I was acting ridiculous, like he hadn’t been here a thousand times before.
He’d replaced the light bulb on the light not inches from him.
Theo Hound had been in my room more than anyone. As a best friend. As an enemy. And each time, he was the only person guarding my door. Now… as a lover? The thought seized my throat.
What would he think? I wouldn’t be good enough. I never was. Not for Mom or Grandpa
, not for the world, definitely not for him. I didn’t have practice in this. I should’ve practiced. Why didn’t I practice? Maybe he would be fine with just oral.
I could do oral.
I was so busy weighing the pros and cons of presenting my just-oral-for-life idea that I didn’t notice he’d left my nightstand and come before me.
“Hey.” Theo pushed my hair behind my ear, and I nearly jumped at the contact. He laughed, but it was soft and low. “You’re so transparent.”
I looked away, mumbling, “Only to you.”
“Good,” he practically growled. The way he spoke, as much as the meaning behind the words, curled my gut.
He grasped my chin, lifting my eyes to his. I leaned on my tiptoes, angling for his lips, wetting my own. His burning, pale eyes dropped to them and his breath warmed my mouth. I could practically taste him.
“Show me your art,” he said against my lips.
I tried to ignore the flutter of him calling my found jewelry art. Garbage, junk, those were words I’d expect… but art? Only in my dreams. I didn’t bother questioning how he knew I still made jewelry. That was Theo; he always saw into me. What I did wonder was why the fucking fuck now? I was still on my tiptoes angling to kiss him, and I could feel him against my hip—hard.
I blinked, bringing the hazy room back into view.
“Now?” I asked.
A slow grin curved his right lip, melting my insides like butter, and then he nodded. He released my chin, and I walked in a trance to grab the box where I kept my secrets and jewelry.
“I think that’s the first time you’ve listened to me,” he said to my back.
“Don’t get used to it.”
After grabbing my jewelry box, I turned around. Theo was in the process of tearing off his wine-stained hoodie. I nearly dropped the porcelain box to the floor. As if in slow motion, he revealed his body to me.
Theo had always been muscular.
But oh my God.
I tilted my head, pushing my tongue into the muscle of my cheek. He slowly revealed the ridges of his cut eight pack, his tapered waist leading my eyes to his sculpted Adonis belt, which disappeared beneath jeans slung low on his hips. I licked my lips, too easily imagining where those toned vee muscles led.
“A guy could get addicted to the way you look at him.”
I quickly busied myself with my box.
Theo laughed. “Is Abigail Crowne shy?”
My cheeks heated, and I lifted the box to cover it. “I’m not shy.”
I’m petrified.
But Theo doesn’t get to know that.
I kept fiddling, pretending like it took more than one second to open a fucking box. Art, that’s what I was focused on. Not Theo’s abs.
Rigid. Cut. Hot.