Chapter 26
Raine
We’re in bed already, my back against my cool black sheets, the fabric whisper-soft, but all I can think about is the way Theo carried me here.
The gentleness he’s showing even when desperate, even when he’s spiraling inside.
He didn’t rush. He didn’t stumble. He just held me close, like the weight of me was grounding instead of a burden, like he needed the contact as much as I did.
And maybe that’s the part that gets me the most. Not the strength. Not the steadiness. But the way he needs me without making it feel like pressure.
I’ve seen him anxious before. I’ve seen him wound tight, restless, overthinking every possible outcome until his shoulders creep up around his ears. This isn’t that. This feels heavier. Like something lodged deep in his chest that he hasn’t figured out how to set down yet.
I don’t ask or push further. I let him have what he came for first. Permission to exist for a second without explaining himself. Maybe quiet comfort, or just quiet.
This is what he needs.
Not answers. Not reassurance. Just me. And for once, I don’t keep my guard up. I melt, and I let myself feel.
Sunlight spills across the bed, warm and bright. Theo holds himself over me for a moment, hovering like he’s thinking too hard, hands curling and uncurling at his sides, jaw tight like he’s bracing himself for something that already happened.
I decide whatever it is, he doesn’t have to carry it alone.
“You okay?” I ask quietly, not expecting an answer, but wanting him to know I’m here.
His gaze flicks to mine. He nods once. Then again. “Yeah.” His voice is steady enough to fool anyone who isn’t looking this close. “I just… need you.”
The words land harder than anything else he could have said.
Need.
Not want.
Need.
Something warm spreads through my chest at that, slow and heavy and terrifying in the best way. The kind of feeling that roots itself without permission.
“Come here,” I murmur, reaching for him.
He comes willingly, as if the moment I open my arms, something in him finally unclenches. Like he’s been holding himself together with sheer force of will and I just gave him permission to stop.
When he kisses me, it’s deeper, less hesitant. His mouth moves with purpose now, not just reverence. There’s want there, unmistakable and a little urgent, and it sends a shiver down my spine.
He’s not asking for permission to touch me like he did the first time we were together. He’s just doing it.
He leans on one elbow, lifting his other hand to cradle my face, grounding himself again. I can feel the tension in him easing as he presses closer. Not pushing. Just anchoring. Like he needs to know I’m real.
I run my fingers through his hair and pull him down further to me, letting him feel the invitation instead of hear it.
He follows like he’s been holding himself back all day and finally ran out of reasons not to.
His weight settles more fully into me slowly, the contact drawing a soft sound from his chest that vibrates against mine.
I feel it everywhere. In my ribs. In my spine.
In the way my body immediately softens beneath him.
I let myself sink into the feel of him.
I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, tugging him even closer. His breath stutters against my throat, and I feel the heat of him through the thin barrier of our clothes. The way he grows hard between my thighs.
Theo has a dick that leaves you craving. I'm not sure what it is about it, but it's almost addictive. And God have I been craving a fix. But then there’s a pause, and I about die. It's not exactly uncertainty, more like he's just checking.
“If I do something you don’t like,” he rests his forehead against mine, “tell me. I don’t ever want to hurt you.”
The care in his voice nearly makes me gasp with how fierce it is. Because I know he means every word.
God, he’s precious. And he has no idea.
I don’t answer with words. Instead, I slide my hand over his, guiding it down my chest, over my stomach, and into my pants, having him touch the area he was already thinking of going.
I'm already wet for him, ready for whatever he wants to give me. His fingers tense, then relax when he realizes what I’m giving him.
Permission. Not just to touch, but to take what he wants.
His exhale is shaky. “Raine…”
“I’m okay,” I promise quietly. “I want this.”
That seems to be all he needs.
His breath leaves him in a slow rush, like he’s been holding it in his lungs for too long, and then his hands are on me again. He pulls back enough to tug fabric away, peeling layers off with a focus that makes my pulse jump. My shirt goes first.
I help where I can, pushing his shirt over his shoulders, feeling the tension in his arms as he lets it drop to the floor.
There’s something grounding in it, in the quiet teamwork of undressing, in the way he keeps checking my face even as his hands slide lower, taking my pants off, like he’s making sure I’m still right here with him.
