Page 78 of The Sorcerer's Thief
A quickie on the floor is just the thing we need before bed.
Julian’s emerald eyes are half-lidded and dark with pleasure.
My nipples pebble under his covetous stare. He notices of course and uses his free hand to tease one of them. I press into his touch and let out a moan.
“You like that?” His smirk is positively wicked.
“So much. Give me more.”
He obeys, playing with my chest as we stroke ourselves into a frenzy. It doesn’t take long before we’re both reduced to needy rutting, sliding against each other with abandon, mouths open, hands flying.
I come first, spilling over our fists, and he follows shortly after with a satisfying grunt I relish. We gaze at each other. I collapse, boneless against his chest.
He loves this part, the wet and sticky part when I refuse to move and he gently tries to prod me aside so he can clean us. Loves it. I chuckle against his throat, where his wound is healing nicely. “Oh, come on, give me one minute.”
He sighs. “One minute. Then I’m throwing you into the bath.”
No wait. Maybe it’s me that loves this part. Yeah, that’s right. It’s me.
After a good long lay-about, much longer than the allotted minute, I let him drag me to our bedroom for a wash. Once we’re both clean enough for Julian’s fastidious tastes, we settle together under the covers.
He pets my hair. “I’m aware I never did say I’m sorry.”
This again? Not that I mind, but I wish he wouldn’t fret over the past. “We talked it through. We’re fine.”
“Thank you for saying that?—”
“I’m sensing a ‘but’.”
His hand stills at my nape. “But I don’t feel there’s anything I could say to undo the wrongs of Willowood.”
“More petting would be nice.” I wiggle my head under his hand, and he goes back to stroking my hair.
He just doesn’t get it. I’ve put this behind us, but Julian hasn’t managed to yet.
I understand why he tried to steal the coin and even why he left me that night, and while perhaps he could have handled that better, I’m not holding a grudge over those decisions. Still, he needs to get this out of his system. “Go on and try it, then.”
“Try?”
“To apologize. Go ahead.”
Julian clears his throat. His face is so serious. “Cricket, I’m sorry I?—”
“You’re forgiven.”
“What?”
“I forgive you.”
He knits his brows. “I wasn’t finished.”
“You needn’t add more. You’re sorry, and that’s enough.You’reenough. I promise.”
He’s quiet, watching me like he’s waiting for a trick.
“There’s no trick. In a way, it’s the same thing I was afraid of.”
“How so?”
