Page 9 of Sacrifice
But it's already more.
Has been since the first time I saw her.
Since she smiled at me across the clubhouse, and tilted my entire world.
I kiss her again instead of arguing, deep and demanding.
She meets me heat for heat, desire for desire.
My hand slides up her thigh, finding lace that's already damp.
"Fuck, Saga."
"Please," she breathes. "Emil, please."
Control is a memory.
Everything I am, everything I've built myself to be, crumbles under her touch.
I'm not gentle. I can't be.
Not when she's making those sounds, moving against me like she's dying for it.
"Harder," she demands, and I obey. "Yes, like that. Just like?—"
She shatters, my name a broken cry on her lips.
I follow her over, the whole truck shaking with the force of it.
After, we're both breathing hard, clothes askew, reality creeping back in.
"This was a mistake," she says quietly.
"No," I disagree, pressing my forehead to hers. "The mistake is pretending this isn't everything."
She kisses me again instead of answering, soft and almost sad.
"Take me home," she whispers.
I do.
We don't talk for the rest of the drive, but her hand finds mine across the console.
When I pull up to her building, she squeezes once before letting go.
"This doesn't change anything," she says.
"Everything," I correct. "It changes everything."
She gets out without another word, and I watch until she's safely inside.
Then I drive back to the clubhouse, where my bike still waits, her car keys burning a hole in my pocket.
Round one goes to inevitability.
But tomorrow, she'll run again.
And I'll be ready.
