Chapter 14
Emma
The view from behind is exceptional. Theo’s in jeans and nothing else, cooking me breakfast in my kitchen. His back is broad and muscled, tapering to a narrow waist, and there are faint red scratches across his shoulder blades that I definitely put there. I take a moment to appreciate my handiwork.
My body is sore in ways that make me smile.
My thighs ache. My neck is definitely marked in at least two places that I’ll need to cover with a scarf or some creative hair styling.
My ass is tender from his hands, and there’s a deep soreness between my legs that reminds me of every position he fucked me in, every orgasm he wrung out of me, every filthy thing he whispered in my ear.
I’ve never been fucked like that in my entire life. I’ve had good sex before. I’ve had fun sex. But I’ve never had something that stripped me bare while making me feel cherished in the same breath.
My whole life I’ve been the overachiever.
The one with her shit figured out. Confident, capable, running the show in every room I walk into.
And then I’d get into bed with guys my own age and they’d either be too eager to please in all the wrong ways—hesitant, asking permission for every move like I might shatter—or they’d be selfish assholes who treated my body like a means to their own end.
Either way, I ended up directing traffic.
Running the show there, too, when all I really wanted was for a man to just take over.
To make me stop thinking for once in my damn life.
Theo did that. And somehow, surrendering to him made me feel more powerful than I’ve ever felt in my life.
Because I’m the one who made him lose control.
I made him forget all those gentlemanly, responsible-dad instincts and fuck me like he’d die if he didn’t.
Every lackluster orgasm I’ve ever faked just got avenged. Turns out the secret ingredient was a man who isn’t intimidated by a woman who knows what she wants.
I stretch before dragging myself out of bed.
His flannel is crumpled on the floor near my dresser, abandoned at some point during round two or maybe three, and I pull it on.
The fabric is soft and worn, hitting me mid-thigh, and it smells like him.
I walk barefoot to the kitchen and lean against the counter to watch him work.
He’s already found the eggs, the butter, and the cheese.
He glances over and sees me in his shirt, his hands still on the egg carton.
“You look good in my shirt.” He abandons the eggs entirely and steps between my legs, pulling me close.
His stubble scrapes against my cheek as his lips graze mine in a kiss that’s soft and slow and makes my toes curl.
“Yeah?” I smile against his mouth. “Maybe I’ll keep it. Then next time I can wear it while you fuck me.”
“You’re going to make it very hard for me to focus on breakfast,” he says, eyeing me up and down.
I smile at him. “Should I go put on my fleece robe? It has cats on it. Very unsexy.”
“Don’t you dare.” He bites my lip gently. “That shirt stays on until I have to leave, and then I’m taking it back because it’s going to smell like you and I’ll never be able to wear it without thinking about this.”
“Wow, that’s a little obsessive.” I smile up at him. “But I kinda like it.”
He laughs, this low rumble in his chest, and his hand slides up under the hem to cup my bare ass. “God, I can’t get enough of you.” He gives my ass a light smack that makes me gasp and then squeezes possessively. “You’re supposed to be resting in bed while I cook for you.”
“Well I was thinking of taking a quick shower, but the view of you cooking was too good to miss.” I loop my arms around his neck and press closer, feeling the warmth of his bare chest through the thin fabric.
“Besides, I don’t think I can stand to be more than five feet away from you right now. I’m clingy now. This is your fault.”
He laughs again and kisses me, tender and sweet this time. “Good. Because I don’t want to be apart from you either. I’ve wasted enough time trying to stay away.”
We stand like that for a moment, foreheads pressed together, him holding me like we have all the time in the world. The morning light is streaming through my windows and everything feels soft and golden and impossibly right.
“I’m so glad you picked me up on the side of the road last night,” I say, smiling against his lips.
“Well, I actually would have come over anyway.” He pulls back slightly. “I was on my way to this apartment when I spotted you. I’d been driving around for twenty minutes trying to get up the courage, wondering if it was the right call. Then I saw you walking and it felt like a sign.”
“Thank goodness for my late night cheese cravings,” I murmur.
