I was a fucking island.
Untouchable. Cold. Alone.
Just the way I liked it. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.
Truth was, I didn’t even know why I was still here. Why I kept waking up in this town, breathing this air, pretending the open road wasn’t calling me with every beat of my restless heart.
I could go anywhere. Disappear. Leave no forwarding address. Live life on my terms for once. But I had to play it smart. Save enough. Keep my head down. Then I could get the fuck out of here before I turned into someone else’s ghost.
The crash of dishes and the roar of the lunch crowd snapped everything back into focus like a rubber band to the skull. I turned toward the kitchen—a hand wrapped around my arm, yanking me sideways.
I was pulled into the cleaning closet with a jarring thud, the door slamming shut behind me. The scent of bleach and lemon cleaner curled around me like smoke. My spine hit the shelves. A mop handle clattered to the ground.
It was barely big enough to stand, let alone move. But I didn’t need space. I neededhim. I needed a break from caring. A moment to lose myself in something so goddamn intense it hurt.
Theo had me pinned in an instant, chest heaving, eyes wide and stormy. His hands slammed against the shelves on either side of my head, caging me in like he couldn’t trust himself not to grab me too hard.
“I shouldn’t,” he rasped, his voice low, ragged, already closing the gap to mouth at my throat like he’d been starving.
I felt my pulse jackhammer under his lips. Soft, sinful,desperate. “Then don’t,” I said, defiant even as I trembled. “Walk out.”
He didn’t.
Of course, he didn’t.
Instead, hedroppedto his knees like gravity had finally won. And whatever war he was fighting inside had collapsed under its own weight.
His fingers worked at my belt, clumsy, frantic. His breath hitched as he dragged my pants and briefs down in one rough movement. Then he was on me. His mouth closed around me withneed. Like he’d forgotten how to live without this.
Withoutme.
I choked on my own gasp, one hand flying to the shelf behind me, the other fisting his hair. I bit down on the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood; to keep from crying out. But it was no use.
He wasdevouringme.
Desperation in every drag of his tongue, every wet, obscene sound that echoed in that tight, too-bright space. The closet felt like it was spinning, tilting, heat climbing the walls like vines.
My hips jerked forward, my cock nudging the back of his throat. His hands gripped my thighs harder. The kind of grip that saiddon’t move. The kind of grip that saidI need this more than you know.
I looked down and saw him—cheeks flushed, lashes fluttering, lips red and slick, his jaw working like he couldn’t stop even if I told him to.
He looked like he was in pain. It looked likeworship. I felt like something holy and blasphemous all at once.
My voice came out rough, wrecked. “Still think this means nothing?”
He didn’t answer. Just pulled off me with a gasp and kissed the inside of my thigh, open-mouthed, lips trembling. A string of spit still connected us, obscene and shining in the light.
I reached down, thumbed his swollen bottom lip. “Say it,” I whispered. “Say this doesn’t matter.”
His eyes met mine, glassy and wild. He didn’t answer me with words, instead he surged up and kissed me. Not rough. Not frantic. But slow. Deep.Breaking.Like maybe if he kissed me softly enough, it wouldn’t hurt. But it did. God, it did.
His kiss turned rough again. Desperate. Like he wanted to crawl inside me and hide from himself. Like if he kept touching me, it would drown out the guilt screaming in the back of his throat.
He spun me, chest flush to my back, one hand wrapping around my throat—not squeezing, justthere, grounding me, like a tether. The other snaked around and gripped me tight, stroking with practiced precision. His mouth pressed to the back of my neck, breath hot, words trembling.
“I hate how much I want this.”
I didn’t answer. I Couldn’t. Because I wanted it, too. This was our dirty secret.
