Page 87 of Left-Hand Larceny
I lift her, her legs around my waist, and carry her into the steam. We don’t speak as I press her against the shower tile, but she holds onto me like she means it—fingers in my hair, nails at my back, ankles locked around my waist. Every sound she makes burns into my memory like a brand. They’ll still find her there after I leave this earth.
“Touch yourself,” I growl in her ear, feeling my balls pull up tight. I’m going to come and I need her there with me. “C-come for m-m-me again.”
She does. Pussy clamping down on me like a vise, wild and beautiful and raw, and I follow her over the edge. Unable to stop if I wanted to. I press my forehead to hers and whisper all the things I can’t quite say in the light yet against the shell of her ear, letting our heartbeats slow together.
“You’re perfect.”
“You are my every fantasy.”
“I’m in love with you, Sadie Jones. I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, but I’m not sorry for falling. I never will be.”
We stand there for a long time.
Wrapped in water and breath and even if I know this is a onetime thing, I tell myself it will be worth it. That I’ll carry this night with me until the day they put me in the ground.
And then whatever is left of my soul will keep right on loving her, anyway.
I wake up in someone else’s shirt, in a bed I don’t remember crawling into, with muscles that feel like I ran a marathon in my dreams. And for the first time in what might be years—I slept. Actually slept. No tossing, no turning, no staring at the ceiling for hours while my brain runs every worst-case scenario on loop. Just darkness, warmth, and nothing.
I take a second to realize what that means.
Good orgasms.
Really good ones.
I smile before I even open my eyes.
A soft rustle sounds somewhere nearby. I crack one eye open to see Ragnar pulling on his dress shirt by the door, already dressed from the waist down. His hair sticks straight up. It dried funny after our very creative shower session. He’s moving quietly, like he doesn’t want to wake me.
Too late.
“What time is it?” I mumble, voice hoarse.
He startles slightly, then smiles. “Early. Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
I sit up slowly, wincing a little at the ache in my thighs. Totally worth it. “You didn’t. I think I’m just in shock. I never sleep. Like—never.”
“Maybe you should let me exhaust you more often.”
I shoot him a sleepy look and tug at the hem of the shirt I’m swimming in. His undershirt. It smells like him—clean and sun and a little like soap and salt.
“You put me to bed?”
He nods, a little sheepish. “You fell asleep before we were out of the bathroom. I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”
That… does something to my chest I don’t have words for.
He grabs his keys and wallet off my desk. “I just need to run home and feed Howl.”
I blink. “Howl?”
“Kat’s dog.”
Oh. Right. “Is he okay?”
“Yeah. I had a friend check on him for dinner and bed last night, but if I don’t show up this morning, he’ll tantrum and eat every sock I own.”
I grin. “Sounds like a menace.”
