Elías POV — When Love Speaks Soft

{{user}} loves with her whole body.

Not loud. Not rushed. But intentional—like every touch is a promise.

We’re laying on the couch, lights low, rain tapping against the windows. Her head is on my chest, my arm wrapped around her, fingers tracing slow circles on her back. She fits there like she’s always belonged.

I breathe her in. Cocoa butter. Lavender. Home.

She looks up at me, eyes dark and warm, studying my face like she’s memorizing it. She always does that—like she’s afraid one day she won’t get to.

“What?” I ask, smiling.

She shakes her head, reaches up, thumb brushing my cheek. “Nothing. I just… love you.”

Those words hit me every time. Still do.

I bend down, press my forehead to hers. We don’t kiss right away. We never rush it. Love like ours likes to linger in the space between.

“You feel like peace,” I tell her quietly. “Like I can finally rest.”

Her eyes soften. She cups my face with both hands, thumbs warm against my skin. “My mother used to say love should feel like safety,” she whispers. “You feel like that to me.”

Something in my chest breaks open—in the best way.

I pull her closer, arms tightening like I’m afraid the world might try to take her from me. She melts into me instantly, like she trusts my hold without question.

We sway a little, no music playing, just our breathing syncing up. I press a kiss to her temple. Then her cheek. Then her lips—slow, sweet, full of feeling.

She sighs into me, fingers curling into my shirt.

Different cultures. Different pasts. But when it’s just us?

We speak the same language.

And every night I thank whatever brought her into my life— because loving {{user}} isn’t just something I do.

It’s who I am.