17. Theo
Chapter 17
Theo
T he hesitant shadow in the doorway doesn't escape my notice. Cohen stands there, a silent sentinel wrestling with an internal storm I know all too well. Desire and doubt clash in his eyes, and I understand how he feels.
But he doesn’t get my attention. Not right now. Not when this goddess, the woman of my fucking dreams, is naked and wanting.
I rise from my knees and turn to face her. Her skin is velvet under my touch. I savor the warm silkiness that begs for more than just a caress. My fingers trace the curves of her ass, the firm globes fitting perfectly in my palms. She’s a living sculpture. A perfect beauty. Mine, even if she wants to deny that right now.
My lips find their destination at the base of her spine, pressing a kiss against her skin. There's reverence in that touch, an unspoken apology for the scars we left on each other’s hearts.
Please, baby. Please don’t let our pasts dictate our future. Because, you are and have always been my future.
I hear Cohen's breath catch, the sound barely louder than a whisper over Skylar's steady breathing. He knows what this is, what it could mean. We've navigated these waters before, but never like this, never with so much at stake.
Skylar isn’t just another nameless one-night adventure. She’s everything. I am never walking away from this girl. And, I think Cohen knows that. She’s perfect for me. But I think she’s perfect for him too. And for Austin. If only they would get their heads out of their asses.
Skylar's body reacts to my touch, a subtle arching into my hands that betrays her control. Her hazel eyes remain fixed ahead, but I feel her awareness flicker back to Cohen, to me, to the space between us.
"Skylar," I murmur against her skin, the word more than just a name—it's an invocation, a hope, a risk.
I chance a glance back toward the doorway. Cohen's eyes flicker with something unreadable, a wariness that has him rooted to the threshold. His hesitation hangs thick in the air, and I feel it—a challenge, a question. My fingers trail up Skylar's spine as I watch him.
"Come on, Cohen," I say, my voice low and steady, "are you watching or are you joining us?" The words are an offering, a nudge for him to step out of the shadows and into this with us.
At this suggestion, I can sense the thrill that courses through Skylar. Our gazes lock in silent conversation, hazel to green. I know she wants this. And, whatever my girl wants, she gets.
I wrap my arm around her waist, the heat of her flesh searing against my skin. With a fluid motion, I lift her effortlessly, aligning her body with mine until her back melds into my chest. Then, I twist, spinning until I’m sitting on the edge of the mattress and she’s straddling me in reverse.
She whimpers as I tease the head of my cock against her dripping pussy. Heat radiates between us, a silent language of desire that only Skylar and I seem to speak fluently. The pads of my fingers trace the curve of her waist, feeling her shiver at my touch. I guide her down, the slow descent an exquisite torture as she envelops me inch by agonizing inch. My eyes flutter shut, surrendering to the sensation as her tightness wraps around me like a promise.
"God, Skylark," I breathe out, barely recognizing my own voice, strained with need. "You feel incredible. I told you— uhng —told you I couldn’t wait to be inside you again."
Fingers splayed across her belly, I anchor her to me, while my other hand finds the delicate column of her throat. Her pulse jumps under my touch, a wild beat echoing my own heart's erratic thumping.
"Stay with me, beautiful," I whisper, urging her to meet my gaze in the reflection of the mirror opposite us. There's something powerful in watching ourselves come together, in witnessing the raw intensity that has always existed between us.
I wish she could see it, feel it. She’s trying so hard to keep me at arm’s length. And, I don’t blame her, not really. She doesn’t trust that I’ll stay. But I’ve already lost her once and I’m not about to walk away a second time.
I start moving beneath her, each thrust measured and deliberate. This isn't about chasing a quick release; it's about relearning every gasp, every moan that spills from Skylar's lips. It's about claiming and being claimed in return. It’s about tempting Cohen until that tight coil of restraint snaps.
The air is thick with our mingled breaths, and I'm lost in the rhythm of her hips rolling against mine. She whines as I pin her hips in place.
"Faster, Theo."
My palm connects with the tender nub of her clit. Skylar's cry fills the room, high and needy, and I have to cover her mouth with my hand to keep her from waking up the others.
"Patience," I murmur, though it's more a reminder to myself than to her. I want to memorize this moment, the way she looks right now—flushed, fierce, and utterly mine.
"God, you're incredible," I say, low and fervent. It's the truth—how she feels wrapped around me, her intoxicating scent making my head swim with longing. Love coils tight in my chest, an emotion too big to voice just yet. She’s not ready. Not yet. But, soon.
I risk a glance at the doorway, where Cohen still lingers. His hand betrays him, moving subtly against the bulge in his pants. Our eyes lock, a silent conversation passing between us— come on, dude, just give in .
"Are you watching or participating?" I ask again. For a heartbeat, there's hesitation—a flicker of something haunted in his eyes before the hunger wins out.
