Page 173 of The Thief
There’s no answer I could give with words that would mean enough.
So I kiss her.
Hard. Deep. Consuming.
I pour everything I can’t say into the press of my mouth against hers. Guilt. Love. Devotion. I taste the salt of earlier tears, the echo of pain I caused, and the warmth that still lingers between us like a thread unbroken.
She tastes like forgiveness. Like a place I never want to leave again.
Her body melts against mine, and when I press her gently to the slick tile, she doesn’t resist. Just opens for me as if she was always meant to.
When I slide into her, slow, careful, reverent, she gasps my name like it’s sacred. Her nails dig into my shoulders, anchoring us together.
And God, she feels like peace.
I set a rhythm that’s unhurried, meant to connect not conquer. Each thrust is measured, meant to remind her of who she is to me.
“You’re so good to me,” she whispers, voice trembling. “So careful.”
“You’re precious,” I murmur against her jaw. “You deserve careful. You deserve the kind of love that doesn’t just take, but stays.”
Her breath hitches. I feel the ripple of emotion in her body before she speaks.
“Even after tonight?” she asks, voice breaking. “Even knowing what I’m capable of wanting?”
“Especially then.”
My hand comes up to cradle the side of her face, thumb tracing the damp line of her cheekbone. Her eyes—open, shining, vulnerable—lock on mine.
“You are everything,” I say, letting the words settle. “Everything.”
Her body starts to tremble around me, tension building, pulse racing. I feel it in the way her breath shortens, the way her thighs tense, the soft keening noise at the back of her throat.
But I don’t let her fall. Not yet.
I slow. Soften. Let her sit right there, on the edge, suspended.
“Freddie,” she breathes, head tipping back against the tile.
“I’ve got you.”
“I know. I can feel it.”
“Feel what?”
“How much you love me. It’s in your touch. Your voice. The way you hold me.”
“You’re right.” I press my lips to her throat, inhaling her. “You’re mine.”
Her breath stutters.
“So are you,” she whispers.
I let my hand wrap gently around her throat, not squeezing, just holding. Just letting her feel my control. My protection. My claim.
She gasps, lips parting in surrender, body arching into mine.
“You like this?” I ask, voice low, against her ear.
