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She steps into motion immediately, gesturing for me to sit on the padded table. “Which one?”

“Left.”

I limp a little for show as I head toward the table.

She kneels in front of me, feeling the way the bones and muscle fit together.

Moving her eyes from her hands to my face to catalogue any reactions.

Our eyes meet and time stands still for a moment, then she looks down and starts wrapping.

She’s careful. Precise. Her fingers work fast, like if she moves quickly enough, the moment won’t count.

“Is it bad?” she asks without looking up.

“N-no. Just a t-t-twinge after that d-drill Spags t-tried to run.”

“The shuffle-dash one?”

“Felt l-like I was an i-i-ice dancer skating in a t-tornado.”

She huffs out a laugh, but it’s short. Strangled.

“Sadie.”

She freezes.

“Okay,” she says quickly. “You’re all set.”

She stands like she’s about to bolt, but I don’t move. I watch her fidget with a stack of folded towels. She smooths the top one, then picks up a second just to realign it.

“H-how are y-y-you?” I ask.

“I’m fine.”

There it is again.

“Fine means w-worse than d-dead,” I say.

She startles. “It doesn’t.”

“It does w-when it’s you.”

She won’t meet my eyes, but I wait. Quiet and patient, as she moves to a nearby clipboard and pretends it needs immediate and intense organizing. She flips through blank pages like they’re full of secrets.

“Sadie.”

Nothing.

I rise slowly, stepping into her space. Close but not touching. Her hands falter. Her breath catches.

I lower my voice. Not angry. Not forceful.

Just sure.

“Look a-at me.”

She does.

Our eyes lock. Something in her twists and softens at once.

And then she lunges forward and seals her mouth over mine. It’s breathless, messy, desperate. Her hands fist in my hoodie, her mouth parting like she’s afraid I’ll disappear. I kiss her back for one heartbeat, two—then gently pull her wrists from behind my neck and step back.

“Sadie.”

She flinches. “Sorry. Oh my God. I’m sorry, that was stupid—”

“No.”

She tries to shrink, to retreat, but I don’t let her.

“I didn’t s-stop you b-b-because I don’t w-want it,” want you, I say. “We’re at w-work.”

She blinks.

“You o-once expressed c-c-concern about s-staying professional.”

I step into her space again, enough that she has to tip her head back to meet my eyes.

“If you w-want me,” I add, “T-take me h-h-home. I’ll make you f-forget your n-n-name. And make y-you c-come so hard you can’t w-walk straight tomorrow.”

Her breath hitches and her eyes go glassy. I can see her pulse thundering at the base of her throat. Her chest heaves as if she just did drills, not me.

“I will n-never say no t-t-to you,” I say. “But I will p-protect you. Even w-when you f-forget to protect yourself.”

Her shoulders slump a little. She looks like she might cry. Or fall into me again. Maybe both.

“I’m—”

“Y-you don’t n-need to be sorry,” I murmur. “There i-i-is never a m-moment where I don’t w-want to drink from b-b-between your thighs. But you o-once worried a-about optics. About how people s-see you. And I won’t r-risk your reputation f-f-for a kiss, no m-matter how badly I w-want it.”

She stares at me. Mouth parted. I wish I could read her thoughts.

“You really are the best man I know.”

“I’m t-trying to be.”

She takes a long breath. “Thank you. Ragnar” But she doesn’t take me up on my other offer.

I nod.

She’s trying to play it cool. Sitting beside me with her arms folded, one leg bouncing in a slow, anxious rhythm, pretending that my presence doesn’t crawl over her skin like fire.

But her eyes flick to me too often. Her jaw clenches when our knees bump.

She hasn’t said more than five words since I turned her down.

Not because I didn’t want her, but because I wanted her too much to let her cross a line. One I know she’d regret. I also know she isn’t sure she believes it.

I’m sure I triggered an old wound for her, given what I know of Christian.

Even if I’ve never given her a reason to doubt me, I can recognize history has.

It has messed me up too. I read rejection in the space she carved between us.

The same way I did when communications between me and Amma fizzled right after my parents died.

Hell, I probably have some issues surrounding their death and spending my formative years in a foreign country.

Nobody is perfect. We all have shit. Good and bad. But that doesn’t mean we don’t deserve grace.

I wait until the room goes quiet again, until even the air feels tense between us, before I lean in and ask, low and even, inches from the curve of her ear.

“A-are there c-c-cameras in here?”

Her head jerks up, startled. “What?”

“Security c-cameras. In this r-r-room.” I look up at the ceiling but don’t see any of the telltale domes.

She shakes her head, slow. “No. Just in the hall and in Greg’s office.”

I nod once. “Lock the d-door, Sadie.”

Her eyes widen. “Ragnar—”

“Please.”

Her breath hitches, but she rises and flips the lock with a small click.

When she turns around, I’m already standing.

