The ache in her breathes goes beyond just that immediate desire - for all she has and all she wants, this utterly shatters those fears that plagued her, he washes them away. Tends wounds that were so long left open she did not know could be stitched closed. Thought so often that she should be one of those women who loved and loved and loved and never a place to put it.

But he presses it into her skin, and it's more consuming than his kisses, his coaxing fingers, his scorching gaze. It shatters beyond just the hurt and jealousy of now - maybe not for always, but it feels like something mending than being broken. Of the times being mocked and laughed at and never taken seriously or being brushed off in her fears and desires.

It shatters her more utterly than just the fingers coaxing the hums from her lips. Yet it builds with inevitably, more intensely for each word he gives, reassures her. He loves her, he loves her. It's more intense, more demanding, for that utter revelation - shaking her apart like metal under forging hammers. She twists, grinding into his palm, onto his fingers, until it does break her to pieces, eyes stinging in love more than hurt, her back arching - her cry soundless yet deafening as it wrung her through. Taught around his fingers, finally sated beyond just his touch.

When she falls back, drunkenly, she reaches for him. Wanting to catch his mouth, and any other part she could. His neck, his shoulders, love-drunk as she felt only the lingering jealousy to fuel something new, yet utterly right. Biting between her kisses like he so often did her. Nipping and sucking, marking him with that raw heady contentment more potent than drink.