long, quiet moment at the door, whispering something I didn't hear but watched make Madelyn's eyes tear up again.

Now, we were alone. Lights low. A bottle of champagne half-finished on the kitchen counter. The playlist from earlier still looping softly in the background.

Madelyn stood in the bathroom doorway, towel around her hair, another wrapped around her body. She looked soft and flushed and entirely too good.

I came up behind her, sliding my hands to her hips and pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

"Get on the bed," I murmured. "I owe you a massage."

"Owe me?"

"Celebration protocol."

She smiled and padded into the bedroom, laying down face first on the mattress. I straddled her thighs, lifting the towel off her back, then started with slow, firm pressure along her shoulders.

She groaned. "God. You have magic hands."

"You're welcome."

I worked my way down, her skin warm beneath my touch. I poured out oil into my palms and kept going, moving with focus, kissing the spots that made her sigh, pausing only to trace my fingers down her spine.

𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐧'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

Her hands were warm on my back, sliding with slow, careful pressure over my shoulder blades, down along the small of my back.

The lotion she'd used smelled like lavender and home, and I couldn't tell if the goosebumps were from her touch or just the way she was looking at me — like she was memorizing every inch.

I was lying flat on my stomach, damp hair tucked off to one side, one of her old oversized T-shirts barely covering me.

My muscles were still warm from the shower, but nothing — nothing — had me melting like the way her fingers dug into the curve of my hips, thumbs sweeping with this patient devotion.

"You're amazing at this," I mumbled into the pillow.

She didn't say anything at first — just kept working slow, purposeful strokes into the tightest spots on my lower back. And then her lips brushed my shoulder. A soft, barely-there kiss that sent heat cascading down my spine.

"You gonna let me take care of you tonight?" she murmured, voice barely above a whisper, like a secret meant only for me. My breath caught. My eyes fluttered closed.

It was the way she said it. Not needy. Not rushed. Just... certain. Steady. Wanting me the way I'd been craving to be wanted — with intention. With care. With everything she had.

I didn't answer at first. Just shifted onto my side slowly, guiding her hand to stay on my waist as I looked up at her. The soft lamp behind her made her skin glow, eyes half-lidded, hair damp and curling just slightly at the edges.

"I love you," I whispered.

Her eyes softened.

"I love you too," she said, leaning down to kiss me — gently, like a promise.

The kiss deepened almost immediately. Her hand slid along my thigh, pulling me closer as her mouth moved with mine — slow and sensual, coaxing, teasing. Her tongue brushed against my bottom lip, and I sighed into her, already breathless.

She was so warm against me. So steady.

I tugged her shirt, the one she'd thrown on after our shower, and she let me lift it over her head, revealing smooth skin and every line I'd memorized a hundred times. I ran my fingers along the dip of her waist, the slope of her ribs.

Her lips never left mine.

When her fingers slid under the hem of the oversized T-shirt I was still wearing, I arched instinctively, letting her peel it off of me inch by inch. She tossed it aside, her eyes dropping down my body like she was seeing me for the first time all over again.

"You're so..." She didn't even finish.

She just leaned down and kissed me again. This time, it was different. Heavier. Hungrier. But still so damn gentle. I felt her hand brush the side of my thigh again, then trace the curve of my hip. Her thumb stroked just beneath my breast, teasing, testing, until I gasped softly.

She grinned against my mouth. I tugged her closer, wrapping my arms around her neck. Our legs tangled. My heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my toes.

She kissed her way down my jaw, to my neck, to the space just beneath my collarbone. Her lips lingered there. She didn't rush.

Neither of us did. Everything was slow. Intentional. Heated. She kissed lower, and I whispered her name like a prayer, threading my fingers into her hair. When she moved against me again, I felt her press close — no space left between us.

"I want you," I whispered. "I want this. I want everything with you."

Y/N looked up, lips parted, eyes dark and tender all at once. "You have me."

And I did. Every part. We kissed again. My body arched toward her instinctively, every nerve lighting up under her touch. The rest of the world faded.

There was just the rustle of sheets, the sound of our breathing syncing, the occasional gasp when her mouth found a new place to worship. Her hands moved over me like she knew exactly where I ached.

