Chapter 12 #2
Then he steps forward and the door clicks shut behind him. The sound is so final, so certain, that my breath catches in my throat. There’s no going back now. Whatever invisible line we’ve been dancing around for weeks, we just crossed it.
He unzips his coat slowly, shrugging it off without breaking eye contact.
His gaze pins me in place, dark and intent, and I think he has me under some kind of spell because I couldn’t tear my eyes from his even if I wanted to.
Which I absolutely do not. Every movement is deliberate, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world, like he already knows exactly how this ends.
Then he’s walking toward me and I forget how to breathe.
His hands find the paper bag still clutched against my chest and he takes it from me gently, setting it aside without looking away from my face.
So close now I can feel the heat radiating off him, so close I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
I’ve imagined this moment so many times over the past few weeks, but nothing I conjured up comes close to the reality of him standing in my apartment, looking at me like I’m something he’s been desperate to touch.
His hand comes up and cups my jaw, his palm warm against my skin, and my whole body responds to that single point of contact. A shiver running down my spine. My breath catching. My heart pounding.
That thumb traces my lower lip, barely there, testing. My lips part on instinct and his eyes darken, tracking the movement.
“Fuck, Emma.” His voice is rough around the edges. “Tell me to leave and I will.”
I shake my head. I couldn’t form words right now if my life depended on it.
“Good.” His hand slides from my jaw into my hair.
The bobby pin comes free and my hair tumbles down around my shoulders in a way that probably looks messy rather than sexy, but the way he’s looking at me makes me feel like it doesn’t matter. Like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“I’m not doing this lightly,” he says, low and serious, his fingers still threaded through my hair.
“I need you to know that. I’ve been fighting this for weeks, trying to convince myself it was the right thing to do.
But I’m done fighting it.” His grip tightens slightly, tilting my head back.
“You’re not a one-night thing to me, Emma.
So if that’s not what you want, say it now.
Because once I get my hands on you, you’re mine.
I’m going to take my time, and I’m not planning on stopping. ”
Oh my fucking god. Every coherent thought I’ve ever had just evaporated.
I’m pretty sure my knees just stopped working.
I open my mouth to say something—anything—but all that comes out is a shaky breath.
I swallow hard, trying to get my brain back online.
“I want that,” I whisper. “I’ve been going crazy thinking about you. Please, just—“
His mouth crashes into mine, swallowing the rest of whatever I was going to say. The kiss is bruising and hungry and desperate, weeks of tension snapping like a wire pulled too tight.
His hands are everywhere, fisting in my hair, gripping my hip hard, sliding under my sweater to find bare skin, and I’m grabbing fistfuls of his flannel just to stay upright because my legs have officially given out.
He’s holding me up. Consuming me. Kissing me like he can’t get close enough, like he’s been dying for this just as badly as I have.
And all I can think is finally, finally, finally.
“Theo—“ I gasp against his lips.
He moans and hoists me up easily, his hands gripping my ass, and my legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. The new position presses his cock right against my center and even through layers of fabric I can feel how hard he is, how big, and I whimper into his mouth.
The bed appears beneath me and he lowers me onto the mattress, but he doesn’t follow me down. Instead he stands there at the edge, chest heaving, eyes roaming over me like he’s memorizing every detail. Like he’s been imagining this exact moment and now he gets to have it.
His hands find my thighs, palms hot through the thin fabric of my pajama pants, and he trails them upward slowly.
So slowly. Pushing my sweatshirt up to expose my stomach, his thumbs tracing circles on my hip bones.
I shiver under his touch, arching into him, my body answering questions my mouth can’t even form.
“When you called me to fix that fucking cabinet,” he says, his voice low, “all I could think about was all the different ways I wanted to fuck you on this bed.”
I bite my lip but a moan escapes anyway.
“You like that?” He leans down, his mouth brushing my hip bone.
“You like hearing that I fantasized about you?” His fingers hook into the waistband of my pajama pants and he yanks them off, tossing them somewhere behind him.
