Old habits.
Theo pulled his hoodie off in one smooth motion, then his shirt. I stood there staring at the bruises spreading across his ribs—purple and yellow and angry.
My fault. He'd taken that hit for me.
"Don't." He caught my wrist when I reached toward the damage. "I'm fine."
"You're hurt."
"I'm fine," he repeated, firmer. Then he tugged my shirt up and over my head, tossing it aside. His hands mapped my chest, my shoulders, my stomach. "You're beautiful."
No one had ever called me that. Hot, maybe. Intense. Built. But never beautiful.
I kissed him again because I didn't know what else to do with the feeling rising in my chest. I wanted to learn his body. The tattoo on his hip. The scar on his shoulder. The way he shivered when I kissed behind his ear.
He was all golden skin and lean muscle and those bright eyes watching me like I was worth looking at.
"You're so good at this," I said without thinking. My voice came out low, almost reverent. "So good for me."
Theo made a sound—half gasp, half moan—and arched into my touch. His reaction was immediate. Visceral.
He liked being told, liked being praised.
"Yeah?" I tested it, lips against his collarbone. "You like that? Being good for me?"
"Luca..." My name broke apart in his mouth. "Tell me what you want."
He reached for my belt, fingers steady despite the heat in his eyes. The clink of metal made my breath catch.
"Wait."
I covered his hand with mine, stilling his movements. Not stopping him because I didn't want him, but stopping him because I wanted him too much.
"Theo." His name came out rough. "I need... I need to go slow."
His eyes met mine, pupils blown wide. He didn't pull away, but his hand stilled completely. "Okay. We can stop. We don't have to—"
"Not stop," I corrected, my thumb brushing the pulse point at his wrist. "Just... not yet."
Theo searched my face, his expression softening into something devastatingly tender. "Okay."
We climbed onto the bed. I didn't pull the covers back; we just lay on top of the grey sheets, half-dressed and tangled together. I was hyper-aware of every point of contact—his bare chest against my arm, his knee knocking against my thigh, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
It was terrifying. Sex was a distraction. This—lying here with nothing to do but exist in the same space—was raw.
I ran my hand down his arm, watching goosebumps rise in my wake. "Is this okay?"
"Yeah." Theo shifted, burying his face in the crook of my neck. He let out a long, shaky breath. "More than okay."
I held him. I memorized the weight of him beside me, the smell of him, the fact that for the first time in years I wasn't alone in this apartment.
"You're good," I whispered against his hair, needing him to know it. "You're doing so good, Theo."
He shivered against me, pressing closer, trusting me with his rest.
Later, the city lights filtering through the blinds, cast stripes across us. I traced them on his skin with one finger, sleep heavy on my own eyelids.
"This stays between us," I murmured, the old fear creeping back in even as my body relaxed. "No one can know."
