Coming out of the bathroom, still warmed by the steam and Max's embrace, I reach for a towel. I open one of the cabinets looking for a towel—the one that is usually always closed, as if it holds something personal, intimate.
And suddenly… I notice a small box in the corner. Black, matte, almost velvety to the touch. Not flashy at all, but there is a certain strictness, attention to detail. It doesn't look like something accidentally left behind—on the contrary, it seems deliberately placed there, waiting for the right moment.
My heart jumps. A light current runs through my chest. I carefully take it in my hands—it's light, yet at the same time, it feels like it holds something weighty, important, almost sacred inside.
I open it and freeze. Inside lies a ring—simple, elegant, yet it carries a restrained beauty that speaks louder than words. A thin gleam of metal, a gentle curve, a tiny sparkling stone, like a drop of morning dew that has absorbed sunlight. It doesn't shout for attention; it's not provocative—but this ring holds love. Quiet, mature, real.
I don't just look at it—I hear my blood pounding in my ears, my heart beating faster, as if it wants to jump out. My throat dries. My hands tremble slightly. Everything inside freezes in a strange, weightless feeling: a mix of excitement, thrill, tenderness, and a slight fear.
A wedding ring? My mind refuses to believe it, but my heart already knows. A million thoughts race through my head. When did he buy it? Why didn't he say anything? Why hide it? Or… was he preparing? Waiting for the moment?
I sit on the edge of the bed, still holding the box in my hands like something fragile, sacred. My lips tremble with an uncertain smile. I feel like a girl suddenly entrusted with something great—to look into someone's soul. Or… into someone's dream.
Max wants me to be his wife?
This gesture confuses me, stirring mixed feelings—surprise, joy, even a slight anxiety. Everything inside me dances from the unexpectedness, and my soul seems to hold its breath, trying to understand what this means for us. I know for certain that this isn't about the baby inside me. My beloved wanted us to be together as a family even three years ago. Children didn't matter to him; he only wanted me.
My answer would be yes. However, I believe that until I give birth, it's inappropriate to have a wedding. Yes, we already have two children, and it's long overdue. I agree to the official registration, but a wedding is physically too much for me right now—it's too many emotions and responsibilities at once. This decision doesn't come easily; it balances on a thin line between desire and fear, between joy and fatigue.
I don't even know how he'll react if I tell him. Deep down, I fear upsetting him, but I also know I must be honest. I want to preserve our closeness and trust while maintaining balance between my feelings and our shared plans.
"Katrin, are you taking long?" my man calls softly, with a hint of impatience, as if he already misses my presence and is waiting for me nearby.
"Coming," I answer, carefully placing this beauty back in the box, pretending I saw nothing.
My heart beats a little faster, its rhythm almost audible, excitement mixed with a slight fear of being caught in what I saw. But alongside this fear, a quiet joy ignites in my chest, as if I hold a little secret, special and just ours. I can't help but smile—deep down, this moment is so important, so full of meaning, it seems it will stay with me forever.
Returning, I see Max already lying in the bath. He looks so beautiful, like a real Roman or Greek god—with perfect body lines, smooth skin, in the soft bathroom light reflecting on the water, his figure almost unreal, like sculpted from marble. The sight takes my breath away, and I suddenly feel a wave of tenderness and love that fills everything around, spreading warmth through every cell of my body. In this moment, time seems to slow, and I savor every second beside him.
I approach him and place my hand on his chest, gently stroking, feeling the rhythm of his heart under my palm—strong and calm at the same time. My Rebel Boy, only mine. In this simple touch, there is so much passion and peace, as if we speak without words, conveying all our feelings through gentle contact. It's a quiet promise that we are together, no matter what.
I don't want to hurt him, so when the official proposal comes, I'll agree to a wedding on any day he wants. I will endure any inconvenience just to make Max happy—his happiness is more important to me than anything in the world. Warmth and readiness flow through my thoughts from the depth of my soul because to love means to give, even if it requires sacrifice.
"Undress and get in with me," he winks playfully. His voice is tender and inviting, and in this invitation, there's a carefree joy I want to trust, like in childhood, when the world feels endlessly safe and bright.
Doing as he wants, I join him in the water. Max doesn't change position, so I essentially lie on him. The water is warm enough to cover us both, creating a sense of unity with the world and each other—like we are part of something greater, harmonious, and whole.
My shoulders press against his chest, my back against his stomach. My butt touches his length, which starts to awaken from the closeness, reminding us of the passion we share, even if in this moment it remains hidden, quiet, and gentle, like a warm fire burning in the heart at night.
