Page 99 of Left-Hand Larceny
When she turns around, I’m already standing.
I move to her. Not fast, but sure. I take her hand and guide her across the room to the full-length mirror. The one near the stretching mats. We use it to track our form. I have other ideas. She follows, heart hammering, eyes flicking from my face to the floor and back again.
“Look,” I say as I step up behind her. My voice drops into something rougher. Darker. Her eyes meet mine in the reflection. “Don’t l-look a-at me. Look at y-you.”
Her breath stutters. “I don’t—”
I press a kiss just behind her ear.
“Look a-at yourself,Sæt stelpa mín,” I whisper. “See w-what I s-s-see.”
Her eyes close as she sucks in a breath. I band my arm around her waist.
“Open y-your eyes, Sadie.” Look at us. Me, all shadow and heat behind her. Her, flushed and vulnerable and beautiful.
I kiss her neck. Her shoulder. Let my hands drag up the sides of her body, slow and deliberate, palms grazing her waist, then sliding higher.
She shudders when I reach her chest, cupping her gently through her shirt. I didn’t spend nearly enough time on her tits before. I don’t rush. I tease. Circling my thumbs until her head tips back against my shoulder and a soft sound escapes her lips.
She tries to close her eyes again, and I stop my hands.
“No,” I murmur. “K-keep them open.”
“I can’t—”
“You can.” My voice is firmer now. “You will.” She shudders in my arms. “You n-need to see h-how badly I want you.”
She moans, caught between pleasure and disbelief.
I kiss her temple. “Feel it, Sadie.”
I pull her hips back against the ridge of my cock, grinding her along my length. When she whimpers, I have to recite hockey stats to stop from spilling in my sweats. Her hips pick up my rhythm easily, and I slide one hand down, slow and steady, past the waistband of her leggings.
She gasps. Grips my wrist.
“If y-you want me to s-stop, you know w-what to do.” I press the words against her skin. “But I d-don’t want to. I want to show you h-how beautiful you a-are. Magical. Irresistible.” I bite into the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. “Sexy.”
Her grip loosens.
And I touch her.
She moans, trying to swallow the sound, eyes fluttering again, and I pull her back harder against me.
“Keep l-looking,” I growl. “You need to s-see w-w-what I see. What I f-feel. How y-y-you fall apart in m-my arms.”
She’s trembling now, trying to stay upright as I guide her rhythm, slow and relentless. Her reflection—God, her reflection is breathtaking. And when she breaks, crying out softly, biting down on her lip to stay quiet, I don’t stop. I turn her face to mine and swallow her moans with my mouth.
I hold her. Rock her as the aftershocks rip through her. Whisper in her ear, “I’d s-sell my soul to t-touch you.”
My hand is still in her panties. Like strokes along her entrance. Teasing the soft, wet skin.
“I-I’d give up h-hockey to touch you.”
The sound she makes is like a wild animal.
“Vertu mín, Sadie Jones.Leyfðu mér að elska þig það sem eftir er ævinnar.”
You’re mine, Sadie Jones. Let me love you for the rest of my life.
