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he felt it in every nerve ending. They stood there for long minutes, foreheads touching, breathing each other in.

Their first real night together came two weeks later in her tiny single room. The radiator clanked softly; fairy lights she’d strung across the ceiling cast a golden glow. Mariela had changed into an oversized Harvard sweatshirt and nothing else. Daniel sat on the edge of her bed, hands resting on his knees, giving her every chance to change her mind.

She didn’t. Instead, she stepped between his spread thighs, lifted the sweatshirt over her head, and let it fall. Sun-kissed olive skin, full ample breasts with dark areolas already tightened, the gentle curve of her stomach, the flare of hips that made his mouth go dry. He reached for her slowly, palms sliding up her sides as though memorizing topography.

“You’re so beautiful it hurts,” he murmured. She smiled that secret-dimple smile and tugged his shirt off. When her hands found the hard ridges of his abdomen and the thick line of his cock straining against his jeans, her breath caught, followed by “Oh wow”.

“Daniel…”“I’ll go slow,” he promised, voice gravel-rough but tender. “As slow as you need. Always.”

Clothes disappeared piece by piece. He laid her back on the narrow bed like she was something sacred. His mouth worshipped every inch, kissing the hollow of her throat where her pulse fluttered, tracing the underside of her breasts until she arched, circling her navel, then lower. When he settled between her thighs and tasted her for the first time, Mariela’s fingers slid into his hair, and she let out the softest, breathiest sound he had ever heard. He took his time, learning what made her thighs tremble, what made her whisper his name like a prayer. Only when she was slick and shaking did he rise over her. His cock was thick, heavy, and, true to the quiet awe in his own mind, well over ten inches. He saw the flicker of nerves in her eyes and immediately paused, forehead against hers.

“We don’t have to…” she interrupted “I want to,” she whispered, cupping his face. “I want all of you. Just… be patient with me?”

“Always,” he vowed. He spent long, aching minutes working her open with fingers and tongue again, kissing her deeply while two thick fingers curled inside her, then three, stretching gently until she was rocking against his hand and begging. Only then did he slick himself with her wetness and begin the slow, careful push.

The first inch made her gasp. He froze, stroking her hair, murmuring praise against her lips: “Soo perfect… so good for me… breathe, mi amor.” She relaxed, and he gave her another inch, then another, pausing each time to kiss her, to let her adjust to the stretch and the fullness. Sweat beaded on his brow from the effort of holding back, but his eyes never left hers, steady, loving, reverent.

When he was finally seated to the hilt, they stayed like that, breathing together. Mariela’s legs wrapped around his waist; her nails traced gentle patterns on his back. The feeling was overwhelming, pleasure edged with the sweetest burn, but the look on his face, the way he trembled with the need to move yet refused to until she was ready, melted every last hesitation.

“I’m ready,” she whispered.

He did long, rolling strokes that dragged against every sensitive place inside her. Each thrust was measured, deep, accompanied by kisses and whispered endearments. “You feel like heaven… I’ve never felt anything like this… I love you, Mariela. God, I love you.”

She came first, clenching around his impossible length, crying out his name in a voice that cracked with emotion. He followed moments later, burying himself deep and spilling hot and thick inside her while he held her like she was the only solid thing in the universe.

Afterward, he didn’t pull out right away. He stayed buried, softening slowly, kissing away the tears that had gathered at the corners of her eyes, not from pain, but from the sheer intensity of being so completely seen and cherished.

They fell asleep like that, tangled and safe.

In the weeks and months that followed, their love deepened into something that felt inevitable. And it had all begun with a textbook, a dimple, and the kind of slow, reverent touch that promised forever.

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