I miss the contact of him when he stands to pull his own pants off as I pull my underwear off, holding his gaze when he takes off his boxer briefs.
When he returns to the bed, movement careful but sure, he draws me closer and settles me onto his lap, bare skin to bare skin.
The contact steals my breath. I feel the solid heat of him immediately, the unmistakable hardness of how much he wants me, how ready he is, and the awareness sends a slow, aching warmth through my stomach.
He stills for half a second, like he’s giving me space to stop him.
Which I obviously don’t. Instead, my hands slide up his shoulders, grounding him the way he’s grounding me, and I lean in, forehead brushing his.
He presses back into me then, with intention. With confidence he didn’t have before. He settles between my thighs and draws me closer, lifting me just enough to align me right against the head of his dick, like he wants to feel everything at once.
And I want him to.
When he sinks into me, it’s slow. Almost as if he’s memorizing the way we fit together instead of rushing through it. I gasp softly, fingers digging into his shoulders, and his head drops to my neck with a quiet sound that tells me this matters to him in a way he hasn’t put words to yet.
That sound does something to me.
Something deep.
“Oh,” he breathes. “That feels…”
“Good?” I finish for him, smiling against his hair.
He nods, forehead pressing into my collarbone. “Yeah. Really good.”
He stays there for a second longer than necessary, breathing me in, making sure the moment doesn’t slip through his fingers. Like he’s afraid if he moves too fast, the world will come crashing back in.
It won’t. I promise. Not right now, anyway.
When he moves again, it’s tentative but purposeful, learning the way my body responds, adjusting when my breath shifts or my fingers tighten on his shoulders.
I let him learn.
I let myself be known.
He pushes me onto my back, still buried deep inside me.
My ass stays on his lap but my back lands on the mattress.
His palm is flat against my pelvis as he presses down, keeping me there.
My eyes widen as he thrusts, hitting areas he never has before.
His thumb presses against the lip of my pussy, and it takes me a moment to realize he's trying to find my clit.
I shake my head, guiding his hand to the right spot with a gentle smile. "There," I whisper in a soft moan.
I feel him everywhere. Solid, warm, and whole.
This is where he belongs.
Right here with me. Not in his head.
He thrusts again. Deeper. Slower. He finds a rhythm that feels less like nerves and more like need, like he’s finally letting himself do more than just receive.
And I love it even more.
I rest my arm over my forehead and let him feel the way my body responds to him, the way I move with him without thinking.
“Do you like that?” he asks quietly, almost unsure of himself even though it feels so good.
“Yes,” I answer almost out of breath even though I haven’t done anything exerting yet.
He shifts again, experimenting, adjusting the angle until my breath catches and my hands tighten around his forearms.
“Like that?” he tries again, a hint of wonder in his voice.
I nod, unable to form words, and he makes a soft sound like he’s proud of himself for figuring it out.
His confidence grows in subtle ways. In the steadiness of his hands. In the way his movements start taking.
He keeps me right where he wants me, guiding without forcing, like he’s discovering that control doesn’t have to be loud to be real.
He trusts me. With his body. With his want. With his heart.
The realization blooms warm and terrifying and beautiful all at once. Because I trust him just the same. With all of me.
His hand presses harder at my pelvis, holding me there, grounding me as his movements grow more intense. There’s something almost reverent in the way he takes his time, like he wants to make sure this is as good for me as it is for him.
I can feel how much he needs this. Not just the closeness. The reassurance. The proof that he’s here, that I want him as much as he wants me.
My chest tightens. Heat blooms behind my eyes as I reach forward and lace my fingers with his free hand, squeezing once.
He squeezes back.
This man. Fuck. He's going to be the death of me.
Something inside me cracks wide open at the thought. Lost in him. But in the back of my mind, I can't help but wonder what's going on. Why he needs me like this right now. What brought him to my door this afternoon so... unlike himself?
For a moment, I wonder if this is what it felt like for him when he knew something was wrong with me and I wouldn’t say it out loud. If this ache to protect, to soothe, to fix without being asked is what he carried for me.
I hate it.