Page 60 of Sadistic

"I'll take that risk."

I pay the tab—overtipping as always, because money is nothing compared to discretion—and follow her to the elevator.

Every step feels like crossing a bridge that's already burning behind us.

There's no going back from this, no pretending it didn't happen.

She presses the button for the penthouse without asking which floor.

The ride up is charged with heat between us.

She hasn't let go of my hand, and I can feel her pulse racing where our wrists touch.

The elevator seems to take forever, each floor marking another step toward something irreversible.

"Still sure?" I ask as we near the top.

"Stop asking." She turns to face me fully. "I'm not some fragile flower you're corrupting. I'm making a choice. Respect it."

The elevator opens directly into my suite—one of the perks of penthouse living.

She steps out without hesitation, taking in the space.

It's exactly what she'd expect—minimalist, expensive, panoramic views of the city spread out like an offering.

The furniture is all clean lines and dark colors, no personal touches except for a few pieces of art that cost more than most people's houses.

It's a space designed to impress and intimidate, not to live in.

She walks to the windows, taking in the view. The city sprawls below us, lights twinkling like earthbound stars. From up here, everything looks small, manageable. It's an illusion, but a comforting one.

"This is how you see the world," she says. "From above. Controlling."

"Usually." I move behind her, not touching but close enough to feel her warmth. "Not tonight."

She turns in the space between my body and the glass. "Why not tonight?"

"Because tonight you're choosing."

"Then I choose this." She reaches up, fingers threading through my hair, and pulls me down to her.

Five years of waiting pours into the kiss.

Every moment of watching, wanting, imagining—none of it prepared me for the reality of her mouth on mine.

She tastes like whiskey and possibility, like everything I've denied myself in the name of patience.

Her body presses against mine, soft where I'm hard, yielding where I'm rigid, and I have to fight not to just take what I've wanted for so long.

When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.

Her pupils are blown wide, lips swollen from the kiss.

"You’re sure this isn’t because of Njal?" I have to ask. "Revenge?"

"Yes." Her hands are already working at my tie, surprisingly deft for someone who's been drinking. "This is because I'mchoosing this, because I want to know who you are when you're not watching from a distance."

Clothes come off with purpose, not frenzy.