The bathroom door is ajar. She must’ve forgotten I was here. Or maybe she never bothers fully closing the door, habit of living alone. Did she mean to leave it open…?
I drift forward before I think better of it, pulled by heat and awe and the ghost of her shampoo.
Theo stands with her back to me, wearing nothing but a black lace bra and a matching scrap of fabric that clings to the curve of her magnificent arse. It’s round, high, and soft in a way that blows every thought clean out my skull. My hands itch with the urge to grab. I want to kneel, to press my mouth there, and earn the right to stay. I don’t know how I’m supposed to move, speak, exist, with that view in front of me. It takes everything I have to wrench my eyes up and will my dick down. I only succeed with number one.
Goddammit. I should back out and apologise. I should do anything except stand here, staring at her like I’ve been booted out of heaven and someone left the door cracked open to tempt me back in.
She catches my reflection in the mirror. ‘Fuck, Finn! I told you to bloody knock.’ Her voice is edged with embarrassment, but it falters at the end. Too breathy to pass for anger.
‘Sorry.’ The word comes out rough. I take a step back, finally, guilt chasing down my spine.
She bites her bottom lip and presses her thighs together, just slightly, as if she’s trying to shut the moment down from the inside out. Her cheeks reach a new level of beetroot, but it’s her eyes that catch me. Dark, deep, and wide. She’s breathing harder now, nipples tight against the lace. There’s no hiding it. It’s need. And now she doesn’t have time to conceal it.
‘Get out,’ she says, but there’s no force behind it.
‘Say it like you mean it, and I will.’
‘Finn, I…’
‘Do you want me to leave?’ I make a step forward.
‘N-no.’
We’re close enough now that I see the pulse fluttering in her throat.
‘The dress.’ She nods to a navy blue hanger on the back of the door. ‘I need help to get dressed.’
I reach for it, the fabric is smooth under my fingers. Hips, curves, everything about her is screaming for me. How she moves, how her body begs to be touched, and I’m fucking dying to. She steps into the dress, her back still to me. I hold it open, and my fingers brush against the skin of her waist as she slides her arms through.
‘Zip up, please,’ she whispers.
I gather her hair and place it over one shoulder. The nape of her neck is exposed, goosebumps rising on her skin. My fingers find the small metal tab at the base of her spine. I draw it upward, watching the dress close over her back, inch by inch. Her inhale stalls the second my knuckles graze her spine. I take my time. The zip stops just below her shoulder blades. I let my hand linger there, feeling the heat of her skin, the raised hair.
I lean forward until my mouth is next to her ear. ‘There.’
Her shivers ripple under my palm. It’s making me lose my mind.
‘Thank you,’ she says softly, but she doesn’t move away.
Neither do I. We stand suspended in this moment, my fingertips coasting across the bare stretch of her upper back. I could turn her around, kiss her, pin her against the sink, and hike that dress up her thighs…
The buzzer shatters the silence.
She jumps as if electrocuted, and steps away from me. ‘They’re early.’
‘They’re bastards,’ I correct, my throat tight around it.
Theo smooths her hands down the front of her dress, a gesture of composure-gathering, straightens her shoulders, and lifts her chin. I watch her transformation with awe and frustration as professional Theodora slots back into place.
‘Ready?’ she asks.
No. I’m not fucking ready. I’m the furthest thing from ready. I’m hard and aching and desperate to peel that dress right back off her soft, inviting, stunning body. To bury myself in her.
But I make myself nod. ‘Let’s give them a show.’
She steps past me. ‘That’s what we’re good at, isn’t it?’
The question hangs in the air, loaded with more meaning than either of us is ready to unpack.
