The fireworks were gone now, the sky quiet and heavy with smoke. The only sound was the soft crunch of earth beneath our feet, and the rhythmic thump of my heart relearning how to beat beside him.
Theo’s house loomed ahead—a towering, cold thing of glass and steel, all sharp lines and money. It didn’t suit him. Not really.
But inside, past the perfect furniture and lifeless art, we were met by Winston, his cat, perched on the armrest of the gray couch like a tiny tyrant surveying his kingdom. He meowed once—disdainful, judgmental—before hopping down and winding around our legs.
Theo smiled and disappeared into the kitchen, returning with two glasses of water and something stronger tucked into his elbow.
“Come on,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Let’s clean up.”
He led me upstairs to his room—too pristine, too unlived-in—and into the bathroom, where the warm light felt almost intimate in its quiet glow. He undressed me slowly like I was a prize, dropping kisses on every bit of skin he revealed.
White marble covered every surface, the soft gray marbling the only pop of color beside the chrome fixtures. My eyes dropped to his ass as he leaned into a glass cubicle big enough to fit four and started the shower.
Damp hands cupped my face, and he placed a lingering kiss on my lips. “Thank you.”
“For what?” I asked, wrapping my arms around his neck, sighing when I was draped over him. Skin to skin.
“For coming home with me.”
Five words that left me dumbfounded. It was such a simple sentence, but it meant so much more than I could put into words. Theo read me like a book, and instead of pushing for an answer, took my hand and led me into the shower.
The moment we stepped in the cubicle, the mood shifted again. Everything slowed. The raging fire that had consumed us was now a glowing ember of warmth.
Water poured over us, hot and soothing. Theo reached for the soap, lathering his hands and running them over my shoulders, down my chest, careful with every bruise and scrape. My fingers mirrored his, gliding over skin, not just washing but touching—remembering. Reassuring.
It wasn’t sexual. It was something else entirely. Devotion in its purest form. It was something I’d never felt before, and it made the backs of my eyes burn. His tenderness undid me.
He tilted his head forward as I washed his hair, eyes closed, lips parted. Vulnerable in a way I don’t think he’d ever shown anyone before. I held on to that. Carefully. Gently. Locked it away in my heart.
Theo spun me around, the hot water cascading down over my head. He tipped my chin back with one finger, gentle but commanding. My eyes fluttered closed as his hands sank into my hair, fingers threading through the tangles like he was trying to unravel something deeper. He worked shampoo into my scalp, massaging it with a kind of reverence that made my chest ache.
He pressed a soft kiss to the bridge of my nose. A simple thing. A devastating thing.
I smiled. A real one. Not the kind I wore like armor.
Water sluiced down my spine as the suds washed away. I slipped my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek to the crook of his neck, his slick skin sliding against mine in a way that felt too intimate, too necessary.
“Thank you, baby,” I murmured, my voice breaking against his skin.
His arms came around me. Tight. Grounding.
“What for?” he asked, his voice soft, but his eyes told a different story—troubled, searching, afraid of the answer.
“For taking care of me,” I croaked, the words falling from my lips like something jagged. “No one’s ever done that before… not like you just did.”
He stared at me, something flickering behind his gaze—pain or rage or helpless love, I couldn’t tell. But he didn’t press, didn’t make me repeat it or explain. He just took my hand and led me out of the shower like I was something fragile and holy.
“Come on.”
We dried off in silence, letting the space between us speak louder than words. Bodies brushing, towels exchanged, fingerstrailing down damp skin. Every touch was a question. Every smile, an answer.
When we finally crawled into his bed—our skin still warm from the shower, hair damp on the pillows—I curled against him like I belonged there. My hand found his chest, fingers splayed over his heart.
It was still racing.
So was mine.
His fingers found mine beneath the covers, weaving together in a rhythm that was becoming too familiar, too needed.
