Chapter 321: _ Husband And Wife Again
Warning: Mature Content Ahead
My lips met María José’s with desperation. It was not the sweet, careful kind, but the kind that came from months of denial and heartbreak. She responded like she’d been waiting to be claimed, like her bones had missed the way mine locked with them.
I pushed her back into the pillows, fingers already sliding under the sheet, reacquainting myself with every inch of her body. Her skin was warm, smooth, scented with salt and desire. Her gasp was soft against my neck as my mouth traced the curve of her collarbone.
"Still mad at me?" she asked breathlessly.
"Furious," I growled, trailing kisses down her chest.
She laughed in a giddy and wild way. "Good. Use it."
I did.
"Good. Use it."
I did.
My mouth found hers again, harder this time, as though I could pour every ounce of pain, love, fury, and longing into that kiss. Her hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, deeper, like she too was losing it under the weight of everything we hadn’t said for months. Every gasp, every sigh, was like a thread weaving us back together.
I rolled her beneath me, the silk sheets twisting around her hips. Her legs parted easily, instinctively, like her body had just been waiting—starving... for mine. Two months of ice melted between our bodies, and what was left was heat. Absolute, burning heat as if we hadn’t had passionate sex last night.
However, it was different this time because we had come to a common ground and let out all that was left unsaid. There was no more holding back... no more humble sex.
Now, we could get dirty and so Marīa José and Axel combo all we want.
"You have no idea," I whispered against her throat, "how much I missed this. Missed you."
Her nails scraped down my back, not gently or delicately but in the way you mark what’s yours. "Then take me, Axel. Like you mean it."
I growled. It was an actual, audible, feral one as I obeyed.
My hands mapped her again like I was reclaiming my own border, and her body welcomed me like it had been left aching and cold. I kissed the slope of her shoulder, the hollow beneath her jaw, the soft underside of her breast. I took my time and yet moved like I was starving.
She arched beneath me when I finally slid my cock inside, her gasp rose between surprise and satisfaction.
Goddess.
I groaned, my forehead pressing against hers. "Still mine."
"Always yours," she whispered, wrapping her legs around my waist.
The penetration was slow at first. We had time to make up for—but not just in movement, also in meaning. Every push of myself into her, every kiss, every whispered "I love you" was a bandage across two months of silent wounds.
Her mouth found my ear. "Harder."
I didn’t hesitate.
The bed creaked under us, headboard tapping softly in rhythm, but we didn’t care anymore. Her voice came in ragged sighs, moans that slipped into my skin like spells. Her hair fanned across the pillow, golden and wild, and her cheeks flushed with heat. She looked like a goddess made for war and worship—and I, the soldier who’d finally come home.
"Say it," she whispered, her voice bursting with urgency.
"I love you," I gasped.
"Say it again."
"I love you. I love you. I love you, María."
And I did. With every fiber. Even the bruised, broken parts. Especially those.
Her hips met mine with equal fervor, matching me thrust for thrust until our movements became a language of their own. No more apologies. No more miscommunication. Just pure, reckless need.
We flipped over. She was on top now, her hands pressed to my chest, her body undulating with a grace that had me losing composure as she fucked me, contrasting the timid and naive girl she used to be. She rode me like she had something to prove... like she was exorcising all the doubt from our bones.
Her head fell back and a curse or a prayer left her lips in one breath. I sat up, clutching her to me, wrapping my arms around her and letting her feel just how real, how rooted, and how fully hers I was.
We went on and on for close to two hours, finishing and then going another round like it was a piece of cake.
When we came, it wasn’t quiet.
It was wild and raw. A quake that rolled through our bodies and left us gasping in each other’s arms, trembling, mouths pressed together to muffle the chaos.
She collapsed against me. My heart hammered against hers. We lay there in silence, sweaty, messy, and knotted together. Our legs were tangled. Our hands refused to let go of each other.
"I thought I lost you," she whispered after a long moment, voice thick with tears and something like awe.
"You didn’t. But I almost let the past steal you from me." I replied hoarsely.
She lifted her face, and her eyes were rimmed with moisture. "No more ghosts, Axel."
"No more," I promised, kissing her brow, then her temple, then her lips.
We held each other in the aftermath, letting the silence say the rest—letting our bodies press close enough to feel every breath and beat.
The fire burned. The sheets cooled. And for the first time in months... we didn’t.
We were warm. Alive. Whole.
.
.
We lay there for a long while, tangled up in the sheets with sweat cooling against our skin and the scent of sex still heavy in the air like it had no plans of leaving. My chest rose and fell beneath her cheek, her fingers tracing soft, lazy lines along my ribs.
I thought she’d drift off. Honestly, I hoped she would. Sleep would give us a temporary break from reality.
But María José lifted her head, her hair a red halo against the faint light slipping in through the curtains, and said the last thing I expected after two hours of redemptive, marriage-saving sex:
"It’s high time we start planning."