Chapter 4 #2
Theo’s book thudded against the hardwood as I hooked my thumbs into the elastic of his boxer-briefs, dragging them down while my lips traced the knobs of his spine. My teeth found the soft curve where his back met his ass, and I bit down, just hard enough to leave a mark.
His breath caught, a small sound escaping his throat as his hips pushed backward, seeking more contact. The corner of my mouth lifted against his skin. For this moment, I could imagine the arch in his back was just for me, that the trembling in his thighs meant something beyond.
“Please, Ash, please,” Theo begged, voice breaking. He had never called me Ash before.
I slapped his ass, my palm landing with a satisfying crack against the firm curve of his ass, leaving a faint sting across my fingers and a visible jolt through his body. “Patience, baby. I’ve got to make sure you’re ready for me,” I said.
He’d already done the work himself, taken care of the practical part before we even started, but I wanted the scene to feel earned.
Real enough that no one watching would mistake it for the polished unreality of professional porn.
So I slowed things down anyway, spending a few minutes on him, easing from one finger to three, giving the moment a shape that felt lived in instead of rushed.
He took it easily, too easily, and that alone did something dangerous to my chest. By the time I worked up to three, he was begging, not just with words but with the way he moved, pushing back into my hand as if impatience had finally overruled restraint.
The aggression was part of the act. The need underneath it didn’t feel like it was.
His fingers twisted in the sheets beside him, knuckles whitening as his breathing went shallow and uneven.
“I’m ready,” he said, and then softer, more fractured, “Please. I can’t take it anymore.
” The break in his voice landed harder than it should have.
It didn’t take much for me to give in after that.
If this hadn’t been a video, I would have taken my time.
I would have stretched the moment thin just to stay in it longer, just to have an excuse to touch him without an audience or a clock running.
But he’d already prepped himself, and the camera didn’t care about what I wanted.
So I didn’t make him wait, even though every part of me wanted to drag it out and pretend, for a few more seconds, that this wasn’t exaggerated at all.
“You’re being so good for me,” I murmured near his ear, the words meant for the mic but landing somewhere more private.
I shifted him into position, guiding his body the way I wanted, encouraging his hips to arch just a little more.
I pushed my boxers down and stepped out of them, nudging them aside to join his on the floor.
The gesture was practiced, almost casual.
“Mmm,” I added, letting my tone turn appreciative. “Lovely view.”
I made a show of it then, fingers pressing into the soft, familiar curve of him, pulling him open for the camera, letting my body react the way it always did. The sound I made was part performance, part something I couldn’t fully fake anymore.
Over the summer, we’d done the responsible things.
Tests. Conversations that were awkward only the first time.
We’d decided to go without condoms for filming, with clear rules in place.
If either of us hooked up with someone else, we’d go back to protection until the tests came back negative again.
We both took PrEP. Theo was honest about his history, about how much he’d slept around, about how sex wasn’t just fun for him but grounding. Something that kept him steady.
I trusted him to stick to what we’d agreed on, even when he admitted he couldn’t handle a relationship, even when sexual exclusivity edged too close to that line. For now, it was enough. I told myself that, and mostly I believed it.
I wanted him however he’d let me have him.
Some people might’ve said it was gratitude, that I felt this way because he’d given me a place to land when I needed it most. But that wasn’t it.
I’d seen Theo clearly in the quiet moments no one else seemed to catch.
The hurt he smoothed over with humor. The way his smile faded when he thought he was alone.
The way he sat through movies he hated just to stay beside me on the couch.
All of it surfaced when I touched him like this.
Scripted or not, my feelings didn’t know the difference.
Before Theo could scold me for taking too long like the needy brat he was, I slid my cock inside him, feeling the tight ring of muscle give way to a velvet heat that pulled me deeper with each inch.
When my hips finally pressed flush against the firm curve of his ass, I felt him shudder and clench around me, his body’s wordless confirmation that I’d filled him exactly as he craved.
I knew what he needed from the way he’d begged earlier, his voice breaking on my name.
I pressed my palm between his shoulder blades, feeling the heat of his skin as I forced his face deeper into the rumpled sheets.
His fingers clutched desperately at the edges of the mattress, knuckles whitening with each deliberate thrust as I drove into him.
The slick friction where our bodies joined sent electric currents racing up my spine, his tight heat gripping me like he never wanted to let go—a sensation so perfect it felt like returning to a place I’d always belonged.
Being inside Theo felt like sinking into warm honey—all golden heat and liquid pressure that made my vision blur at the edges.
But what truly sent me over the edge, what made my spine arch and my breath catch in my throat, was the moment I locked eyes with my rival across the room.
Beckett Harrington stood frozen in the doorway, his jaw tight, pupils dilated black against pale blue irises, watching us with an intensity that burned hotter than any touch.
I hated him more than anything, yet something electric sparked between us when our eyes met, his throat working as he swallowed hard, watching my fingers dig into Theo’s sweat-slicked shoulders.
