I began to stroke him with deliberate slowness, savoring the weight of him in my hand. Each upward pull revealed the glistening head before my downward stroke buried it again in my fist. His precome provided natural lubrication, making my movements smooth and fluid.
“C'est ça,” I murmured, watching his reactions intently. “Let go for me.”
Theo's breathing grew more ragged with each stroke, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Those eyes fluttered closed, then opened again to meet mine, dark with desire. The vulnerability in his gaze was intoxicating, raw and honest in a way I rarely encountered.
I quickened my pace, tightening my grip, learning what pleased him by the hitches in his breath and the tremors that ran through his body. My free hand moved to cup his face, thumb tracing the outline of his lower lip.
It wasn't long before a strangled cry escaped his throat as his release spilled over my hand and onto his stomach. I continued to stroke him through his climax, gentling my touch as the pulses subsided.
In that moment, with Theo shuddering in my arms, his face buried against my shoulder, I felt something shift within me. This wasn't just physical release. It was connection, something I'd denied myself for too long.
I held him close as his breathing steadied, his warm weight against me strangely comforting. For the first time in years, the constant noise in my head, the endless litany of duties and expectations, fell silent, replaced by a profound sense of peace.
“Stay there,” I said, moving to the bathroom to retrieve a warm, damp cloth.
When I returned, he hadn't moved, his body still splayed across the rumpled sheets, a picture of sated contentment. I cleaned him with careful, gentle strokes.
“You don't have to do that,” he murmured, though he made no move to stop me.
“I want to,” I replied simply, continuing my ministrations. It felt right, this act of care after the intensity we'd experienced together. Necessary, even.
Once I'd finished, I disposed of the cloth and returned to the bed, stretching out beside him. To my surprise and pleasure, he rested against my chest, settling himself in my arms. The silence between us was comfortable, filled only by the sound of our breathing and the distant hum of the air conditioning.
After a while, Theo's eyelids began to droop. I watched as he fought against sleep, his blinks becoming longer, his breathing deepening. “Rest,” I told him, pulling the sheet up to cover us both. “You're safe here.”
He mumbled something incoherent, already half-asleep, with my arm draped protectively over his waist.
The position felt natural, comforting in a way I hadn't expected. His body fit against mine perfectly, his breathing slowing to the deep, even rhythm of sleep. I inhaled the scent of his hair, feeling a strange peace settle over me. In this unguarded moment, he looked younger, almost vulnerable—and I found myself wanting to protect rather than possess him.
How strange that in a place designed for physical gratification, it was this simple act of sleeping beside another human being that felt most transgressive, most intimate. In Avaline, even my lovers never spent the night, a rule born of discretion and emotional distance.Yet here I was, finding unexpected solace in the steady rhythm of a stranger's breathing.
My gaze caught on a faint line marking his shoulder, a scar I hadn't noticed earlier in the heat of passion. Without thinking, I traced it with my fingertip, following its jagged path across his skin.
Theo stirred at my touch, his eyelids fluttering open.
“Skateboarding accident when I was twelve,” he murmured sleepily. “Casey dared me to jump a ramp.”
I smiled, charmed by this glimpse into his life before The Ranch, before me. “I fell off a horse at fourteen trying to impress my father,” I confessed, the memory surfacing unbidden. “He didn't visit me in the infirmary.”
The words hung between us, heavier than I'd intended. I hadn't spoken of that incident in years, that crushing disappointment as I'd watched the door, waiting for a visit that never came.
“That's fucked up,” Theo said, his American directness cutting through decades of carefully rationalized pain.
I bit back a surprising urge to laugh at his blunt assessment, so different from the careful platitudes I was accustomed to receiving. Theo reached for my hand, his fingers sliding between mine. The gesture was small but deliberate, offering comfort without pity.
“Stay,” I said, the word escaping before I could analyze it. “Just... stay.”
“Okay,” he whispered, settling against me, his body relaxing into trust.
For the first time since arriving at The Ranch, perhaps for the first time in years, I felt truly present, my mind not racing with thoughts of responsibility and obligation. No calculating diplomatic advantages, no considering political ramifications, no weighing how my actions might reflect on the monarchy.
I traced the line of his shoulder with my fingertip, marveling at how this simple human connection had momentarily freed me from my gilded cage. The irony wasn't lost on me. I had come here seeking physical release but had stumbled upon something far more dangerous: emotional awakening.
Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, its own complications. But for now, in this room, with this man, I allowed myself to simply be.
Chapter 8
Theo
