“That’s my girl,” he says with a grin, and this time he presses his lips to mine. My mind is still whirling with questions, what ifs, scenarios that don’t make sense, but kissing Theo somehow pushes them from my brain—at least for a moment. So I lean in. Heat pools in my belly, and I grab the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, climbing into his lap.
A sound of deep satisfaction rumbles up his throat as he kisses me deeper, scooping me closer so that my legs wrap around him before pressing me down onto the couch. A sigh escapes me as he breaks our kiss to press his lips to the base of my neck. I reach for the hem of his t-shirt, but he grabs my hand and pins it above me.
“Always in such a hurry,” he admonishes. “Just lay here and let mehaveyou.”
Arousal spikes low in my belly, and I find myself arching into him instinctively. He nibbles at the base of my neck, then travels lower, grabbing my t-shirt and expertly lifting it over my head and tossing it aside. I’m not wearing the cutest of bras—in fact, none of my bras are thatcute. More like functional. But the look in Theo’s eyes whenever he undresses me would have you believe I’m decked out in the most scandalous of lingerie to exist.
His hands skim up my bare stomach, over the thin fabric of my bralette, his thumbs slowing to rub deliberate circles over my nipples. I moan softly, arching my back. He gently squeezes a nipple through the fabric, and I whimper.
“Fuck,” he breathes, leaning down to press an open-mouthed kiss to the skin right above where my bra ends, “I love this.”
I don’t know if it’s what Theo’s doing to me right now, the feel of his hard body pressed against mine, or the tension of the day, but I’m coiled so tightly I feel I might burst. And I’m not about to let Theo drag his feet here.
I reach for his sweatpants, pushing them down—his underwear too, grasping his cock between us. He lets out a ragged breath, now licking the exposed skin of my upper breast. He reaches for my shorts, pulling them and my panties down in one quick swipe. He sits up just long enough to disentangle them from my legs before tossing them away.
“So impatient, darling,” he says, taking one of my legs and pressing soft kisses to my inner calf, knee, thigh.
I moan in frustration.
“But I’ll give my wife what she needs.” I feel him at my entrance, and then he’s sliding inside of me—so perfect it’s like we were made for each other. We moan in tandem, and I grip Theo’s shoulders, pulling him back down onto me.
“God, Cora, you feel good,” he grunts.
“So do you,” I whine, bucking my hips against him, begging for more.
And he gives it to me, thrusting a bit faster, harder. “So good,” he repeats. “So perfect.”
I’m moaning in time with his thrusts, my gaze finding his, and suddenly I’m lost in those blue eyes again. Those blue eyes that are so utterly and perfectlyTheo. Theo, my best friend. Theo, who’ve I’ve known for years. Theo, the one I can turn to no matter what. Theo, my husband.
“I love you.” The words seem to come from thin air, and it takes me a second to realize who said them. But his eyes say it all. “I love you, Cora,” he repeats.
“I …”love you too.But suddenly the words are sucked back down my throat, back into the depths of my soul, and all I can think about are the only two people I’ve truly loved before him.
Mom and Dad.
And how much it fucking hurt to let them go.
“I …” I stammer again. “You—can’t …”
Theo stills, his eyes sharp, panic surging across his face.
“Youwhat?” I breathe.
He takes in a shuddering breath. “I said I loved you,” he admits.
“Do you?” I’m suddenly hyperaware of where we are right now. Half naked, pressed together on the couch, bodies still tangled—it should be as intimate as we could possibly be, and yet it’s not.
“I …” He swallows, his eyes never leaving mine. “… do.”
My chest feels tight, like I can’t breathe. Can’t move, can’t think. Theo must sense it, because he’s off of me in a flash, handing me my clothes and pulling his back up. I try to say something—anything—as I put my shorts and shirt back on, but it’s like my throat is stopped up.
“I’m sorry,” Theo says. “I didn’t mean to scare you—I didn’t even mean to say it; it just came out.”
I’m nodding, hating the regret in his voice, the fear—hating that he feels this way—but unable to stop it.
Suddenly his hand is holding mine. “What’s scaring you right now?” he asks.
Dad promising to visit at Christmas, send me a birthday present, show up at my graduation, walk me down the aisle at my wedding—and deciding to disappear. Mom withering away in front of my eyes when she was the only person I could ever count on.