He laughs and pulls me in for a deep kiss, one hand tangled in my hair, the other gripping my hip, pressing me back against the counter until I’m breathless. Then he pulls back, his expression turning more serious.
“Was everything okay last night? Normally I’m more...” He trails off, searching for the right word.
“What?” I arch a brow, fighting a smile. “More of a gentleman? Less of a dirty-talking sex god who made me come four times?”
He rolls his eyes. “No, but I don’t usually spank women and pull their hair and say the things I said. I don’t want you to think that’s all I—“
“Theo.” I put my finger over his lips. “I asked you to do that. I begged you to do that. Because it really fucking turns me on.” I replace my finger with my mouth, kissing him softly. “Last night was the best sex of my life. If you’d been gentle and careful I probably would have been disappointed.”
He exhales, something like relief crossing his face, and strokes my cheek with such tenderness I could melt into a puddle right here on my kitchen counter. “Good. Because I very much like doing bad things to you.”
“And I very much like when you do bad things to me,” I murmur, pulling him closer. “So that works out nicely.”
He smiles, but then his expression shifts to something more serious. “I just want to make it clear that my intentions with you are not a one night stand. I meant what I said last night. I want you. All of you.”
I stare at him, and I don’t know if it’s the intensity of so many orgasms, or the way I gave myself to him so completely last night, more than I ever have to anyone, letting him possess me in ways I’ve never allowed before.
Or maybe it’s just how vulnerable I feel right now, sitting on my counter in his shirt while he holds me and looks into my eyes. But tears start welling up before I can stop them, spilling over onto my cheeks.
“Oh god.” I laugh and swipe at my face. “This is so embarrassing. Okay, one thing you should know about me is that I’m a crier, so don’t freak out.
Sad commercials make me cry. Happy commercials make me cry.
That viral video of the soldier coming home to surprise his dog?
Absolutely destroyed me for an entire afternoon—“
He cuts me off with a kiss, gentle and sure, and pulls me tight against his chest. When he pulls back, he wipes my tears away with two fingers, a soft smile on his face.
“I think it’s sweet,” he says. “Cry all you want. I’m not going anywhere.”
I laugh again, still a little watery, and press my forehead against his. “You’re kind of perfect, you know that?”
“I’m really not, but I’m glad you think so.” He pulls back and grabs the spatula from the counter, pointing it at me with a mock stern expression. “Now go take that shower before I use this on that perfect little ass of yours.”
I bite my lip, heat flooding through me despite everything. “Is that supposed to be a threat? Because it sounds more like a promise.”
He narrows his eyes, fighting a smile. “Shower. Now.”
I hop off the counter and start walking toward the bathroom, swaying my hips a little more than necessary. The spatula cracks against my ass as I pass him and I yelp, laughing, breaking into a run as he growls playfully behind me.
“This is the best omelette I’ve ever had in my life,” I groan after the first few bites. “How are you doing this? I don’t have anything in my fridge. I literally have eggs, some questionable cheese, and half an onion.”
“I’ve picked up a thing or two about working with limited ingredients.” He smiles at me across my tiny kitchen table, coffee cup in hand. “A great omelette is mostly in the texture of the eggs, which comes down to cooking technique, not ingredients. Alex Midnight is my brother, after all.”
I take another bite. “Okay, this is going to be a problem. If you keep feeding me like this I’m never letting you leave.”
He laughs, and I love the sound of it. I love how relaxed he looks sitting here in my apartment.
We’ve been talking nonstop since I got out of my shower, the conversation flowing easily while he prepped and cooked the omelettes and crispy potatoes (a miracle I had any).
It took twice as long as it should have because we kept getting distracted by kissing, which I’m not complaining about.
“You’re sure this won’t affect your job?” he asks for the second time, and I suppress a smile because I know he’s trying to be serious. “Because if there’s any chance of it causing problems for you, we can figure something out.”
I swallow the bite of omelette and take a sip of coffee. “Yes, I’m sure. Once I knew I had a thing for you I checked. It’s not against the rules. I’m good.”
He nods, sets down his coffee cup, and leans forward, elbows on the table. “There’s something else I want to talk about. The lease.”
“The lease?” I blink at him. “What about it?”