Then his hands find my underwear—not the Simone Pérèle, unfortunately, just my stupid, boring cotton underwear—and he drags it down slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.
I squirm beneath him, exposed and desperate and so turned on I can barely think.
“Yes,” I hiss. “Yes, I like that a lot.” Something sparks in my chest, my bolder self clawing her way back to the surface.
He can have me, absolutely, but I’m going to make him work for it.
“Did you touch yourself thinking about me?”
He grins like sin incarnate, eyes dark with wicked promise. “You have no fucking idea how much I’ve come to the thought of your hot pussy, or your lips wrapped around my cock.”
I sit up, pulling my sweatshirt over my head in one motion. “Not a bad idea,” I murmur, reaching for his belt, fingers working the buckle open before tugging his jeans down his hips.
His cock springs free and holy fucking shit. He’s massive. Thick and hard and straining toward me. I lick my lips. I’ve always been an enthusiastic blowjob girl, but this is a fucking treat.
“Emma...” he warns, his hand fisting in my hair.
I smile up at him, as sweet and innocent as I can manage while kneeling in front of his cock. “What? I just want a taste.” I blink up at him through my lashes.
I take him into my mouth slowly, inch by inch, savoring it, and the sound he makes is worth every single one of my pathetic shower fantasies.
Low and guttural, like I’ve broken something loose inside him.
His hand tightens in my hair, guiding but not forcing, letting me set the pace even though I can feel the tension coiled in his thighs, how badly he wants to just take me.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “Fuck, Emma, your mouth—“
I look up, meeting his eyes while my lips are stretched around his cock, and his expression is almost feral. The dim light catches the sharp line of his jaw and the way his chest heaves with every ragged breath.
“Oh damn, Emma, damn.” His thumb traces my cheek, impossibly gentle compared to the death grip he has on my hair. “You have no idea how good you look right now. How many times I’ve pictured you just like this.”
I know exactly how good I look with his cock in my mouth.
I hum around him and his hips jerk forward, shoving himself deeper than I was ready for.
I gag a little and he starts to pull back, starts to apologize, but I grab his ass and pull him forward again.
I want it. I want him to lose control. I want him to stop treating me like I’m fragile and fuck my mouth like he means it.
He gets the message.
His hand fists tighter in my hair, tilting my head back to the angle he wants, and he thrusts forward again.
Harder this time. More deliberate. I moan around him and he swears under his breath, his other hand coming up to cup my jaw, thumb pressing into my cheek so he can feel himself sliding in and out.
“You like that?” He thrusts harder. “You like me fucking your pretty mouth?”
I look up at him with watery eyes and nod as best I can with my mouth stuffed full of him. Yes. Fuck yes. I love it. I love the way he’s looking at me right now, like I’m the filthiest, most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Like he wants to ruin me and worship me in the same breath.
I pull back, swirling my tongue around the head, lapping at the precum beading there. Then I take him deeper, relaxing my throat, pushing past the resistance until my nose brushes his stomach.
“Look at you,” he says. “Taking all of me like a good girl. Like you were made for this.”
The praise washes over me like warm honey, making me glow from the inside out. I want to be good for him. I want to ruin him for other women the way he’s already ruined me for other men.
“You getting wet from sucking my cock?” He pulls back and thrusts in harder. “Getting that pussy all soaked and desperate just from having me in your mouth?”
I pull off just long enough to gasp, “Yes, fuck, I’m so wet—“ and then he’s shoving back into my mouth, cutting off my words, using my throat like it belongs to him.
And right now, it does. Every part of me belongs to him.
I use my hand on what I can’t fit—which is a lot, the man is fucking gifted—and work him in tandem with my mouth.
He’s losing it now, that iron control crumbling, his hips snapping forward to meet me, fucking into my fist and my throat with increasing desperation. I hollow my cheeks and suck harder.
His grip in my hair tightens until the pain bleeds into pleasure and my clit is throbbing.