We undressed slowly — unwrapping each other like we were unwrapping a gift we'd been waiting to open. Every glance, every graze of skin was more charged than anything I'd ever known. She was still whispering to me, kissing me between each word.

It felt so natural. So right.

And when her hand slid into the drawer and came back with protection, I felt my entire body tremble in anticipation. She looked at me again — checking. Always checking. And when I nodded, her lips met mine one more time — and we finally crossed that line. Together.

Her body hovered over mine, warm and steady and everything I'd ever needed. Her hand gently skimmed along my thigh as I wrapped my leg around her, needing her closer, anchoring her to me like I was terrified she might disappear.

But she didn't. She stayed right there, eyes never leaving mine. Her gaze held so much — love, awe, hunger, restraint. Her lips were swollen from kissing, her cheeks flushed, and that little crooked grin she wore when she was trying not to completely lose control? Yeah, it was there too.

"You sure?" she whispered again, teasing, voice hoarse, like it took everything in her to slow down as she put on the condom.

I nodded, fingers threading through her hair as I tugged her closer. "Please."

She kissed me once more — long and slow — and then I felt her slide in. My breath hitched. Her name fell from my lips like a sigh, chest arching into her as the pressure gave way to a fullness that made my whole body light up.

Her hands steadied on either side of me, lips brushing my cheek as she whispered something I couldn't quite make out — maybe my name, maybe a curse, maybe a prayer. Everything paused.

For a heartbeat, we didn't move — just held onto the feeling, letting it settle between us like gravity. Then, slowly, her hips moved.

It was instinctive. Rhythmic. Our bodies knew what to do before our minds did. Every motion was slow at first, careful, like she was still trying to memorize how I felt.

But even that restraint had heat behind it. It was in the way her hands gripped tighter with every roll of her hips, the way her jaw clenched every time I whimpered beneath her.

The sound of us — of her moving inside me, of our breath catching, of my soft moans getting louder with every thrust — filled the room like music. Her rhythm picked up, body rocking into mine with growing confidence. We moved in sync — like a current we couldn't fight, only ride.

The slick sound of how wet I was made her falter for a second. I felt her pulse hard inside me, a sharp breath against my neck. "God, baby," she rasped, voice thick with need. "You feel—so fucking good."

My nails dug into her shoulders. "Don't stop," I whispered, breathless.

Her hips snapped harder, deeper, and I cried out, my legs wrapping tighter around her waist. My back arched, chasing every wave she sent rippling through me. It was messy and desperate and perfect — every movement stoking the fire that had been simmering between us for months.

And then she let go.

Her rhythm turned relentless — not rough, but raw. Honest. Her restraint finally cracked, her need pouring out in every motion, every low groan pressed into my skin, every whispered affirmation she breathed into my ear.

Her hand slid between us, finding just the right spot, and the second she touched me there, my whole body lit up like a fuse had been lit. "Y/N—" I gasped, nails biting into her back as my body clenched around her.

Her pace faltered just enough to murmur, "Let go for me. Come with me."

And we did. Together.

My legs shook, her name escaping my lips in a strangled, breathless moan that filled the room as I shattered around her. Her own release hit right behind mine, hips stuttering as she buried herself deep, her whole body tensing, then trembling.

I felt her pulse inside me, thick and hot, and I cried out again at the sensation of it all — her fullness, her weight, her heat, the way my body refused to let her go, clenching around her even as we both came down.

We stayed like that — tangled, breathless, slick with sweat, hearts pounding in sync.

She didn't pull out right away. I didn't want her to. My arms wrapped around her back as her lips pressed against my collarbone, then my cheek, then finally, my lips again. Slow. Deep. Content.

She was still inside me, and I swear I could feel the way I was pulsing around her, still aching even after the high. Her thumb brushed my cheek, eyes searching mine with something between disbelief and absolute wonder.

"That was..." she tried, then gave up and laughed breathlessly. "Damn."

I smiled, eyelids heavy. "Yeah."

"You okay?" she asked, gently brushing hair off my face.

"I'm perfect," I whispered, cupping her jaw. "That felt like... everything."

She kissed my hand. "You are everything."

And then we just lay there after she pulled out — skin to skin, tangled up in each other, warm and safe and whole.

No more teasing. No more waiting. Just us.

Me and my fiancé.

A/N: How are we feeling?! What are your thoughts? They're ENGAGED!