Page 96 of The Thief
"Yes. Please."
When I finally let her come, she shatters. Soundless at first, then crying out like it’s the only thing keeping her from breaking apart.
But I’m not done.
"Look at me," I order, settling between her thighs. "I want to see your face when I take you."
Her gaze meets mine, dazed, trusting, completely open.
"You're mine," I growl as I push inside her, claiming her in every way that matters. "Say it again."
"Yours," she sobs. "Only yours."
I set a pace that’s hard, relentless, punctuated by her gasps, her moans, her breathless begging.
"More," she cries out. "Harder—please?—"
"Greedy girl," I murmur against her throat.
"For you," she breathes. "Only for you."
Her words wreck me.
"Never leaving," I growl. "You hear me? Never running."
"I promise. I promise?—"
"Good. Now take it. Take all of it."
When she comes again, I follow, dragged under by her, by us, by everything we’ve built and broken and rebuilt again.
And when it’s over, when we collapse into silence, no words, no movement, just breath and skin and aftershocks, there’s only one thing I know for sure:
She’s mine.
And I’m hers.
No matter what comes next.
Alastríona curls against my side, her head on my chest, fingers tracing patterns on my skin. She's quiet too, lost in her own thoughts.
"That wasn't what I—" she starts, then stops.
"Yeah."
"I don't know what to feel, what to think."
"Don't. Don't analyze it, don't question it. Just let it be what it is."
"And what is it?"
"Us. What we are; how raw, passionate we are."
She's quiet for a long moment, processing. "I'm still scared," she admits finally.
"I know."
"But I'm not running."