My beloved cares for me without a hint of intimacy. He fears for me and therefore doesn't make a move, worried I might give in despite feeling unwell. Though in reality, I feel perfectly fine and make no complaints—I just appreciate his caution and care, which are like a quiet harbor in a stormy sea. His attention and tender approach bring me closer to him, filling my soul with gratitude and tenderness.
Max takes a sponge and starts washing me from the top down, as far as he can reach. It feels so good—to be so close to him, feeling every movement, every touch, like a quiet declaration of love. He moves the sponge from my neck to the most intimate places, his motions gentle, as if wanting to give me peace and tenderness, to lull me with his warmth, making this moment eternal. And in this moment, there is everything—love, care, trust. It feels like the world ceases to exist; only the two of us remain, dissolved in the warm water and these gentle touches. Everything around is silent, and in this silence, I feel happy and truly loved.
"Don't play with me, my Rebel Boy."
It is in moments like these that I often call him this, as if it were our secret name, filled with passion and a special closeness that floats between us like an invisible thread. The words carry more than meaning—they hold our whole story, the spark ignited between us in our hottest moments. I know these words stir him, ignite a fire in him that we both love, a fire burning in the chest, giving warmth and simultaneously inviting new discoveries. In his gaze, a particular spark appears—bright and alive, promising secrets, madness, and deep mutual passion.
Stopping washing me, he gently lifts me and sits me on his length, without warning, just moving inside me as I asked. In this moment, the world seems to dissolve—noise, worries, and time vanish; only our closeness remains, our bodies merging into one, and this genuine passion overflowing us like an ocean of emotions, sweeping away all barriers. My heart beats faster, my breathing falters, and every cell eagerly absorbs the warmth of his touch, immersing me in a state where nothing else exists but this moment, this deep, living connection.
Being with him in love is my ultimate pleasure, a true celebration of soul and body. We give each other every drop of love we have, filling one another with light and warmth, felt even at a distance, even after parting. These moments are sacred—like breathing, like music, in unison with our heartbeats. Sharing these moments is essential—this is what separates true love from empty sex. For mere sex, feelings aren't needed; it doesn't matter what your partner feels—it's just mechanics, habit, emptiness leaving only cold and loneliness.
In love, it's different. The stronger the feelings, the brighter the passion, the deeper our bond, the more magical every movement, every breath. This is the true measure of our love, our invisible but strong ring binding us together, an unbreakable thread carrying everything—pain, joy, tenderness, and passion. Without it, there is only emotionless sex, and you don't care who is beside you—emptiness and loneliness in a crowd, despair like a person lost in fog.
Afterwards, we lie in the bath, both satisfied and tired, enjoying the silence and the warmth of the water, which envelops us like a protective shell, softly embracing us like a gentle blanket. Our hearts don't calm down for a long time after this closeness, and in every glance, there is gratitude and tenderness—quiet, calm, yet so deep it reaches the very depths of the soul.
"Do you remember our first time?" I ask, recalling that special moment when everything began, when we crossed the line and became even closer. There's a slight quiver in my voice, a hint of sweet nostalgia, as if I'm reliving every feeling and every second of that day.
"It's unforgettable for me, just like you, my love," Max replies, continuing to gently wash my body.
His hands are so tender and caring, as if he wants to erase the whole world from me and leave only the two of us, as if he can convey all his love and protection through his touch. After everything between us, I'm slightly sweaty, and his touches feel like a saving source of freshness and comfort, enveloping and calming me.
"None of our times together were ever just sex for me, only love. Even then, when I pretended that I was tired of you and didn't need you anymore," I say, a lump in my throat, unable to hide the quiver in my voice.
Inside, everything trembles from this openness, from the depth of feelings I dare to reveal, as if removing a heavy mask and showing myself true, vulnerable, and sincere.
"I never believed your words back then," he says softly. "I know you, my dear. You love to have fun, to play with me, and of course, you love me. Back then, you only showed me this with your eyes and behavior, but now you no longer hide your feelings. I would never have thought you were deceitful or a careless girl."
His words sound so warm and sincere that I feel a flower of happiness bloom in my chest, and all doubts and fears disappear, dissolving in love and trust. His words feel so pleasant, warmth spreading through my entire body, like sunlight breaking through clouds, filling me with light and life.
I want to cry from happiness—that Max has always thought only good of me, that he sees me as I really am, without masks or pretensions. Sometimes I wonder how I deserved such a good man, who loves me with all his heart and accepts all my quirks and weaknesses, as if he sees them not as flaws but as part of my unique, living world.