I’m so turned on I could come from this alone, from the taste of him and the sounds he’s making and the brutal grip of his fingers.
I’ve reduced this man to nothing but raw need and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. The most powerful I’ve ever felt.
“Emma—“ His voice is wrecked, barely holding on. “I’m gonna... fuck, I’m going to come down your throat if we don’t stop.”
I pull off just long enough to look up at him. “So come down my throat. I want my reward for being such a good girl. Give it to me. All of it.”
“Fuck, fuck, Emma, I’m—“
He comes with a groan that sounds like it’s ripped from his chest, spilling into my mouth hot and salty, and I swallow everything he gives me. Every drop. His whole body shudders, one hand still fisted in my hair, the other gripping my shoulder like I’m the only thing keeping him upright.
He pulls out slowly, his cock dragging across my swollen lips, and I gasp for air, my chest heaving.
But he’s not done. He takes himself in his hand and runs the head of his cock across my mouth, smearing the last of his cum over my lips like gloss.
I dart my tongue out to taste it and he groans, watching me with heavy-lidded eyes.
“Fuck, look at you.” His voice is wrecked, reverent. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this.” He traces his cock along my bottom lip again, painting me with him, and I open my mouth and let my tongue swirl around the tip. “The prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. My cum on your lips.”
I look up at him through wet lashes and smile, licking my lips clean while he watches, his chest heaving. “I like being messy for you.”
His thumb swipes across my chin, gathering the spit and cum there, and presses it into my mouth. I suck on his thumb without breaking eye contact.
“You’re going to kill me,” he breathes, his thumb still in my mouth, his other hand stroking through my tangled hair. “You’re actually going to fucking kill me and I’m going to die happy.”
I release his thumb with a wet pop and grin up at him. “What a way to go.”
He laughs, this low broken sound, and then his touch turns tender. He strokes my hair back from my face, his thumb tracing over my tear-stained cheek, wiping away the mascara tracks tenderly.
I lean forward and press soft kisses to his cock, still half-hard and twitching under my mouth.
I lap at him gently, running my tongue along the underside, cleaning every inch of him because I genuinely can’t get enough.
He tastes so good. Better than anyone I’ve ever been with.
I swirl my tongue over the sensitive head just to feel him shudder, suck gently on the tip just to hear him hiss through his teeth.
“Emma.” His voice is wrecked, strained. “Fuck, sweetheart, I can’t—it’s too much—“
I give him one last slow lick from base to tip, savoring it, and finally pull back.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and look up at him.
He’s staring down at me like I’ve completely destroyed him.
Like he’s never going to recover from what I just did.
Like no one has ever taken him apart like that before.
Good. I did that. I brought this man to his fucking knees.
“Get up here,” he says, and it’s not a request. It’s a command. Low and rough and brooking no argument.
And just like that, the power shifts back to him.
The authority in his voice sends a shiver racing down my spine and settling between my legs.
He reaches down and pulls me up off my knees, and before I can catch my breath his mouth is on mine.
He kisses me, deep and filthy, licking into my mouth like he doesn’t care that he can taste himself on my tongue.
It makes me dizzy, how much that turns me on.
Then his hands are on my hips and he’s flipping me onto my back and I go willingly.
Eagerly. Because as much as I love having him at my mercy, I love this even more.
The solid weight of him pinning me down.
The way he handles me like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Like he’s going to take me apart piece by piece.
The look in his eyes tells me he’s nowhere near done.
“My turn,” he says, low and dark, and starts kissing his way down my body.
His mouth drags over my collarbone, my sternum, the curve of my breast. He pulls my nipple into his mouth and sucks hard enough that I cry out, back arching off the bed, fingers scrambling for purchase in his hair.
He does it again on the other side, teeth grazing, tongue soothing, completely unhurried, like he has all the time in the world.
“Theo, please—“
He just smiles against my skin, slow and satisfied, like my begging is exactly what he wanted to hear.