I move to her. Not fast, but sure. I take her hand and guide her across the room to the full-length mirror. The one near the stretching mats. We use it to track our form. I have other ideas. She follows, heart hammering, eyes flicking from my face to the floor and back again.

“Look,” I say as I step up behind her. My voice drops into something rougher. Darker. Her eyes meet mine in the reflection. “Don’t l-look a-at me. Look at y-you.”

Her breath stutters. “I don’t—”

I press a kiss just behind her ear.

“Look a-at yourself, Saet stelpa mín ,” I whisper. “See w-what I s-s-see.”

Her eyes close as she sucks in a breath. I band my arm around her waist.

“Open y-your eyes, Sadie.” Look at us. Me, all shadow and heat behind her. Her, flushed and vulnerable and beautiful.

I kiss her neck. Her shoulder. Let my hands drag up the sides of her body, slow and deliberate, palms grazing her waist, then sliding higher.

She shudders when I reach her chest, cupping her gently through her shirt. I didn’t spend nearly enough time on her tits before. I don’t rush. I tease. Circling my thumbs until her head tips back against my shoulder and a soft sound escapes her lips.

She tries to close her eyes again, and I stop my hands.

“No,” I murmur. “K-keep them open.”

“I can’t—”

“You can.” My voice is firmer now. “You will.” She shudders in my arms. “You n-need to see h-how badly I want you.”

She moans, caught between pleasure and disbelief.

I kiss her temple. “Feel it, Sadie.”

I pull her hips back against the ridge of my cock, grinding her along my length. When she whimpers, I have to recite hockey stats to stop from spilling in my sweats. Her hips pick up my rhythm easily, and I slide one hand down, slow and steady, past the waistband of her leggings.

She gasps. Grips my wrist.

“If y-you want me to s-stop, you know w-what to do.” I press the words against her skin. “But I d-don’t want to. I want to show you h-how beautiful you a-are. Magical. Irresistible.” I bite into the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. “Sexy.”

Her grip loosens.

And I touch her.

She moans, trying to swallow the sound, eyes fluttering again, and I pull her back harder against me.

“Keep l-looking,” I growl. “You need to s-see w-w-what I see. What I f-feel. How y-y-you fall apart in m-my arms.”

She’s trembling now, trying to stay upright as I guide her rhythm, slow and relentless. Her reflection—God, her reflection is breathtaking. And when she breaks, crying out softly, biting down on her lip to stay quiet, I don’t stop. I turn her face to mine and swallow her moans with my mouth.

I hold her. Rock her as the aftershocks rip through her. Whisper in her ear, “I’d s-sell my soul to t-touch you.”

My hand is still in her panties. Like strokes along her entrance. Teasing the soft, wet skin.

“I-I’d give up h-hockey to touch you.”

The sound she makes is like a wild animal.

“ Vertu mín , Sadie Jones. Leyfeu mér ae elska tig tae sem eftir er aevinnar .”

You’re mine, Sadie Jones. Let me love you for the rest of my life.

She’s still trembling when I ease my hand away.

Her breath comes in shallow pants, one hand gripping my forearm like she’s anchoring herself.

I stay pressed to her back, arms wrapped around her waist. She’s flushed and warm, her cheek resting against my collarbone, and when I kiss the side of her head, she lets out the softest sound I’ve ever heard from her.

“Still w-with me?” I whisper.

She nods. Barely.

I rub slow circles into her hips. “You d-did so good, Saet stelpa . L-letting me t-t-touch you like that. Letting yourself f-feel.”

“I thought you didn’t want me,” she mumbles.

“I a-always want you.”

She swallows. “But you said—”

“I said we c-couldn’t do this a-at w-work. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I respect you too d-damn much to let anyone think I-I d-don’t.”

She nods against me, small and quiet. My hands stay gentle now, smoothing up her sides, brushing her curls off her face.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers the words so quietly I almost miss them. “I know I’m a lot. The confidence is all a facade, and you didn’t sign up for this neurotic version of me.”

It takes a concerted effort to not overtly react to her words. She won’t take that as offense on her behalf. She’ll read it as rejection, and right now I’d rather cut my throat with my skates than push her away.

“You’re n-not too much.” I murmur. “Not t-too needy. Not d-dramatic. Not a p-problem to s-solve. You’re you, Saet stelpa . And I’m lucky a-as hell t-t-to know you.”

She turns slowly, her arms wrapping around my middle. “Thank you.”

“D-don’t thank me for t-telling you the t-t-truth.”

She pulls back just enough to look at me. Her eyes are wet. But steady.

“I think… I needed that more than I realized.”

I press my forehead to hers because I know. “That’s w-why I gave i-it to you.”

She smiles, and it’s quiet. Real.

We stay like that a moment longer before I brush a kiss to her temple and say, “Better f-freshen up before s-s-someone needs an ice p-pack.”

She snorts. “You’re lucky I like you.”

I grin. “I’m b-banking on it.”