Page 105 of Modern Romance March 2025 (5-8)

I breathe in, gritting my teeth against the pain. Rafe continues to gently kiss me, stroking one hand up and down my side with the occasional whisper of my name.

Gradually, the pain subsides, leaving behind a sensation of fullness. Curious, I shift my hips.

Rafe freezes. “Tessa…”

“That feels good.”

“I’m glad,” he groans.

“Does it hurt for you, too?”

“A very different kind of pain, I assure you.”

I run my fingers up and down his back, savor the feel of the muscles stretched tight beneath his skin.

“Show me what comes next.”

His eyes turn molten. He pulls out, then eases back inside me. The friction builds as our bodies move together. Our eyes lock on to each other, our gazes holding as my husband makes love to me.

The pressure builds again, deeper this time. Rafe’s thrusts quicken as his breathing intensifies. I climb with him, try to match his rhythm, savor the way our bodies feel together.

“Rafe…”

“Let go, Tessa. Just let go.”

Higher, pulses throbbing, blood pumping, hearts pounding.

And then I soar. Up and over into a place of utter pleasure. Rafe follows a moment later, groaning my name as he holds on to me like he’ll never let go.

As we drift down, he eases himself off me. I try to grab on to some thread of rational thought, to prepare myself for him to get up from the bed. But instead, he turns on his side and pulls me into the circle of his body. I relax into him, into the comforting weight of his arm across my stomach.

I don’t know long we lay like that. A few seconds, a couple minutes, half an hour.

“You were right,” I murmur.

“I usually am.”

I shake my head as I roll my eyes. “Thorough is the way to go.”

He chuckles. Silence falls again. Then, a quick inhale of breath.

“Why did you leave?”

Of all the things he could have said, that was the least of what I was expecting.

I trail my fingers over his arm. “A few reasons.”

“Like what?”

“Rafe—”

“Tell me, Tessa.”

I think back to how my confiding in Gavriil struck a nerve. Of what he alluded to about how his mother leaving affected him. There’s a pain there, one I never would have suspected in the man I knew him to be before Paris.

But one that makes sense in the man I’ve come to know these past few days.

“I overheard you and Lucifer talking in your study. I was passing by when I heard him say my name. I eavesdropped,” I admit. “I heard him asking you if you thought I would be able to have children.”

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