“Of course.”
“I’ll leave you to it,” Andrew said. “See you around.” He turned around and dashed to the opposite side of the party.
She nudged his elbow again, this time harder. “Why did you get so mad?”
“Didn’t you see what he wanted to do? The way he looked at you?” Theo grabbed her forearm, pulling her aside. He stared deep into her eyes. He loosened his hold on her, cursing himself for his lack of finesse. “I got jealous.”
“Yes, but why? When you first met me, I was half naked in a room filled with men. And that guy just asked me a question,” she said, managing to sound completely in control. Ah, what a joke. Her stomach had knotted when he’d admitted to being jealous.
“I don’t want him to think he could sweet talk you, Amaya. I want you all for myself.” He grabbed a strand of her hair and twirled it around his finger, curling it.
She wanted to teach him a lesson—a lesson she herself hadn’t yet learned. Yet, she found herself inching closer, her mouth within a breath of his. “You have me for a whole month.”
“Yeah, but the idea of a slimeball like Andrew trying to get his hands all over you after that month makes me want to punch him.”
Anticipation nearly clogged her throat. Little tingles formed in her clit, quickly upgrading to powerful and steady throbs. “I don’t understand. Since the beginning, this has been the agreement.”
“Fuck it.” He drew her to him, lowering his head. “One month with you is not nearly enough.”
Chapter Thirteen
Theo kissed Amaya with a red-hot intensity.
He couldn’t be honest about other things—about accidentally finding out who killed her parents. But he had to be genuine with her about his feelings. She deserved nothing less.
When he’d witnessed the spark in Andrew’s eyes, a dormant emotion awakened and he had to curl his fingers not to knock him out. He didn’t want any other man contemplating the possibility of dating Amaya. A possessiveness reminiscent of the Dark Ages washed over him. She was his and no one else’s.
He didn’t care who found out, or who saw them together.
She circled her arms around his neck, opening her lips as he plunged his tongue into her sweet mouth, exploring every spot as if they’d never kissed before. Every time he kissed her, he discovered a part of him he’d never known had been missing. She writhed against him, nipping his upper lip, her need obviously as powerful as his.
She wrenched her mouth from his, breathless. “I need you inside me. Now.”
“Come.”
He took her hand and followed the string lights leading into the endless garden. He’d been to Seth’s house enough times to know about the existence of a pool house not too far from them. He squeezed her hand a little, anticipation pounding in his heart. By the time they made it to the house with glass doors, he couldn’t hear much over the thumping of his heart.
He twisted the handle and led her inside. Because of the large clear windows and sheer curtains, turning the lights on was not an option. He lifted her and set her on the tiled countertop. His cock was hard, achy, leaking.
She growled a little, a sexy sound he’d never heard before. It increased the level of arousal, and he nudged her legs apart. Without delay, she wrapped them around his middle. She wore long, black boots that were enticing. It made him want to see her completely naked, with those sinful boots in the middle of the bed.
Not now. They had no time to get fully unclothed.
“Yes.” She touched his chest, then slid her hand below his waist.
Damn. He threw his head back for a moment, the overwhelming sensations stealing his breath in the most delicious way. She kissed him, a mere distraction while she unzipped his pants and took out his dick.
In her palm, it grew, hardening so fast a rush of blood almost buckled his knees. God. What the hell was she thinking? “Amaya, if you continue—”
She disengaged her mouth from his and tipped up her chin, staring into his eyes. Even with the dim lighting he noticed the golden glow of challenge in her pretty eyes. “I want it fast. I want it rough.”
Rough. The word brought a different agony to his chest. During the last two weeks, he’d bedded her often—multiple times a day. But never had he plunged into her without much foreplay. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.
“Then don’t.” She began to stroke him, her fingers going up and down his length. “Fuck me like you mean it.”
She positioned his rod at her entrance and clenched her legs tighter around him. For a second, he stilled, the throb of his pulse the only sound filling his mind. Fuck me like you mean it. That’s what he’d always done, but he read the subtext in her dirty talk.
This was the time—the fuck that’d set him free. Free from his past and free from any stupid arrangements he’d agreed to.
