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It stalled whatever momentum he’d built. And he’d stood there in the shower, debating if he should say something—anything—when she returned, but the words didn’t come. Because if he was wrong, if he misread even a fraction of it, he’d lose the only thing that mattered to him: having her around at all.
So he’d done the responsible thing.
Which, in his case, meant lying awake for an hour holding her while she slept, thinking about her mouth, about the unfair odds of their size difference—if he’d even fit, if he’d hurt her—and getting half hard for even considering any of it at all.
And then, this morning, while making the bed, he found it. Nestled right beneath her pillow.
A vibrator.
For a full minute, he just stared at it, thoughts cycling between awe, arousal, and the irrational urge to find her immediately. Punish her for putting him through this absolute misery.
Then the realization punched him square in the face: she’s just as wrecked over this as he is.
The knowledge unravels something in him. Because now he knows. She wants him too. And there’s no pretending otherwise.
23
POINT OF CONVERGENCE
LILA
The path back to the house feels longer than it should, probably because I’m losing my fucking mind, equal parts anxious and excited to get there.
I reach the front steps before I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
Once I get to our bedroom door, I stand outside it for a long moment with my hand hovering over the knob.
It’s taken too long to get here.
And I’m not holding back anymore.
When I finally open the door, Theo’s in the corner chair, one leg stretched out, the other bent, elbow propped lazily on the armrest. His shirt is half-untucked, sleeves rolled, his tie still looped around his neck, but hanging loosely.
The bed’s been made, every corner neat, every fold crisp. Except for one thing.
My vibrator sits dead center.
A statement.
A challenge.
A dare.
Theo doesn’t move when I step inside. He just watches, the quiet between us winding something tight.
My pulse kicks hard enough that I feel in my throat.
His gaze tracks me as I cross the room. “You really have no idea what you do to me, do you?” I feel it low in my stomach before I register the words.
He huffs out a humorless laugh.
I move before I can think better of it—slow, calculated steps until I’m standing between his knees.
“You’re one to talk,” I say.
I place one knee on the chair, then the other, straddling him before I can talk myself out of it. My fingers find his hair, gently at first, then tighter, threading through the soft strands until he tips his head back just slightly, eyes locked on mine.
I want to tell him everything, how far gone I am, how none of this feels like anything I have ever experienced before, but I can’t. Because he kisses me.