The flush spreading across Beckett’s sharp cheekbones told me everything—how he couldn’t look away as I claimed what was his, how his breath quickened with each movement.
His white-knuckled grip on the door frame was almost as satisfying as knowing I was driving a permanent wedge between them. Beating Beckett always felt amazing.
I was furious at my body for betraying me, for responding at all, and I needed somewhere to put that anger.
So, I picked a fight with him. I needed the reminder, the sharp, uncomplicated truth of how I was supposed to feel.
It worked, at least on the surface. He hit me hard enough to split skin, hard enough to leave the taste of blood in my mouth, and for a moment the pain drowned everything else out.
I threatened him with the police; the words coming easily even if I knew they were hollow.
I had no intention of calling. I don’t know why.
I had every reason to turn him in. Assault charges.
Jail time. Consequences he couldn’t laugh his way out of.
For once, I could have done something clean and decisive.
Something my dad would have approved of.
I didn’t.
The truth sat heavy and ugly in my chest. I wasn’t protecting him.
I was protecting what I’d been building with Theo, the fragile, quiet thing that depended on me not blowing everything apart.
Turning him in would have meant choosing principle over proximity, justice over the careful balance I’d struck.
And I hated myself almost as much as I hated my body for making that choice feel impossible.
I hated the way Theo changed the second Beckett walked out the door.
The lightness drained from his face, his shoulders pulling inward as if he were bracing for an impact that never came.
His eyes stayed fixed on the door, hopeful and anxious all at once, like Beckett might change his mind and come back if Theo watched hard enough.
“What if he doesn’t forgive me?” Theo asked.
He didn’t look at me when he said it. He was still waiting for Beckett.
The thought made something ugly twist in my chest.
I sighed and stepped closer, sliding my arms around his shoulders and pulling him against me until his body went tense, then slowly softened.
I wanted his attention here, not lingering in the space Beckett had left behind.
“If he’s half as great as you keep insisting he is,” I said, keeping my tone steady, reasonable, “he will. He’ll understand where you’re coming from.
Just… give him time. He’s dealing with his own shit, too. ”
The words tasted bitter. I hated sounding supportive of the man I loathed, hated lending him grace he didn’t deserve. But Theo relaxed a fraction, and that mattered more than my pride.
I kept my smile in place, pressed calm into my voice, and swallowed the resentment whole. Whatever Beckett was facing, whatever mess he’d landed himself in, I hoped it kept him far away.
“You’re good to me, Asher. I just wish Beckett could see this side of you,” Theo said, leaning up to kiss my cheek.
If only he knew what lived behind my eyes.
If he could hear the thoughts I swallowed whole.
He wouldn’t say things like that. He wouldn’t look at me as if I were something gentle or safe.
I wasn’t deserving of love, least of all his.
That didn’t stop me from taking it when he offered it, didn’t stop me from holding on too tightly when I had the chance.
“Come on,” he added, smiling as he pulled back. “Let’s get you some ice, poor baby.”
He slipped out of my arms, and the absence hit immediately, a hollow opening in my chest that didn’t ease until he returned and guided me over to the couch, like I might fall apart without direction.
I leaned back against the cushions. Theo climbed into my lap, facing me, careful and familiar, pressing the ice pack gently to my cheek. His touch was soft in a way that made my throat tighten.
“I just wish you wouldn’t talk to him like that,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “He’s hurting. He’s not as awful as you think.”
I exhaled through my nose. “Fine. I’ll be nicer,” I said, forcing something close to a smile. “When you’re around. No more getting myself punched.” A beat. “I can’t help it that his father’s a careless asshole.”
The words came out sharper than I meant them to. They always did when Beckett was involved.
I didn’t know why I couldn’t stop myself. Why every thought of him scraped against something raw inside me. Maybe it was jealousy. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was the way Theo kept choosing him, over and over, even when I was right here.
Whatever it was, it made me dangerous in ways Theo couldn’t see.
“Beckett isn’t his father,” Theo said gently. “And he needs help right now. More than ever.” He hesitated, the words catching before he pushed through them. “If he… if he wanted to join in on what we’re doing, would you be mad?”
He looked at me then, really looked, eyes wide and hopeful in a way that should’ve been illegal. Like a sad, pleading puppy who already knew the answer but needed to hear it, anyway. I hated how easily that look unraveled me. How helpless I was against it.
“As long as he follows the same rules we do,” I said, carefully measured. “And that’s assuming he’d even be interested.” A pause. “Isn’t he straight?”
Theo bit his lip, a small, private smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Let me handle that,” he said, his voice soft, almost fond.
The look in his eyes wasn’t subtle. It bloomed there, unmistakable and warm, and something cold slid through my chest as the truth settled in.
I’d suspected it before, pushed it down when it got too loud, but there was no denying it now.
Whatever Theo felt for Beckett ran deeper than concern. Deeper than friendship.
I felt my chance slipping, like something fragile I’d been holding without realizing it could break.
And then, right in the middle of that quiet unraveling, the worst possible thing happened.
My phone rang, and my dad’s name lit up the screen.