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We remove the rest of our clothes slowly. Like this time matters. Because it does. It’s not just sex. It’s not just lust and adrenaline and chemistry catching fire in her basement bedroom. This time it’s a conscious choice. Coming back. Starting over. Choosing each other for real.

When I kiss down her stomach, her thighs, she’s already trembling.

“Let me taste you,” I murmur, and she lets out a broken sound, nodding.

I bury my face between her legs like I’ve been dreaming of it—because I have.

And then I gorge on her cunt like a man starved.

No gentle presses or licks. I’m face-deep, moaning as I grind my hips into the mattress.

She’s sweet on my tongue. A tang unique to Sadie.

I could die here, in the space between her thighs, and have no regrets.

She gasps and arches, fingers gripping my hair, and I take my time. Lick into her. Suck her clit. Moan against her like I’m starving.

“You t-taste like h-h-heaven,” I say, voice thick.

She comes twice on my tongue, crying out my name, and I don’t stop until her legs go shaky around my shoulders. My ears are ringing from the way she squeezed them between her thighs as she broke. If this is how I’m meant to go, then I’m ready.

When I kiss my way back up her stomach, she’s flushed and glassy-eyed.

“I want to ride you,” she whispers, and I nod so fast I probably look stupid. “Taste you too.”

My brain short-circuits. White spots dance in front of my vision and fokk I’m not breathing. Was I ready to die before? Not now. This moment feels like a prophecy fulfilled.

She climbs into my lap again, takes me in hand. She pumps my length with her fist, squeezing from base to tip, and I nearly spill over her knuckles.

“I-if you put your m-m-mouth on me, I will c-come.”

She presses her mouth to mine.

“Rain check?” She breathes the words over my tongue and as I nod my agreement, she sinks slowly down onto my cock.

“ Fokk ,” I grit out, trying not to buck up into her. At this angle, it’s a slow fit. Tight and hot and I’m concerned this won’t work. There’s no room, but I’ve never given up that easily.

“That’s it.” I grit the words out between clenched teeth. “Good girl.”

Her moan is guttural, but there’s a rush of warmth between her legs and the next thing I know she’s bottomed out and I’m seated all the way in, pubic bone to pubic bone. She moves slowly, grinding down, circling her hips in figure eights as I try not to come like a teenager losing his virginity.

My eyes are glued to the spot between us, watching my cock disappear into the glistening pink of her cunt. I freeze.

“Fokk, Sadie.” My grip on her hips is punishing. “C-condom.”

She rocks against me once, twice, whimpering, but I hold firm. I want to fuck her bare. I want to press her down into my sheets and rut against her until her scent is branded down into the coil of my mattress. But I won’t. Not without her okay. Not without a guarantee she’s safe.

“Please.” She wiggles again, then goes still. “If you need one, grab one. But we’re good Ragnar.”

I don’t move for long moments, staring at the wet sheen on my cock. Wet from her. I swallow hard.

“Good?”

She nods. “I know you’re clean. I’ve seen your records, remember?

I got my test results back yesterday.” I lose focus and she sinks another inch down my length, her pussy clutching at me.

I press my mouth to her shoulder and groan into her skin.

Test results. She got tested? For me? Again I lose focus and again she presses down.

She leans forward, pressing her mouth to my ear. “You can come inside me,” she rocks her hips, slow, torturous. I’m shaking under her. “I’m have the implant.”

She draws one of my hands up to the underside of her bicep. Under the skin there is something hard, about an inch long. Birth control.

“Y-you’re sure?” My resolve is crumbling, melting away like a handful of snow thrown into the ocean.

She holds my eyes as she nods, and my control splinters. I slam her pussy down hard, bottoming out as she starts to come. Waiting her out is like heaven and hell thrown into a blender. Pleasure and pain, my hips jerking with the need to follow her over.

When she’s finally done, slumped over my chest as she pants against my collarbone, I press open-mouthed kisses to every inch of skin I can reach.

“You’re so beautiful,” I press the words to the hollow behind her ear.

“So fucking smart.” The curve of her shoulder.

“Brave.” The lift her tit, sucking her nipple into my mouth.

Her hips buck. “I love you, Sadie Jones.” I press those last words to the spot above her heart.

Then I lose myself in her body. In her love. In her.

She splinters again, shaking in my arms, and this time I follow her over the edge. Pouring myself into her with a curse and her name. Pressing promises to the hollow of her throat.

She crumples against me, panting, and I hold her close, wrapping us both in the blanket as I lay us both down on the pillows. We’re tangled up in the sheets, limbs heavy and skin sticky with sweat, but I’ve never felt cleaner in my life.

She’s curled against my chest, her fingers drawing lazy circles on my stomach. I kiss the crown of her head and let my eyes close, just for a second.

Then her voice, quiet: “What did you say?”

I open my eyes. “Hmm?”

“Before. When you were…” she flushes. “You said something in Icelandic, again.”

I blink down at her. “I did?”

She nods. “You didn’t realize?”

I shake my head slowly.

She shifts, props herself on one elbow to look at me. “What did you say?”

I study her. The way she’s watching me—not scared. Just open.

Last time this happened, I told her to be sure. To be ready for my answer before she asked again.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

She nods. “I think so.” Then she shakes her head.

I reach up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I said… ég elska having tú lítur út tegar tú bráenar fyrir mig.”

She blinks. “That’s… very lyrical. Should I be worried?”

I smile. “It means: I love the way you look when you melt for me.”

Her breath hitches.

I trail my knuckles down her cheek. “And the first time? That night at your parents’ house?”

She nods.

I take a breath. “I said, ‘I’m in l-love with you, Sadie Jones. I’m s-s-sorry if that m-makes you uncomfortable, b-but I’m not sorry for f-f-falling. I never will be.’”

She stares at me, but says nothing at first. Then she lowers herself slowly back down onto my chest and whispers, “Okay.”

“O-o-okay?”

“I don’t know what I’m ready to say yet. But I’m not scared of what you feel.”

That’s enough.

That’s everything.

I kiss her hair and hold her tighter.

“Do y-you want to s-stay?” I murmur.

She hums. “Only if we get to have more sex.”

I laugh, full-bodied and real.

“And cuddles,” she adds.

“Deal.”

“And I get to snoop in your drawers.”

I reach over, open the bedside table, and gesture with all the solemnity of a knight offering a sword.

She bursts out laughing and flips through the drawer like it holds state secrets. “Why do you have three flashlights?”

“Y-you n-n-never know.”

Later, I make her hot cocoa the way Amma used to—semisweet chocolate melted on the stove, a little sea salt, milk, butter.

She texts her mom to say she’s safe.

The reply is simple:

Mom

I’m glad. I love you. Get some rest.

She smiles as she reads it.

And I know whatever comes tomorrow, right now she’s happy.