The moon cast silver light through the soft curtains of their bedroom, illuminating the worn wood floors and the corners of their life together—books, baby monitors, a half-folded blanket from the nursery. But tonight, none of that mattered. Not the toys scattered at the door. Not the half-empty bottle on the nightstand.
Only them.
June lay beside Hank, still glowing from the hours before—the laughter of Clara's party, the heat of the shower, the weight of Hank's love pressed into every sigh.
But tonight, she wanted more. Not just to be cherished. She wanted to give.
To give him everything.
Hank was stretched on his back, one hand behind his head, the other resting gently on June's hip. His eyes were closed, but the faint smile on his lips told her he wasn't asleep—just basking in the moment, in her.
She leaned in and kissed that smile.
"I'm not done with you," she whispered against his mouth.
Hank's eyes opened, slow and smoldering. "No?"
"No," she said, straddling him with a boldness that surprised them both. "Tonight, it's my turn."
His hands went instinctively to her waist, gripping her softly, reverently. "You've already given me everything."
"Not yet," she said, her voice a low hum. "Not like this."
She kissed him again—this time deeper, slower. She kissed him like she had the time, like there was no morning waiting to arrive. Her hands trailed over his chest, fingers tracing the scars, the stories etched in his skin.
"I've missed you," she whispered.
"I'm right here," he echoed his earlier words, his voice husky now.
She guided him beneath her, her movements unhurried but sure, her body responding to every look, every touch, every whisper of breath. Hank's head fell back as June explored him—his jaw, his neck, his collarbone—kissing every part of him like a prayer answered. He groaned softly, fingers digging into the curve of her hips.
She took her time—watching him, learning him again in the dark. The man she had fallen in love with years ago now lay undone beneath her hands.
When she finally lowered herself onto him,Hank's gasp was sharp, involuntary. His hands gripped her tighter, and she stilled, letting them both feel the closeness, the way their bodies fit like home.
June moved slowly, riding the rhythm of their breath, of the summer wind outside. Hank watched her, eyes dark and hungry, awe etched into every line of his face.
"You feel like everything," he whispered.
She bent down, kissing him deeply. "You are everything."
Their bodies moved as one—slow, sensual, purposeful. Hank met every roll of her hips with soft gasps and murmured pleas, worshiping her as she gave herself over fully to him.
As his release neared, he gripped her tighter, kissing her hard, moaning into her mouth. And when he finally let go, it was with her name on his lips, her body wrapped around him, their hearts beating as one.
They collapsed into each other, breathless and warm, sweat cooling on skin made slick with love and devotion.
For long minutes, they lay like that, tangled and silent, the only sounds the wind brushing against the window and the steady rise and fall of their chests.
June rest her head against his shoulder, her fingers drawing lazy patterns on his chest.
"Did I give you everything you needed?" she whispered.
Hank turned to her, his eyes soft, shining. "You gave me peace. And passion. And the kind of love that heals."
She smiled, eyes fluttering closed. "Then we're even."
He held her tighter, his chin resting on her damp hair. "Not even close."