Theo’s kisses were everywhere at once. My neck, my chin, my lips. Biting, bruising lips that disappeared to my neck and came back to my mouth, robbing me of breaths and sighs.
“Theo.” I tried to get his attention, but I could barely breathe through his kisses. He lifted both my hands, trapping them beneath one of his own. Loose plaster bit my back from where he’d punched the wall. In all my years with Theo, I’d never seen him lose control. Never. It was terrifying.
I didn’t fear for myself. I feared for him.
“Theo,” I tried again as he slid his hand up my thighs, inside the slit of my gown.
Lips, teeth, skin.
The room blurred, and I arched my back.
“Theo!” I yelled, as much to stop him as myself.
Theo froze, then slowly lifted his head from my neck. My heart broke. His lips were red from kissing me, his hair wild from how much he’d tangled it in his hands. His eyes were raw. An exposed nerve.
I wiggled my wrists in his hold, wanting to caress his cheek and soothe him. He tightened his grip.
“You have to let me handle it,” I said. “Whatever happens, you can’t do anything to Ned. You can’t go to my mom. You can’t.” My voice was soft, looking at him with round eyes. Pleading. “Promise me, Theo.”
He ground his jaw. “I’m not playing this game—”
“It’s not a fucking game. Promise me.”
Theo exhaled through his nostrils. I waited. I wasn’t going to give in. I wasn’t going to let Theo throw his life away for me.
“I promise,” he said, spitting out the words like bitter coffee.
Before I could say another word, he slammed his lips against mine. The kiss was different—Theo was different. Rushed. Pressured. Intense. More. Like he was trying to use me up. All of me. It was exhilarating and scary.
He ripped apart sateen buttons holding my gown together, shoving it down until I was in a puddle of green satin and black lace. I took off his jacket in the same breath he unbuttoned his shirt, then his pants.
His large hands tangled in my hair, controlling my head so soft lips were on my neck, biting, bruising. He walked me back to the bed, hot skin flush against mine. His thick, muscled arms wrapped around me, holding me close.
I don’t know why this feels like an ending.
He fished a condom out of his pants pocket, and I put it on him this time. He was hot and hard beneath my hand, and he watched me do it, a hunger in his eyes that made my hands shake. When I finished, I trailed my fingers up the sculpted ridges of his eight pack, sliding up his pecs, around his neck.
Theo pressed my collarbone, pushing me back to the bed with gentle force. Against the satin bedspread, I crawled on my elbows as he climbed on top of me. His lips found me almost as soon as they left me. Theo was looming, predatory, and ravenous.
Then he was there—so agonizingly close to sliding inside me.
I want to feel Theo without the barrier. I’ve never considered it before, but now it’s all I want.
“Theo,” I breathed his name like a prayer.
He pulled back so our foreheads were pressed, lips are a feather’s distance from mine. Tenderness warmed his eyes, but some other grim emotion distorted it, made it raw and aching.
“I love you, Abigail.”
It was so quiet, I thought maybe I’d misheard.
I hope I did.
He can’t love me. He can’t.
“Through your lies and your emotional garbage, I love you—”
“You can’t,” I blurted.