Chapter 26
Theo
It’s past midnight when I find Rachel hunched over her laptop at the kitchen table.
She’s been there for a few hours. I know because I heard her come downstairs around ten, heard the laptop open, heard the clicking of keys that hasn’t stopped since.
Cole is asleep. Marco’s on a late shift. Tommy’s been out cold since eight.
Which means it’s just me and Rachel and whatever she’s obsessing over on that screen.
I pad into the kitchen in my sweatpants and t-shirt. She doesn’t look up. Doesn’t even notice I’m there until I’m standing right beside her.
“Jesus!” She jumps, hand flying to her chest. “You scared me.”
“Sorry. Thought you heard me coming.” I glance at her screen. “Ryan Williams’ Facebook page. Stalking him on social media at midnight instead of sleeping?”
“It’s not stalking. It’s research.” But she closes the laptop halfway, like I caught her doing something she shouldn’t. “I can’t just sit around doing nothing while Marco does all the work.”
“You’re not doing nothing. You’re staying safe. That’s your job right now.” I pull out the chair beside her and sit. “How long have you been at this?”
“I don’t know. A few hours?”
“Rachel.”
“I can’t sleep, okay? Every time I close my eyes, I see fire. Or I think about Dorothy and how her own grandson is trying to kill her. Or I think about Tommy and how close we came to—” She stops, pressing her hands over her face. “I can’t just do nothing.”
“So you’re going to give yourself a migraine staring at a screen until three in the morning?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
I reach over and close the laptop completely. “What it takes is rest. You’re exhausted. You’ve been exhausted for weeks.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re the opposite of fine. You’re running on fumes and determination.” I stand up and move behind her chair. “When’s the last time you actually relaxed?”
“I don’t remember. Sometime before the first fire?”
“That’s what I thought.” I put my hands on her shoulders. She’s tense. Every muscle is tight and knotted like she’s been holding the weight of the world for too long.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Helping you relax. Since you clearly won’t do it yourself.” I start kneading the knots in her shoulders. She’s so tense it’s probably painful.
She makes a slight sound.
“Too hard?” I ask.
“No. It’s—that’s actually really good.” Her head drops forward slightly. “Where’d you learn to do this?”
“YouTube. And desperation. I had a roommate in Portland who was always stressed. Taught myself massage basics to keep him from having a breakdown during finals.”
“That’s very sweet of you.”
“I’m a sweet guy. It’s my defining characteristic.” I work my thumbs into a particularly stubborn knot near her neck. “Well, that and my devastating good looks.”
She laughs. Small laugh, but real. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I prefer ‘charmingly humble.’” I move to her other shoulder. “But seriously, you need to stop trying to solve this case on your own. That’s Marco’s job. Your job is to stay safe and let us handle it.”
“I feel useless.”
“You’re not useless. You’re scared. There’s a difference.” I lean down so I can see her face. “And you’re allowed to be scared.”
“I’m tired of being scared.” Her voice drops. “I’m tired of feeling helpless. I want to do something.”
“You are doing something. You’re surviving. You’re taking care of Tommy. You’re trusting us to keep you safe.” I tilt her head back gently so she’s looking up at me. “That takes courage. More courage than chasing down clues on Facebook at midnight.”
She holds my gaze. Her green eyes are tired but clear. “You always know what to say.”
“It’s a gift. Along with the devastating good looks I mentioned earlier.”
She smiles again. “There’s that humility.”
“I contain multitudes.” I’m still holding her face, thumb brushing along her jawline. “You need to rest, Rachel.”
“I don’t know how to do that anymore.”
“Then let me help.”
I lean down and kiss her. Soft at first. Gentle. Giving her a chance to pull away if she wants.
She doesn’t pull away.
Instead, she turns in her chair, reaching up to pull me closer. The kiss deepens, and I feel her tension start to melt under my hands.
Her tongue slides against mine, hot and demanding, and the last thread of control I’ve been clinging to snaps.
I haul her out of the chair and set her ass on the edge of the desk—laptop shoved aside. Her legs wrap my hips instantly, thighs clamping tight, and I grind forward, so she feels exactly how hard I am. She gasps into my mouth, nails digging into my shoulders.
“Fuck, Rachel—”
Her tank top is gone in one violent tug, fabric bunching under her arms. No bra. Her tits spill free; heavy, perfect, nipples already hard. I palm them roughly, thumbs flicking the peaks, and she arches with a broken moan that shoots straight to my cock.
I drop to my knees between her spread thighs, my shoulders forcing her wider. The desk lamp is still on, golden light painting every slick inch of her. I rip her panties to the side and dive in.
No teasing.
My tongue spears inside her, one long, greedy lick from entrance to clit, lapping up every drop.
She’s soaked, dripping down my chin. I suck her clit hard, flicking fast, merciless, while two fingers plunge deep and curl against her front wall.
The desk creaks beneath her, lamp wobbling, and she claws at the wood, knuckles white.
I pull back right as her thighs start to shake, blow cool air over her swollen clit. She sobs, hips bucking, trying to chase my mouth.
“Please—”
I stand, pull my sweatpants and boxers down just enough to free my cock.
I spin her, bend her forward over the desk so she’s facing the dark kitchen window—perfect black mirror. One brutal thrust and I’m buried to the hilt. She screams into her forearm, pussy clenching so tight I see stars.
“Look,” I growl, fisting her hair and forcing her head up. “Watch.”
In the reflection: her tits bouncing with every snap of my hips, my cock disappearing inside her repeatedly, her mouth open with silent screams. The lamp light turns her skin gold, sweat glistening.
“Look how fucking gorgeous you are taking me.”
I flip the switch. “Such a perfect little slut for me, letting me ruin you on this desk.”
Her breath hitches. “Theo—”
“Say it.”
“Ruin me.”
I pull out, spin her to face me, and lift her back onto the desk. Hook one leg over my elbow, fold her open, and drive in deep—legs-over-shoulder variation. She’s completely exposed, glistening, taking every inch.
“So tight,” I groan. “Feel how big I am? Stretching this pretty pussy?”
“You’re so huge,” she gasps, head falling back. “You fill me up—take up all the space I have—”
I suck a dark bruise just above her breast, teeth scraping, while my thumb keeps tormenting her clit. The desk lamp flickers with every thrust, shadows dancing across her skin.
Her thighs shake as she comes hard, nails clawing my back. I keep fucking her through it, making her cry from pleasure, until she comes again, soaking the desk.
The sight rips my own release out of me. I bury myself deep, growling her name as I pulse inside her, thick ropes of cum filling her up until it leaks out around us, dripping down her thighs.
We collapse forward, foreheads touching, both panting. The lamp finally steadies, casting a warm glow over her flushed skin, the bruise blooming dark above her breast.
I kiss it softly. “Mine.”
She laughs—breathless, wrecked, and perfect. “You’re insane.”
“And you just came twice on Marco’s desk.” I grin, still inside her. “We’re both insane.”
“Stay,” she whispers. “Don’t go back to your room.”
I nod, her legs still wrapped around me, unwilling to let go.