Cohen takes a hesitant step forward and I can’t stop the smile that takes over my face. Cohen’s hesitation hangs heavy in the air, a battle waging behind his stormy gaze. But then—just a breath, a heartbeat—he takes another step forward. It’s small, but it’s enough. Enough to send a thrill of satisfaction curling through me.
Skylar doesn’t notice yet. She’s too lost in the moment, her body soft and pliant beneath my hands. I press a lingering kiss to her shoulder, savoring the way she shivers against me. She’s close—close to giving in, close to realizing that this doesn’t have to be a fight. That I’m not going to leave her again. That this time it isn’t just about me—it's about us.
Cohen exhales sharply, and when I look up, his jaw is clenched tight, his fists curling and uncurling at his sides. He’s still holding back, still pretending this isn’t unraveling him.
I watch as he breaks. He closes the distance between us in two strides, dropping to his knees between our spread thighs. Reverence and raw need are painted across the rugged lines of his face.
He breathes in the scent of her arousal, gripping Skylar’s thighs possessively. Cohen's gaze is fixed on where I'm buried deep inside her, his eyes darkened with lust.
"Look at that thirsty little pussy," Cohen growls, his voice low and guttural, laced with a hunger that mirrors my own. The words are crude but intimate, a stark contrast to the usually composed man he shows to the world. In this moment, there's no hiding behind pretenses or polite facades. We are raw, primal beings, driven by need and the magnetic pull Skylar exerts on us.
“You going to let him fill you until you’re dripping with his release?"
Then, without warning, Cohen leans forward, his storm-blue eyes never leaving her pussy. His lips find her clit, and he sucks hard, pulling a gasp from between Skylar's parted lips. The sensation ripples through her, a shockwave that tightens her around me, squeezing so hard she nearly strangles my dick.
The sound that escapes me is part animal, part man—a grunt of pure, undiluted ecstasy. My fingers dig into Skylar's hip, tighten on her throat, anchoring her to me as Cohen devours her with his lips. Each movement of his mouth sends her grinding down harder onto me. Fuck, it’s so good.
Skylar's lost in the sensation, in the push and pull of flesh, and I'm swept along with her. My mind empties of everything but the feel of her, the taste of her skin under my lips, the sound of her pleasure mixing with ours.
I can't hold back anymore, not with Skylar's hips rolling and grinding down onto me in a desperate rhythm, not with Cohen's mouth latched onto her with an intensity that rivals my own craving. I start pounding into her from below, each thrust desperate and claiming.
Skylar's sounds are like music, high-pitched notes of ecstasy that rise above the low, guttural growls escaping my throat. And there's Cohen, unrelenting, his tongue working magic as it flicks and sucks at her clit, occasionally brushing against me. The sensation should be jarring, but there's no room for anything but pure, undiluted pleasure.
Cohen's movements become more frantic, he pulls one hand from her thigh, shoving his pajama pants down and gripping his cock. He begins to stroke himself at a frenzied pace, his eyes locked on Skylar's face, watching as she nears her peak.
I can feel my own pleasure nearing its peak, my balls tightening in anticipation of release. I know she's close. We're close.
"Such a good girl," I whisper against the smooth skin of Skylar's throat, my lips trailing fiery kisses along her pulse point. "Taking me so well." My words are both praise and plea, coaxing her toward release. "Come for us, Skylar."
The sensation is undeniable—a vice-like grip that threatens to unravel me completely as Skylar's body clenches around my own. Heat floods every vein, the pressure building to an unbearable crescendo until I'm spilling into her, a pulse of pleasure that feels fucking amazing.
"Fuck, Sky," I gasp, the words torn from my throat, raw and honest. The world narrows down to this single point of connection—the place where our bodies join.
Cohen gives Skylar's clit a final, lingering lick, a gesture that sends another shockwave through her—and by proxy, through me. He rises to his feet in one fluid motion and surrenders to his own climax, coming all over Skylar's flushed skin.
It's filthy. It's dirty. And it's beautiful in its rawness.
Breathing hard, I watch Cohen, seeing the echoes of my own lust etched across his features. In the aftermath, as breaths come in jagged pulls and heartbeats start to slow, I know I’m so fucked.
I love Skylar. God, how I love her. How I’ve never stopped. It's a ferocious thing that lingers in the marrow of my bones, an emotion that refuses to be tamed or quieted.
I wonder if she understands just how much I crave not just her body, but her soul, her very being.
I want this to work. I want us to find harmony in the chaos, to navigate the treacherous waters of jealousy and possession and come out on the other side stronger for it. I want them to stop being so stupid and just accept what I already know.
She. Is. Ours.
I allow myself to envision a future where we are not fragments but a whole. It's a dangerous dream, perhaps a foolish one. But it's mine, and I can’t help but cling to it with everything I have.