Our fingers brush as he hands it over, and for a moment, he just does that thing again—the staring.
I chuckle. “Turn around,” I say.
Theo’s face reddens, and he clears his throat, instantly spinning around. “Yeah, sorry.”
I’m glad he’s not facing me any longer because my composure is slowly slipping. I take a deep breath, letting the towel drop to the floor and then slip the shirt over my head. My arms snake through the sleeves, the fabric pooling over my torso and thighs, and I move to pull my head through—only for something to snag on my hair, pulling painfully.
“Ow,” I mutter. I can’t see, but I hear Theo turning.
“What …?” he starts.
“My hair’s caught on one of the buttons,” I say, trying to free myself.
“Here.” Theo’s voice is calm and low and warm. And then I feel him steadying my shoulders, his fingers working through my hair. And then I’m free, the shirt sliding over my head.
He pushes the hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear, almost absentmindedly, as if it’s the most natural thing in theworld. And, for not the first time this week, we find ourselves inches apart, so, so close.
His hands are still on either side of my face, and his jaw is doing that thing again, clenching and unclenching, his blue eyes searching mine.
“What are you looking at?” I breathe, hoping to break the tension, but it only seems to add to it.
“You,” he says simply.
I force out a laugh. “There are better things to look at.”
He cocks his head like he disagrees. “Not for someone like me.”
Someone like him? What’s that supposed to mean? “Have youseenyourself?” I blurt out before thinking.
Surprise and then amusement skate across his features.
“I mean …” I stammer, my gaze flitting to his bare chest right in front of me, muscles taut and still a bit damp from the shower. Fuck, I want to touch them. I want to touchhim. “Look at … you.” The last word is a whisper, and then my gaze is back on his.
Theo swallows, looks physically pained, and then it’s as if something inside of him snaps—and he kisses me.
This is not the kiss at the courthouse, short and sweet. This is not the kiss at the bar, slow and languid. No, this kiss is hard and hot and all-consuming. His hands tangle in my hair, pulling me closer as his body presses against mine, walking us backward until my hips hit something—the countertop by the sink.
My hands travel over his abs, his chest, under his arms, and up his back. I want him closer, harder, faster. All of him all over me.
I want him, I want him, I want him.
One of his hands leaves my hair to slip under the hem of his shirt that I’m wearing, his palm dragging up my thigh, over my hip, to the dip of my waist, squeezing. He moves back down tothe hem of my panties, right on my hip bone, taking a handful in his fist and simply holding it tight.
Suddenly, Theo pulls back with a ragged breath, resting his forehead against mine. My chest heaves, my mind delirious as I search his eyes. Eyes that are searching mine right back—filled with shock and need and hesitancy.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice rumbling through me. I can feel his fingers against the flesh of my hip, fisting my panties tighter, tight enough that it almost hurts.
“Don’t fucking stop,” I say, no—Ibeg.
Eyes still on mine, he relaxes his grip, swiping his fingers under the waistband of my underwear, dipping lower and lower, until his fingers slide across my slit.
My mouth parts, and then I gasp as he slides one finger inside of me. Theo watches my face intently, as if it’s the most important thing he’s ever seen. “What do you like?” he breathes. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Touch you, finger you, lick you. Fuck, I’ll get on my hands and knees and beg, Cora, if that’s what you want from me.” His blue eyes are sharp, intense in a way I’ve never seen from him before.
A short cry of pleasure leaves my lips as he inserts a second finger, slowly curling it upward. Stars dance before my eyes, and I reach for him, my hands on his shoulders to steady myself. I slowly slide my hands down his chest, taking him in, meeting his gaze again. “I wantyou,” I say.
Something streaks across his face akin to physical pain, and for a moment, I’m worried I’ve misread everything, that somehow Theo doesn’t want this to be happening at all. But then he mutters, “I don’t have a condom with me.”
I’m shaking my head before he’s even finished his sentence. “I have an IUD, remember?” I say.
