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Jealousy Isn't Healthy (But It Can Do Wonders For Your Marriage)

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He glows in the low light of your room, the only source of illumination the candle at your bedside, fragrant in the evening air. It smells like the light floral tones of fresh-cut roses, adding to the intoxicating scent of your husband above you. The sight and scent of him alone would be enough to stun you, but you lay helpless to his passions as his hips drive into your own.

His hands are clasped tight with yours, pinning your arms to the bed on either side of your head, leaving more than enough space for the way that you turn your head in your thrashing, your voice hoarse as you continue to cry out for him.

“Yes, oh, like that—!”

You see the simmering glow of pride in his eyes, dark as the sky above your home as he relishes in how he ruins you. He looks at you like you are the sun and moon and stars all at one, reverent in his admiration of your beauty even as he drives himself into you, relentless.

You are so full with him, legs spread and wrapped around his waist as he takes what he wants from you, giving you what you need at the same time. Your husband has never been a selfish man, as evidenced by how he now shifts. He releases your wrists, guiding your arms around his neck before he shifts, still spearing you open as he moves you into his seated lap, your chest pressed to his. It’s easier for you to kiss him like this, your hands moving up into his already mussed hair as his tongue tangled with yours once more.

You both start to move your hips at the same time once more, with him driving up into you just as you grind down. Both of you exhale in a sigh, heady and hot as you feel your toes curl.

Your end isn’t far out, you can tell. He’s been worshipping you for what may have been hours, but you don’t mind. You feel your body starting to tire, but how can you complain when the reason for your fatigue is the love your husband has lavished you in?

“Come with me,” he groans, hands tight enough on your hips to bruise as he clutches your close, his voice melodic as ever. He looks wild and angelic and he’s yours, he belongs to you as much as you do to him and his eyes are bright, and you feel that spiraling heat in your belly, spreading out through every nerve and fiber of your being, head spinning as you press closer to his, the edges between the two of you starting to blur and—

You’re not sure which one of you cried out first, voices blending in a perfect harmony as he fills you with himself, breath hissing through his teeth as his hips buck up into you the last few times. Your vision disappears, replaced by the light of the supernova that Giorno always brings out in you.

The both of you come down from your high at the same time, panting in a perfect rhythm as you press your lips to his a few more times. He pulls out, taking a moment to let himself admire how the evidence of his pleasure stains your thighs. His lips ghost over your cheek, your jaw, the tip of your nose and forehead as he lays you down, pulling you to rest your head on his broad chest.

“Ti amo.” His voice is soft, melodic as ever, and you beam up at him.

“Ti amo, dolce amore.”