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The feeling of it has me dropping my thighs open even wider. My feet press hard into the mattress, toes curling for leverage as the sheets bunch under my heels.

I fuck myself with the vibrator, not bothering to turn it on. The wet sound of it is obscene, and I can tell that Theo is struggling, which only spurs me on.

My breathing is erratic, my entire body flushed with heat.

I take Theo’s free hand with mine, and bring it to my clit. He doesn’t object. Maybe too far gone in this to hold the control he wants.

“Help me fuck myself, Theo.”

He doesn’t say a fucking word as we work in tandem, just rubs my clit exactly the way I would. Perfectly, without me having to guide him at all.

My head falls back against his shoulder, my mouth dropping open to release an unsteady breath.

“Fuck, Theo.” The sound of his name escapes like an involuntary reflex—pressure, release, relief. “I’m gonna come.”

I whimper as he rubs my clit. It’s torturous, the way he never changes pace. Just draws it out while I chase, chase, chase.

I come all over his hand, my body shuddering as I clench around the vibrator I’m still holding inside myself.

Theo readjusts us so that I’m nearly in the fetal position on his lap, still falling down the other side of my orgasm and barely cognizant of the way he’s kneading my ass as I suck in ragged breaths.

He lifts his hand and brings it down twice—quick, sharp smacks that pull a yelp from my throat—before he eases the sting with the rough press of his palm, fingers going back to kneading where he struck. “I think you needed a reminder that I’m the one calling the shots right now.”

He fists a hand in my hair, pulling until my head tips back and my spine arches, forcing my eyes to meet his. “Be good and let me have a taste.”

For a solid ten seconds, I don’t understand.

Then his hand folds over mine, guiding the vibrator up to his mouth, and the air leaves my lungs when I finally do.

It’s slick and glossy with my arousal. He licks it from bottom to top, sucking the end into his mouth and twirling his tongue around the tip. He groans as he does it, obviously enjoying the taste, and I’ve never seen anything so obscene and beautiful in my entire fucking life.

His mouth moves over mine, unhurried. His lips give, soft and pliant, the taste of me coating every inch of them. “You taste better than I ever let myself imagine. And trust me—I imagined it a-fucking-lot. Now I want it straight from the source.”

24

TRANSFER EVIDENCE

LILA

He keeps me in his lap, one arm still firm around my waist, the other tracing the line of my thigh as if he’s noting every reaction I have, storing it somewhere he won’t forget. “You like being tied up,” he says finally.

It’s not a question, just a silent acknowledgment that leaves no room for denial. His fingers grip the loosened tie. “I’d like it too, I think.” He slips it free, eyes never leaving mine. “Something about the idea of having you completely at my mercy,” he lets the silk run through his fingers, “mine to do whatever I want with. It’s something I have wanted in a way that almost feels instinctive. Inevitable.”

He shifts beneath me, guiding me back against the pillows. The tie hangs from his hand, a dark line against his skin, and I can’t take my eyes off it.

“Hands up,” he says. It’s a quiet demand.

My body obeys, willing and eager, wrists settling against the headboard. The silk slides around them in even passes, his fingers tracing each loop as he goes. He doesn’t pull it tight, just enough for me to feel the promise of restraint.

When he’s done, he studies his work with that same focused intent he uses everywhere else, except his voice has dropped even lower, the edge of a smile hiding in it. “Apologies for the improvisation,” he says, running his thumb along the knot. “I don’t have ropes. Yet.”

Yet. That promise in that single word is everything.

He leans in, close enough for his breath to whisper against the shell of my ear. “I’ll get some. Learn to do it right.” His mouth curves against my jaw. “Because there will be a next time, Lila. I’m already sure of it.”

I don’t know what he’s planning, but the anticipation is already its own kind of ache.

“Eyes closed,” he says.