Page 131 of The Thief
But as I settle beside her, as she instinctively curls against my warmth, I can't shake the feeling that we're running out of time. That Trace is planning something bigger, something worse than anything we've faced so far.
The mole in our organization isn't just feeding him information. He's helping him plan our destruction, piece by piece, person by person.
And tomorrow, we start taking that advantage away.
One way or another, this ends. The only question is how many good people die before we get there.
I close my eyes and try to find sleep despite everything racing through my mind. Beside me, Alastríona murmurs something in her dreams, and I tighten my arms around her instinctively.
Whatever's coming, whoever we're fighting, she's mine to protect.
And I'll burn down half of Ireland before I let anyone take her from me.
I'm pulled from restless sleep by the feeling of warmth against me.
Alastríona's awake, seeking comfort in the only way she knows how. Her hand slides down my chest, lower, finding me already responding to her touch.
"Hey," I whisper, my voice rough with sleep. "You okay?"
"I need you," she murmurs against my throat.
Her fingers wrap around me, and I bite back a groan. She's still half-asleep, moving on instinct, but her touch is deliberate, purposeful.
"Alastríona—"
"Please." Her mouth finds mine, desperate, hungry. "I need this. Need you."
I can taste the salt of tears on her lips, and feel the tremor in her hands. Murphy's death, the weight of everything she's lost, is crushing her. And this—us, together—is her way of fighting back against the darkness.
"Anything," I breathe. "Whatever you need."
She shifts, moving down my body with kisses and touches that set my skin on fire. When her mouth closes around my cock, hot and perfect, my back arches off the bed.
"Fuck, Alastríona?—"
But she's lost in it, in the rhythm, in the control it gives her. She’s taking what she needs from my body, using my pleasure to chase away her pain.
I thread my fingers through her hair, gentle, not guiding. Just connecting, grounding us both in this moment.
"So good," I manage. "You're so fucking good at this."
She hums against me, the vibration nearly undoing me completely. But I hold back and let her set the pace, let her take what she needs.
When she pulls away and crawls back up my body, her eyes are clearer. More present.
"I want you inside me," she says.
"Are you sure? After everything?—"
"I'm sure. I need to feel alive, Freddie. I need to feel connected to something good."
I roll us over carefully, mindful of her healing injuries. I settle between her thighs, but don't move. Not yet.
"Tell me if you want me to stop," I say. "At any point, for any reason."
"I won't want you to stop."
"Promise me anyway."
