Chapter 18 Theo
THEO
Istare at the ceiling, shadows dancing across the textured paint as the city lights filter through my half-drawn curtains.
Sleep isn’t coming tonight—not that it ever really does.
My mind races with melodies and beats that need arranging, club logistics that need solving, and increasingly, thoughts of Victor.
Victor with his giant hands. Victor with his growl that vibrates through my chest. Victor, who thinks he can compartmentalize what’s happening between us.
I turn onto my side, the sheets sliding cool against my bare skin. The music from my speaker shifts to something low and throbbing, a track I’ve been working on for Eclipse—all bass and suggestion. It matches the rhythm of blood pulsing through me as I replay our last encounter.
The way he looked when he came. The shock in his eyes when he realized what his body was capable of.
The fierce reclaiming that followed. I’m painfully hard at the memory, and I slip my hand beneath the sheets, palming myself through my briefs.
I wonder if he’s sleeping. I wonder if he thinks about me in the dark too.
I reach for my phone, checking the time—2:17 AM. Too late for most people. Not for club owners. Not for Victor, who I’ve seen posting about early morning training sessions.
I open our message thread, his last text from yesterday morning still unanswered. I tap the voice message icon, bringing the phone close to my lips.
“Hey,” I whisper, my hand working slowly over my cock now.
“I can’t sleep. Keep thinking about how you felt inside me.
” I pause, letting my breathing deepen just enough to be noticeable.
“About how you looked when I touched you. The sounds you made.” I squeeze myself harder, my voice catching slightly.
“I’m hard just remembering it. Wish you were here to do something about it. ”
I send the message without hesitation, toss my phone aside, and close my eyes. The music washes over me as I imagine Victor listening, his body responding just like mine is now.
My phone buzzes against the mattress forty seconds later. I don’t pick it up immediately. Make myself wait. Ten seconds. Twenty.
I turn it over.
Victor:
What the fuck is wrong with you.
I smile at the ceiling. Type:
Nothing. Go back to sleep.
A pause. Longer than it should be if Victor was simply disgusted and dismissing it. The three dots appear, disappear, then reappear. My smile widens. I’ve got him.
I wasn’t asleep.
Interesting. Very interesting. The admission feels like a small victory—Victor Kaine, awake at nearly half past two, just like me. Thinking about me, maybe? The possibilities send a pleasant shiver down my spine.
Want to video call?
I type, my thumb hovering over the send button for just a moment before I commit.
I expect hesitation, maybe even refusal. Victor’s still so caught up in who he thinks he’s supposed to be—what he’s allowed to want. But the response comes faster than I anticipated.
Yes.
One word. So simple, yet loaded with everything we’ve been circling around since that first night at Julian’s. My cock throbs against my palm at the thought of seeing his face, of letting him see what he does to me.
I reach over and switch on my bedside lamp, casting the room in a warm, amber glow that highlights the curves of my body against the sheets. I position the phone above me, angling it to capture my face and chest, the shadowy suggestion of what lies below.
My dick is already aching as I hit the video call button, something quickening in my chest at the anticipation of Victor’s face filling my screen.
The call connects, and Victor’s face fills my screen.
My breath catches in my throat as I take him in—the hard line of his jaw tense with desire, eyes dark and hungry.
The camera angle shifts slightly, and I realize he’s already naked, his thick cock standing proud against his stomach, one large hand wrapped around the base.
“Fuck,” I whisper, heat flooding through me at the sight.
“Can’t fucking sleep,” Victor growls, his voice rough with frustration. He strokes himself once, twice, his eyes never leaving mine through the screen. “Been thinking about you all night. Show me your ass, Theo. Now.”
The command in his voice sends shivers straight down my spine. This is new—Victor initiating, Victor desperate enough to video call me in the middle of the night with his dick already in his hand.
“You miss me, Daddy?” I ask, keeping my tone light even as desire pounds through me. I roll onto my stomach, propping the phone against my pillow so he can still see my face.
“Don’t play games,” Victor says, but there’s a hitch in his breathing that betrays him. “Just show me what’s mine.”
Mine. The possessiveness in his voice makes my cock throb painfully against the mattress. I rise to my knees, slowly turning so the camera captures the curve of my ass. I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my briefs, dragging them down with deliberate slowness.
“Like this?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder to watch his reaction.
Victor’s hand moves faster over his cock. “Spread yourself open for me.”
I reach back with both hands, doing as he commands, exposing myself completely to his gaze. The vulnerability of it, combined with the raw hunger on his face, makes me moan softly.
“That’s it,” Victor breathes. “That’s what’s kept me up all night.”
I turn back onto my back, positioning the phone so Victor can see my full body. My cock stands hard against my stomach, aching for release.
“Let me see you too,” I breathe, wrapping my fingers around my length.
Victor adjusts his camera, revealing more of his powerful body. The contrast between us is stark—his broad chest tapering to narrow hips, muscles defined under taut skin. He grips himself firmly, matching my rhythm.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growls. “So pretty for me.”
The praise washes over me like warm water. I arch my back slightly, putting on a show as I stroke myself. Victor’s breathing becomes heavier, his hand moving faster.
“I’m close,” I whisper, feeling the tension building at the base of my spine.
Victor nods, his jaw clenching. “Come with me, wildfire. Now.”
His command pushes me over the edge. I cry out softly as I spill over my fist, watching through half-lidded eyes as Victor follows, tensing as he comes across his stomach with a deep groan.
For a moment, we just breathe together, the intensity fading into something quieter. Victor’s face softens in a way I’ve never seen before, vulnerability replacing the usual hardness in his eyes.
“Why can’t you sleep?” he asks unexpectedly, his voice gentler than I’ve ever heard it.
The question catches me off guard. I wipe myself clean with tissues from my nightstand, buying time.
“Just... thoughts,” I say finally, unable to admit how much he’s been occupying my mind. I’ve never been good at sleeping, even as a kid.
Victor watches me through the screen, and I feel strangely exposed despite what we’ve just done.
“You?” I ask, turning the question back to him.
Victor holds my gaze for a long moment before answering. “You,” he says simply. “I can’t sleep because of you.”
The admission hangs between us, honest in a way our encounters haven’t been. My pulse shifts, and I find myself saying words I hadn’t planned.
“Maybe we should try sleeping together. Actually sleeping, I mean.”
Victor laughs, the sound rumbling through the phone. It’s different from his usual controlled chuckle—freer, more genuine. I find myself smiling in response, something warm unfurling in my chest.
“It might help,” he says, his voice still rough from our activities. “Having your body against mine all night.” His eyes darken again, that predatory look returning. “But I couldn’t promise I wouldn’t get hard every time I woke up and need to fuck your ass.”
Heat floods through me at his words. Coming from anyone else, it might sound crude. From Victor—with his intensity, his raw honesty—it’s devastatingly sexy.
“That doesn’t sound like a problem to me,” I reply, voice dropping to match his tone. “Sounds like a benefit.”
The corner of Victor’s mouth twitches upward. In the soft light of his bedroom, with his defenses lowered by pleasure and late-night honesty, he looks different. Less guarded. Almost tender.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he says quietly, the admission seeming to surprise even him. His fingers trail absently across his chest, and I find myself tracking the movement, wishing they were my fingers instead.
I swallow hard, suddenly feeling like we’re stepping into territory neither of us planned for. Territory beyond the physical dance we’ve been engaged in.