. Our lips meet in a hungry kiss, each of us pouring our love and longing into the other.

“Oui!” she screams as we stumble. Lost in the frenzy of desire, we tumble to the floor.

“I’ve got you,” I assure as I place her on the cool gym mat, a stark contrast to the heat of our bodies.

We roll together, limbs entwined.

I pin her beneath me, capturing her gaze darkened with passion.

My hands roam with urgency. My fingers trail along the curves of her hips and the small of her back. I move with a confidence born from years of intimacy, and she meets me with equal fervor, fingers digging into my shoulders, pulling me closer.

We shed our clothes quickly. The need to feel each other's bare skin is overwhelming. The cool air brushes against exposed skin, heightening the sensations as my body presses against hers. The friction ignites a spark between us, each touch electric.

I lock eyes with her. The intensity flowing between us a palpable force.

“I love you,” I whisper. “I always will.”

“I love you too,” she replies, her voice trembling.

With deliberate motion, I enter her, our bodies joining in a rhythm as old as time. The sensation overwhelms—a blend of pleasure and excitement that sends waves of ecstasy through me. We move together in perfect harmony, each thrust deeper than the last.

The room fills with the echoes of our passion, mingling with our ragged breaths and the soft sounds of our bodies meeting. It's a dance of urgency and tenderness, a raw connection that strips away everything else. In this moment, all that matters is the warmth of her skin against mine, the way her body molds perfectly to mine.

Tension builds inside me, a powerful crescendo threatening to shatter everything. I tighten my grip on her hips, movements growing more insistent, more demanding. She meets me with equal intensity, body rising to meet mine, matching my pace. Pleasure spirals higher, almost unbearable.

With a final, desperate thrust, we tumble over the edge together. Our bodies convulse in a shared climax, leaving us breathless. She cries out my name, the sound echoing off the walls as I hold her close, our bodies trembling with release.

We lie tangled as our breaths slow to normal. I press a tender kiss to her forehead. She nestles closer, her head on my chest.

“I want you to be my wife and to have my babies,” I whisper fervently, a sentiment that escapes my lips every time we make love.

Words fail her.

But her silence speaks volumes.

The past haunts her.

The present plagues her.

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