Page 82 of Left-Hand Larceny

“It’s nothing,” she shakes her head, tries to meet my mouth again. I frame her face in my palms and stop her, but don’t step back.

“T-tell me, Sadie. I c-can’t,” won’t “d-do this otherwise. W-we’re in this t-together or not at a-all.”

She goes preternaturally still in my hands. Her breathing goes shallow, eyes wide.

I press my lips to her forehead, “Whatever it i-is. I’m w-with you, Sadie Jones.”

“Christian used to… say things. About my body. About what he thought I should look like. He’d… make jokes. At first I thought he was trying to be funny, but eventually I realized he meant it. All of it.”

I inhale slowly through my nose. I want to grip her shoulders, demand she tell me everything so I can refute it. Any claim he made, I can lay waste to the lies. But I won’t ask her to repeat the words that are still causing her distress. Not now. Not ever.

Sadie swallows. “I don’t know how to feel sexy. I think maybe I’m just… not.”

The ache in my chest is immediate and deep. I yank her into my chest, harder than I should, and wrap my arms around her body, holding her in a bear hug, my chin on the crown of her head.

“He’s a g-goddamn idiot.”

She says nothing.

I tilt her chin up, my eyes searching hers.

“A w-world class d-dick.”

She nods, but it’s still there—the tension in her spine, the second-guessing. I can see it, feel it under her skin. I press my forehead to hers, not minding the crick in my neck.

I lower my voice, rough and soft.

“Let me show y-you howfokkings-sexy you a-are.”

She hesitates, eyes darting across my face like she’s looking for a catch.

“There’s s-something I’ve been thinking,” I murmur. “Ever s-since the first time y-you sat next to me in the b-b-leachers, leg bouncing, fingers t-twirling your pen.”

She leans in slightly, still wary, but willing to listen. “Yeah?”

“Your b-brain never s-stops.”

She laughs, shaky. “That’s… accurate. I get that complaint regularly enough.”

I shake my head. “N-not a complaint.”

She turns her head away, sucking her teeth. She doesn’t believe me.

“L-let me help. I-if y-y-you still w-want this, t-tonight, with m-me, I’ll take over. I’ll b-be in charge. G-give you s-something better to focus on.”

She stares at me long enough I can almost see the thoughts racing behind her irises. Then she nods. Once. Sharp. And I swear I can feel it like a green light in my chest.

She’s standing in front of me, barefoot on the carpet of her tiny basement bedroom, cheeks flushed, breath uneven. One strap of her dress is sliding off her shoulder. Her eyes dart from my mouth to my hands, and then back again. She wants this. Wants me. But she’s still scared it might shatter.

So I give her something to hold on to.

“I’m in charge t-tonight,” I murmur, cupping her jaw with both hands. Her skin is warm and trembling under my thumbs. “You l-let me take c-c-care of you. No r-rushing. No fixing. Just f-feel.”

She nods, but then she lifts her hands—toward my chest, my belt. I catch her wrists gently and shake my head.

“N-no, Sadie.”

Her eyes widen.

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