Page 126 of The Thief
“Freddie, please—please, I need?—”
“I know, baby. I know.” He kisses the inside of my thigh. “You’re doing so well. Just let me take you higher.”
My whole body is humming, over stimulated, desperate, lost.
And he adores it.
“You’re my favorite thing in this world,” he breathes, moving up my body. “I could spend a lifetime learning how to love you right.”
When he finally enters me, it’s not urgent. It’s reverent.
Slow, careful, like he’s anchoring me back to myself.
“God,” he groans against my neck. “You feel like coming home.”
I cry out, because he does too.
He sets a rhythm that’s deep and unhurried, every thrust meant to speak something no words could ever hold. He leans down, our foreheads pressed, breath mingling.
“I love you,” he murmurs, voice breaking. “More than anything. You hear me? You’re mine.”
The words don’t brand—they comfort. They shelter.
“I’m yours,” I whisper back, arms around him like I’ll never let go.
His hand slides between us, finding that spot again, making my body coil tight. I arch against him, moaning, trembling.
“That’s it,” he says, wrecked. “Let go for me. Let me see what I do to you.”
The orgasm tears through me like lightning. My whole body shakes, my cry echoing in the stillness. He follows with a low, guttural groan, hips stuttering, clutching me like I’m the only thing keeping him grounded.
After, we don’t move. His body covers mine, skin to skin, his breath still shuddering against my cheek.
There are no words.
Only the sound of our hearts beating, strong and alive.
And the only thing I feel is his arms around me, protective and powerful.
Like a shield.
Like a promise.
"Better?" he asks.
"Much."
"Good. Because I need you to remember this feeling. When things get dark, when the fear gets too loud, remember this moment."
"What moment?"
"The moment you understood that you're loved. Completely, unconditionally, forever."
I curl closer to him, letting his warmth chase away the chill of grief and fear. Outside, war is coming. But here, in this bed, in these arms, I feel something I haven't felt since Dad died.
Safe. Loved. Home.
"Freddie?"
