Pov Author
The champagne bubbles were gone from their glasses, leaving only the sweet memory on their tongues. The familiar sounds of the neighborhood-dog barking down the street, the rustle of the old oak tree in their yard-had faded into a quiet hum hours before. They'd moved from the patio table into the living room, and now Alex took Anna's hand, leading her back toward the sliding glass door.
Clean and silver, moonlight poured onto the deck, tracing a path across weathered wooden planks and catching the platinum of their wedding bands as Alex lifted Anna's hand to his lips, his eyes holding hers.
"Anna Brown Knight," he whispered, the name feeling sacred in the quiet night. "One year."
A soft smile touched her lips. "One year, Alex Knight." She stepped into the space he made for her, her hands sliding up the worn cotton of his shirt. "It feels like we've just started, and like I've known you my whole life, all at once."
"Tell me about it," he murmured, a low thrum that vibrated against her more than she actually heard. His hands found the small of her back, drawing her close. The first kiss was a seal on the day-a slow, deep thing tasting of chocolate cake and home. It was tender, a lazy exploration speaking of comfort and deep knowing.
But as the seconds stretched, that tenderness began to simmer into something hotter, more urgent. Anna's fingers curled into his shirt, not to push away, but to pull him closer. A tiny, involuntary sound escaped her throat-a soft gasp lost against his mouth.
That small noise seemed to change everything.
Alex's response was a low groan, pulled from somewhere deep. The easy control he'd had all evening just… vanished. One of his hands slid up to tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. The other found the zipper of her emerald green dress.
The sound of its sliding down was loud in the silence, a metallic whisper promising everything. He broke the kiss, his breathing coming in ragged pants as he watched the fabric part. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with desire that made Anna's knees feel weak. He pushed the dress from her shoulders, and it fell in a silken pool at her feet, leaving her in just the moonlight and her lace underwear.
The cool night air on her skin was a shock, but the heat in his gaze was a brand. She stood there, not shy, but in a kind of proud, vulnerable offering. A shudder ran through her.
"You are so beautiful," he breathed, the words thick with something like awe. "It still gets me every time."
Her hands came up to his chest, fumbling a little with the buttons of his shirt. "Your turn," she managed, her voice husky.
He helped her, his movements hurried, until his shirt was off and her hands were on his bare skin. The feel of his warm, hard chest beneath her palms drew a deeper moan from her. She leaned in, pressing her lips right over the frantic, galloping rhythm of his heart. It beat in time with her own.
His arms wrapped around her, lifting her from the circle of her discarded dress. He carried her the few steps from the balcony into their bedroom, his mouth finding hers again in a kiss that was all desperate hunger. There was no more patience left, just the raw, honest need that had been building between them all night, all year.
He laid her on the cool cotton of their duvet, following her down, his body a welcome, heavy warmth. The last of their clothes came off not with ceremony but with frantic, mutual urgency. When they were finally skin to skin, the sensation was so intense it was almost too much. A sharp, desperate gasp broke from Anna as the full length of his body met hers. The feel of him—the hard planes of his chest against her softness—was overwhelming.
"Alex…." His name was a prayer and a plea and a command all at once.
He groaned, pure strain, his hands digging into her hips. He moved above her, a deliberate, powerful shift. And the world just fell away. No apartment, no city, no past, no future, just this room, this bed, this man.
When he entered her, it was with a single deep thrust that stole the air from both their lungs. Anna's head fell back, a choked cry of pure sensation tearing from her throat. It was a feeling of being utterly filled, of a completeness so sharp it was almost overwhelming.
"God, Anna," Alex rasped low in his chest, his forehead damp against her temple. He remained still for a long moment, buried deep within her, both of them shaking from the force of it.
Then the rhythm began.
It wasn't the slow, tender pace they might have started with a year ago. This was something older, more primal, built on a year of learning each other's secrets and joys. His thrusts were powerful, deliberate, each one meeting the rise of her hips in a perfect, frantic synchrony. The bedframe began a soft, steady creak, a quiet rhythm underneath their own.
Anna's mind dissolved into a cascade of feelings: the feel of his sweat-slicked skin under her hands, the scent of him, the sound of his ragged breaths in her ear. Her moans were continuous, soft whimpers and sharp cries, his name repeated over and over like a mantra. She was lost in the storm, he the only anchor.
His own sounds were just as raw. Low guttural groans with each thrust, heartfelt exhalations of a pleasure too big for words. "My Anna," he grunted, the words strained. "My wife."
Those words, so possessive and reverent, sent a fresh wave of ecstasy through her. She could feel the tension coiling tight deep inside her, a spring wound to its limit. Her cries grew higher, more frantic.
"I'm here," he groaned, completely understanding her, as always. "Let go. I've got you."
His thrusts became deeper, more focused. And then the spring snapped.
Her climax, coming without warning, ripped a sharp, keening cry from her lungs, then her body arched violently under his, her every muscle seizing as waves of pure, white-hot pleasure radiated out, leaving her trembling and utterly spent. The feeling of her pulsing around him was his undoing. With one last shuddering thrust, he buried himself deep, his own control shattering. A hoarse, broken roar was torn from his lips-a raw sound of utter surrender-after he spilled into her. His whole body went rigid and then trembled violently before collapsing on her, his weight a final, comforting anchor. For long minutes, there was only the sound of their harsh, ragged breaths slowly calming down. The world, piece by piece, came back. The moonlight still streamed in. A car door shut softly somewhere down the block. It was with a great effort that Alex shifted his weight, but only to pull her more tightly against him, rolling them onto their sides without breaking the connection. He tucked her head under his chin, his arms a solid fortress around her, his lips finding her damp temple in a kiss that was infinitely tender. Anna curled into him, her limbs heavy, her body humming with a deep, satiated peace. She felt his heart start to slow, the steady thump against her ear the most comforting sound in the world. They didn't need words. The passionate, physical language they had just spoken-the moans, the desperate thrusts, the final, trembling collapse-had been the most honest conversation of their anniversary. It was a renewal of a vow, not on paper but on their very souls. They were the Knights, and in this quiet, moonlit aftermath, their union felt utterly unbreakable.
End of this chapter.