Page 174 of The Thief
“Yes,” she breathes. “God, yes.”
“Say it.”
“That I’m yours?”
“Yes.”
“I’m yours,” she gasps, voice trembling. “Completely. Forever.”
“And I am?”
“Mine,” she says, fiercer this time. “You’re mine, Freddie.”
“That’s right.”
I tighten my grip just slightly, watching the way her pupils dilate, the soft flush blooming across her chest. She’s panting now, desperate, needy, clenching around me.
I move again, deeper this time. Steady. Possessive.
Steam clings to us, the shower long forgotten. Just skin, breath, and want.
She cries out as the angle shifts and I hit that spot that unravels her.
“That’s it,” I murmur, lips brushing her mouth. “Let me hear you.”
“The men?—”
“Fuck the men. Let them know you’re mine.”
The possessiveness in my voice sends a visible shudder through her. She clenches around me like she never wants to let go.
I slow, cruelly, just enough to make her whimper.
“Say it again,” I growl.
“I’m yours. I’m yours, Freddie. Please?—”
“Good girl.”
She shatters.
It hits her like a wave, her whole body seizing with the force of it. She cries my name, legs trembling, arms locked around me like she’ll come undone if she lets go.
I follow her seconds later, coming hard, my face buried in her neck, breath ragged as I spill into her.
We don’t move.
The water cools, running in rivulets over our skin. But the warmth between us doesn’t fade.
She’s still clinging to me.
And I hold her tighter.
Like I never intend to let her go again.
"Better?" she asks.
"Much."
