Page 77 of Better as It

His hands glide down my back, careful. He is gentle like he’s learning me all over again. Maybe because he is. I’m different. I’ve changed. This body carried life, bore pain, and survived both the beautiful and terrifying.

Somehow in all the changes though, he makes me feel like I’m sacred. I’m a treasure.

He kisses down my neck, across the curve of my shoulder until I’m trembling. Not from cold.

But from being seen. Being heard. And being understood.

The way he worships me without a single word makes me fall in love all over again.

He shift us gently lowering me back onto the pillows as his body is stretched over mine. He’s holding himself over me, like I’m precious, fragile. His lips move against mine, delicately. Then my jaw, then lower. He kisses every stretch mark whispering about their beauty. He cherishes each mark on my body from our son. I blink fast against the tears forming as my chest tightens in appreciation for the man with me.

“You’re gonna make me cry,” I tell him the truth.

“Then cry. Whatever you need to do, darlin’ I kiss every tear. I’ll treasure every inch of you, every emotion you feel, and I’ll give you everything you need for the rest of our days with every breath in me.”

This isn’t about sex. It’s about connection. About being us outside of the diapers and sleepless nights. It’s about us.

Justin settles between my thighs, his fingers stroking softly, his mouth trailing kisses all over me. My hands tremble as I touch him. He goes slow, reading my body, my breath, the shift in my hips, until I’m coming alive under him.

When he finally inches inside me, it’s careful, tender. It’s like he’s taking up space not just in my body, but soul deep. That’s our connection.

I gasp in pleasure as the flood of emotions hit me. Overwhelmingly raw. I didn’t realize how much I missed this. I missed him. I missed being loved not just in words, but in being with him.

He still inside me, his forehead pressed to mine, both of us panting, not moving though, just existing as one.

I wrap my arms around his neck and whisper, “I’m okay. I’m here and you’re here. I love you, Justin.”

His hips move, slow, like a steady heartbeat. My body aches in new ways. My insides softer remind me I’m still alive, still whole. He kisses me through every shift, every moan, and every shaky breath.

Tears slip from my eyes and Justin kisses them away like a quiet vow to wipe them away for always.

“I love you, Dia.” He whispers against my lips. “Every inch, every change, I love them all. You’re move beautiful now than ever imaginable.”

I let his words wash over me. Putting me back together. In this moment, I don’t feel broken, tired, lost, confused.

No, I feel completely loved.

I don’t answer.

I just hold him closer.

He moves again, remaining slow, patient, steady—like he knows I need to be touched where my fear lives. Where my doubt lives. Where the part of me still expecting loss is hiding.

His lips brush mine between every whisper:

“I’m here.”

“You’re safe.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

I cry when I come.

He holds me until my breathing slows.

Afterward, we lie tangled in the sheets, our fingers laced.

“Two reasons,” he murmurs.

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