Chapter 29 Theo
THEO
Tonight, it’s just me, my equipment, and the track that’s been haunting me for weeks.
My fingers dance over the controls, adjusting levels as I listen to the bass line for the hundredth time. Still not right. I add a subtle reverb, then pull it back again. Getting closer.
My phone vibrates against the mixing desk. Victor’s name lights up the screen, and I feel that same catch in my chest I get every time, no matter how long we’ve been doing this.
“Hey,” I answer, turning down the monitor speakers.
“Can I come over?” His voice sounds tight, controlled.
I glance at the time display on my equipment. “Now? It’s 10 PM on a Wednesday.”
“Yeah.” Just one word, but I can hear something beneath it.
I hesitate. The track isn’t finished, but I know I won’t focus with Victor here anyway. “Sure.”
I lower the volume on my equipment and lean back in my chair.
It’s been a month since my birthday, a month since Victor bottomed for the first time.
A month of watching him discover this new side of himself—sometimes hesitant, sometimes hungry for it.
Our dynamic has shifted in unexpected ways.
He’s still the domineering presence I met at Purgatory, but there’s a vulnerability now, a willingness to surrender that makes my chest tight when I think about it.
“You working on something?” Victor asks through the phone.
“Just that track I told you about.” I run my fingers through my hair, glancing at the incomplete mix. “It’s not coming together.”
“I could distract you for a while.”
I smile despite myself. “You’re good at that.”
We’ve fallen into a rhythm this past month—three or four nights a week, sometimes at my place, sometimes at his.
He’s gotten comfortable enough to keep a toothbrush here.
I’ve claimed a drawer at his apartment. The sex is still explosive, but now there’s this.
.. comfort between us. Dangerous territory.
“I’ll be there in twenty,” he says.
“I’ll be here.”
After I hang up, I stare at the phone for a moment.
The elephant in the room grows larger every day.
We eat together, sleep together, fuck each other senseless, talk about our dreams—but only behind closed doors.
To the world, we’re barely acquaintances.
Victor’s fight club remains his sanctuary where I’m not welcome, and the rest of his life stays similarly cordoned off.
I swivel back to my equipment, saving the track before shutting everything down.
Four weeks since my birthday, and we’re still dancing around the question of what happens next.
How long before this arrangement of stolen nights and secret touches isn’t enough anymore?
How long before I demand more than being the part of his life that exists only in private spaces?
I hear the knock at the door. Victor fills the doorway when I open it, shoulders rigid. His eyes dart around my apartment before settling on mine.
“Hey,” I say, stepping back to let him in.
He walks past me, radiating restless energy. Standing in my living room, he looks out of place—too big, too wired for the calm space.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, watching as he paces, running his hand over his cropped hair.
“Nothing. I just wanted to see you.” The words sound rehearsed, lacking the natural cadence of truth.
I move closer, studying his face. The tightness around his eyes, the way he won’t quite meet my gaze—I know these signs by now.
“You’re lying,” I say quietly, not an accusation, just a fact.
Victor moves toward me suddenly, his expression shifting from tension to hunger. He cups my face with both hands, and his mouth crashes against mine.
The kiss changes everything. One moment I’m standing in my living room, aware of the unspoken issues between us, and the next I’m completely undone.
His lips part mine, his tongue claiming me with a desperation that makes my knees weak.
I grip his shoulders to steady myself, feeling the solid muscle beneath my fingers.
“Need you,” he growls against my mouth, already walking me backward toward the couch. “Can’t think straight when I’m not with you.”
My back hits the cushions as Victor towers over me, stripping his shirt off in one fluid motion. The sight of his tattooed torso never fails to make my breath catch—the intricate designs stretching over mountains of muscle, all of it mine to touch.
I reach for him, but he’s already pulling at my clothes, tearing my t-shirt in his haste. His hands are everywhere, hot and demanding against my skin. When we’re both naked, he drops onto the couch and pulls me onto his lap.
“Ride me,” he commands, his voice thick with need. “Want to see your face when I’m inside you.”
I position myself above him, feeling the blunt pressure of his cock against me. He’s already slick—must have prepared himself before coming over—and the realization makes heat pool in my stomach. I sink down slowly, taking him inch by inch, watching his eyes darken as he fills me completely.
“Fuck,” I gasp, adjusting to his size. No matter how many times we do this, the initial stretch always overwhelms me.
Victor grips my hips hard enough to bruise, guiding me into a rhythm that soon has us both panting. I brace my hands on his shoulders, rising and falling on his length, losing myself in the angle that lights me up with every descent.
“Look at you,” he groans, one hand sliding up to grip my throat. “So fucking perfect taking my cock.”
Victor’s grip tightens on my hips as his thrusts become erratic. I can feel him getting close. I clench around him deliberately, watching his eyes roll back.
“Fuck, Theo,” he growls, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. “Gonna come—”
“Do it,” I command, working myself on him faster. “Fill me up.”
His fingers dig into my flesh as he slams up into me one final time, his whole body going rigid. The sight of him coming undone pushes me over the edge, and I follow immediately, spilling across his chest untouched. My vision blurs at the edges as pleasure tears through me.
“Jesus Christ,” I gasp, collapsing against him.
Instead of his usual satisfied smirk or playful comment, Victor wraps his arms around me and holds me too tight against his chest. He buries his face in my neck, his breathing ragged and uneven.
This isn’t our usual post-sex embrace. There’s something desperate in the way he clings to me, almost like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he loosens his grip.
After a minute of this unusual intensity, I pull back enough to see his face. “Hey,” I say softly, brushing my thumb across his cheekbone. “What’s going on with you tonight?”
He avoids my eyes. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” I place my hand against his jaw, forcing him to look at me. “Something’s different. You’re different. What happened?”
Victor sighs, his shoulders sagging slightly. The tension in his body shifts from sexual to something heavier, more complicated.
“I ran into someone today,” he finally admits, his voice low.
I wait, giving him space to continue.
“At the gym. Emily.” He swallows hard. “We dated for a couple years. It ended... badly. She asked me to dinner, said she’d like to reconnect.” Victor’s voice is flat, emotionless, but I can see the conflict in his eyes.
I sit up straighter on his lap, suddenly feeling too exposed. “What did you tell her?”
Victor looks away, jaw tightening. “That I’d think about it.”
The words land like a punch. I slide off him and reach for my discarded underwear, needing some barrier between us. “You’d think about it?”
“I didn’t know what else to say. I couldn’t exactly tell her I’m seeing someone when—”
“When what? When that someone’s a secret? When you can’t even acknowledge I exist?” My voice rises despite my attempt to stay calm.
Victor stands, reaching for his own clothes. “That’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair is eight months of this, Victor.
Eight months of being good enough to fuck but not good enough to introduce to your friends.
Not good enough to take to dinner. Not good enough to—” I cut myself off, emotion thick in my throat.
The weight of all the unspoken words between us threatens to crush me.
I take a deep breath, pulling my t-shirt over my head. “I think you should leave.”
“Theo—” He steps toward me, hand outstretched.
“Leave. I need to think.” I cross my arms, creating another barrier between us.
Victor hesitates, but something in my expression must convince him. He finishes dressing in silence. At the door, he pauses, looking back at me with an expression I can’t read. Then he’s gone, the click of the door impossibly loud in the quiet apartment.
I sink onto the couch, staring at the space he just occupied. The revelation hits me with startling clarity—I’ve fallen in love with someone who doesn’t know how to love me back.