Theo slid his thumb from his lip, biting the tip. Jaw flexed and eyes hard, like he was memorizing every small movement. I can’t help but imagine his teeth on me, biting into my flesh. Marking me.
Before I even realized I was about to come, his lip curved. Then I felt it, the pulse, the ache, the throb growing and spreading deeper.
I can’t take my eyes off him. He’s spurring me further and further. I want to beg him. For what, I don’t know. I’m captive, held taut on this throbbing thread by his half smile, his bitten thumb.
Then he lowered his head, just a half nod, a quirked brow.
Go ahead.
His name was on my lips again as I come completely undone.
Theo hadn’t said a word as we came downstairs for breakfast, and I was grateful he had to walk behind me. I couldn’t look him in the eye.
What was I thinking?
Breakfast was painfully overdone, as always. Even more so, because Mrs. Harlington was now staying with us in anticipation of my impending marriage to her son.
Her presence was like seeing the executioner at the gallows.
We had every type of breakfast food available. Fluffy eggs, colorful fruit, sweet and syrupy scones and crepes all laid out on a table stretching the thousand square foot dining room. Morning light streamed in through windows like diamonds.
All the personal guards were seated at the table today, probably because Mom had noticed the Harlingtons sat with theirs, which meant Theo would sit next to me too. We’d barely taken our seats when my mother’s sickly sweet voice stopped me in my tracks.
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” she asked. “That I wouldn’t know?”
“I—” I stumbled over my words. “I didn’t… we didn’t…” How could she know? How could she possibly know?
“What does this look like?” Mom continued.
“Um… a cherry?” a servant’s weak voice answered.
Conversations went quiet, all eyes traveling to where she spoke with a servant who’d gone sheet white. I practically sank into my chair. Of course she didn’t know.
I’d nearly given myself away.
I refused to look at Theo. I could feel his stare trying to force me, so I smoothed a napkin over my camel-colored leather skirt.
My mother laughed. “Yes dear, a braindead woman could see that. What does it look like?”
The girl trembled.
Opposite my mother, Gray leaned back, arms overhead, a smile growing.
“Does it look round to you?” My mom trailed manicured nails down her neck, waiting for the maid’s response.
“Um… no?”
“Are you asking me?”
“No?”
“Are you asking me that too?”
My mom’s face was pinched in the way she got when dealing with help. It’s not like I’m asking them to solve world hunger, she’d say.
“Do you want to start your day off with an ugly piece of fruit?”
The girl shook her head furiously. “No.”