Page 109 of Left-Hand Larceny
My heart skips, not sure what to tease out first. She must read the confusion on my face because she soldiers on.
“I told them I’m not going back to grad school after this year. Told them Christian was emotionally abusive. Told them I’ve been trying to be someone I’m not.”
I blink at her, stunned. She’s trembling and grinning and on the verge of tears—happy ones—and I’ve never seen anyone look more alive.
“What did they say?”
“My mom was… shocked. Not mad. Just sad. That she hadn’t seen it.” She pauses. “Then she asked me what I wanted.”
“And what did you tell her?”
She studies me for a beat, then dips her chin down to avoid my gaze. I’m about to reach out, frame her face myself, when she answers.
“You.”
My breath leaves in one exhale. I think I’m supposed to ask more. Something about punching, maybe? But the thought disintegrates before I can do a damn thing about it.
“I want you, Ragnar.” Sadie says. Quiet, but firm. Sure.
Then she kisses me. Hard. She kisses me like she’s claiming me. Like I’m hers and she’s done pretending I’m not.I kiss her back because there’s no other option. Because the second her mouth opens under mine, I lose every coherent thought but ‘more’.
Her hands slide into my hair, tugging gently, her body flush against mine, all silk and warmth and heat. She shifts in my lap, her thighs squeezing, and I groan into her mouth. She’s taking the lead and a nuclear blast couldn’t drag my attention from her.
“Tell me this is real,” she whispers against my lips. “That I’m not dreaming you.”
“It’s r-real,” I murmur, kissing along her jaw, her throat. “W-we’re real. I’ve g-g-got you.”
She pulls back just enough to look at me. “Can I—can we—”
“Yes.”
I’d carve out my heart and serve it to her on fine china if that’s what she asked for.
I stand, lifting her with me like she weighs nothing. She wraps her legs around my waist with a surprised gasp, laughing softly as her hands tangle in my hair again. We kiss down the hallway—clumsy and laughing and breathless—and by the time we reach my bedroom, she’s whispering my name like a prayer as her hips undulate over the bulge in my sweats.
I set her on the edge of the bed and step back to look at her. Her cheeks are flushed, clothes askew, and her lips kiss-swollen. I want to worship her for a full month. A year. A millennium.
Longer.
Slowly, deliberately, I tug on the ties at the back of her neck and peel her shirt over her head. I toss it to the floor, not caring where it lands. She’s braless underneath, and my mouth goes dry. I can’t think too hard about her lack of underwear. Does she skip it at work too? I’ll have an erection every time I smell the ice at this point.
“You’re u-unreal,” I say.
She starts to respond, but I silence her with a kiss, one hand trailing up her thigh, the other bracing her back as I guide her down onto the bed. She tugs at my sweatshirt and I let her take it off. When her hands smooth over my chest, I shiver. She traces the lines of my tattoo, first with the tip of her finger, then with her mouth.
“I wanted to do this,” she says, her tongue slipping over the stylized T, “that day in the ice baths.”
“I’d h-have let you.” I cup the back of her head to keep her mouth on me.
We remove the rest of our clothes slowly. Like this time matters. Because it does. It’s not just sex. It’s not just lust and adrenaline and chemistry catching fire in her basement bedroom. This time it’s a conscious choice. Coming back. Starting over. Choosing each other for real.
When I kiss down her stomach, her thighs, she’s already trembling.
“Let me taste you,” I murmur, and she lets out a broken sound, nodding.
I bury my face between her legs like I’ve been dreaming of it—because I have. And then I gorge on her cunt like a man starved. No gentle presses or licks. I’m face-deep, moaning as I grind my hips into the mattress. She’s sweet on my tongue. A tang unique to Sadie. I could die here, in the space between her thighs, and have no regrets.
She gasps and arches, fingers gripping my hair, and I take my time. Lick into her. Suck her clit. Moan against her like I’m starving.
