His mouth is warm against the chill, slightly chapped, tasting of toothpaste. I flatten my hand on his chest, and our hearts are beating with each other. One pulse, one need. A single, breathing entity, hiding from the ghosts in the dark.
He finds the back of my neck with one hand, and settles the other down to the small of my back, pulling me closer until there’s no space, no question, no way out. His stubble scrapes against my jaw, and static sparks under my skin. His hand tightens slightly at the base of my skull, as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear. I hold on to his shoulders. He’s the only stable thing in a world that’s going sideways.
God, yes.
His mouth catches mine, tongue teasing at the seam as if he’s asking. I part for him, and the kiss breaks open – electric, all-consuming, blisteringly intense. His lips soften, coaxing mine wider until his tongue meets mine in a stroke that I feel in my toes.
No, in my fucking soul.
He tilts his head to find that perfect angle. A slow sweep, tasting every part of me he’s allowed. His hands stay where they are, but his delicious thighs tense against mine. His whole body has gone still. He’s holding himself in place, refusing to chase more than I give him.
He learns the shape of me, I learn the depth of him. And I want it. The real him.
He licks into my mouth with purpose now, deeper, pulling me with him. My tongue meets his in a slow drag, and it’s sweet and overwhelming and everything. We don’t battle, we fuse.
He makes a hoarse sound, and the pressure of his body against mine surges – more urgent now, as if he’s losing the fight to stay gentle. I bury my fingers in his hair to bring him closer, closer, closer and he groans. So low and guttural that it hits me right in the chest and sinks lower. Lower and deeper and?—
We break apart just enough to breathe. Our foreheads touch. I don’t open my eyes. I can’t. His exhale is hot and trembling against my chin.
Another kiss. Then two more. There’s no start or end now. Only this moment and this impossible, beautiful truth of us being safe together in the dark. He slides his tongue in as deep as I let him and it’s still not enough.
His breath melts into mine when he draws back far enough to look at me. There’s a blaze in his eyes, but there’s something else, too.
‘I’m not done kissing you,’ he says. ‘That was the first. The first of many.’
A beat drops hard beneath my breastbone. There’s a pulse between my legs that won’t stop, and the damp lace clinging to me is a quiet confession my mouth hasn’t made yet. But it’s his promise that unravels me.
This was always going to happen, and I’m only catching up.
He leans in again, lips ghosting over my jaw, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. Each contact is a slow drag of possession.
‘I need you to understand something, Theo. If you’re not ready to end up on my cock tonight – tomorrow, whenever – then you need to leave now. Because I am this close to snapping. And if I fuck you, it’s not going to be once. You won’t walk straight. You won’t think straight. And I won’t be sorry.’
A moan catches at the back of my throat.
His gaze dips between us, and his mouth curves. ‘Your nipples,’ he trails his fingers down the outside of my arm, ‘are clearly on board. Fully invested. You? Not so sure. I want you to be ready, Theo. Make a pro and con list if you have to and let me know. Cause I’m game.’
I should say something. Anything. But I’m too far gone. There’s a hot, slick ache at the centre of me that throbs in time with his words, and I want to climb him. I want to argue, I want to laugh. But mostly, I want to feel him inside me.
He presses a kiss to my temple. Tender and at odds with everything else.
‘Thank you for being here tonight,’ he says. ‘You didn’t have to be. But you are. I’m not going to forget it.’
That alone undoes me more than anything else. This is the blood-red danger zone, and I’m in the centre of it.
What am I doing?
‘Okay, yeah. No problem. Night then.’ I wriggle out from under the duvet, fleeing the crime scene.
Every inch of me is lit and fevered, bursting with unsaid yesses. The hallway spins. Or maybe that’s just me, walking on legs made of custard. I stagger to the bedroom, shove the door shut behind me, and press my back to it like I’m barricading something in. Or out. Who knows.
I’m soaked – not cute-wet, disgracefully-wet – and aching in places I can’t soothe.
I fling myself into bed and yank the duvet up to my chin, trying to remember how to breathe like someone who hasn’t just been kissed half mad and is about to combust from unsolicited, inappropriate horniness. My mouth’s still wet from his, my chin is sore. Every part of me feels too full and nowhere near satisfied.
A few minutes with my trusted Rabbit, and I’ll sleep like a baby.
I reach for the drawer and pause.
