Every nerve ending in my body lights up at once. I can feel my heartbeat everywhere, in my throat, my wrists, the pit of my stomach. His eyes don’t leave mine, and I know exactly what he’s saying. Exactly what this means.
I nod.
We get out of the car and the cold air hits my face, but I barely feel it. I walk toward my building on autopilot, keys already in my hand, and he’s right behind me. Close. Not touching, but I can feel him there like heat at my back, like something inevitable closing in.
I climb the stairs to the second floor, reaching the top slightly breathless, and unlock my apartment. My hands are steady, which surprises me, because the rest of me is shaking. The door swings open and I walk inside and turn around.
He steps in, stopping in my doorway, tall and broad, his shoulders nearly filling the frame, the dim hallway light behind him throwing his face into shadow.
For a moment neither of us moves. The air between us feels thick, charged, like the pressure before a thunderstorm. I can hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears, and between my legs.
Then he steps forward and the door clicks shut behind him. The sound is so final, so certain, that my breath catches in my throat. There’s no going back now. Whatever invisible line we’ve been dancing around for weeks, we just crossed it.
He unzips his coat slowly, shrugging it off without breaking eye contact. His gaze pins me in place, dark and intent, and I think he has me under some kind of spell because I couldn’t tear my eyes from his even if I wanted to. Which I absolutely do not.Every movement is deliberate, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world, like he already knows exactly how this ends.
Then he’s walking toward me and I forget how to breathe. His hands find the paper bag still clutched against my chest and he takes it from me gently, setting it aside without looking away from my face. So close now I can feel the heat radiating off him, so close I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
I’ve imagined this moment so many times over the past few weeks, but nothing I conjured up comes close to the reality of him standing in my apartment, looking at me like I’m something he’s been desperate to touch.
His hand comes up and cups my jaw, his palm warm against my skin, and my whole body responds to that single point of contact. A shiver running down my spine. My breath catching. My heart pounding.
That thumb traces my lower lip, barely there, testing. My lips part on instinct and his eyes darken, tracking the movement.
“Fuck, Emma.” His voice is rough around the edges. “Tell me to leave and I will.”
I shake my head. I couldn’t form words right now if my life depended on it.
“Good.” His hand slides from my jaw into my hair.
The bobby pin comes free and my hair tumbles down around my shoulders in a way that probably looks messy rather than sexy, but the way he’s looking at me makes me feel like it doesn’t matter. Like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“I’m not doing this lightly,” he says, low and serious, his fingers still threaded through my hair. “I need you to know that. I’ve been fighting this for weeks, trying to convince myself it was the right thing to do. But I’m done fighting it.” His grip tightens slightly, tilting my head back. “You’re not a one-night thing to me, Emma. So if that’s not what you want, say it now. Because once I get my hands on you, you’re mine. I’m going to take my time, and I’m not planning on stopping.”
Oh my fucking god.Every coherent thought I’ve ever had just evaporated. I’m pretty sure my knees just stopped working. I open my mouth to say something—anything—but all that comes out is a shaky breath. I swallow hard, trying to get my brain back online. “I want that,” I whisper. “I’ve been going crazy thinking about you. Please, just?—“
His mouth crashes into mine, swallowing the rest of whatever I was going to say. The kiss is bruising and hungry and desperate, weeks of tension snapping like a wire pulled too tight.
His hands are everywhere, fisting in my hair, gripping my hip hard, sliding under my sweater to find bare skin, and I’m grabbing fistfuls of his flannel just to stay upright because my legs have officially given out. He’s holding me up. Consuming me. Kissing me like he can’t get close enough, like he’s been dying for this just as badly as I have.
And all I can think isfinally, finally, finally.
“Theo—“ I gasp against his lips.
He moans and hoists me up easily, his hands gripping my ass, and my legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. The new position presses his cock right against my center and even through layers of fabric I can feel how hard he is, how big, and I whimper into his mouth.
The bed appears beneath me and he lowers me onto the mattress, but he doesn’t follow me down. Instead he stands there at the edge, chest heaving, eyes roaming over me like he’s memorizing every detail. Like he’s been imagining this exact moment and now he gets to have it.
His hands find my thighs, palms hot through the thin fabric of my pajama pants, and he trails them upward slowly. So slowly. Pushing my sweatshirt up to expose my stomach, his thumbs tracing circles on my hip bones. I shiver under his touch, arching into him, my body answering questions my mouth can’t even form.
“When you called me to fix that fucking cabinet,” he says, hisvoice low, “all I could think about was all the different ways I wanted to fuck you on this bed.”
I bite my lip but a moan escapes anyway.
“You like that?” He leans down, his mouth brushing my hip bone. “You like hearing that I fantasized about you?” His fingers hook into the waistband of my pajama pants and he yanks them off, tossing them somewhere behind him. Then his hands find my underwear—not theSimone Pérèle, unfortunately, just my stupid, boring cotton underwear—and he drags it down slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.
I squirm beneath him, exposed and desperate and so turned on I can barely think. “Yes,” I hiss. “Yes, I like that a lot.” Something sparks in my chest, my bolder self clawing her way back to the surface. He can have me, absolutely, but I’m going to make him work for it. “Did you touch yourself thinking about me?”
He grins like sin incarnate, eyes dark with wicked promise. “You have no fucking idea how much I’ve come to the thought of your hot pussy, or your lips wrapped around my cock.”
