Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
sam
Theo’s mouth is on me, and there’s no universe where I survive this.
But I need to remind myself that I caused this. The stupid champagne made me horny, and here we are. Not that I’m complaining.
I would never.
My hands are in his hair before I even realize I’ve moved. I’m shaking—like actually shaking, because he’s not being gentle. He’s not being patient, he’s devouring me with this single-minded, controlled, obsessive intensity that has my legs trembling against the counter.
“Oh, Theo—” My voice cracks as I’m coming apart. He tightens his grip on my thighs, and the low sound he makes when I pull his hair is obscene. He enjoys every inch of wrecking me.
“Eyes on me,” he murmurs against me, and my whole body jumps.
I tried. God, I tried. But he drags another sound out of me when he slides a second finger in, one that echoes in the kitchen, and my head falls back against the cabinets with a thud.
My vision blurs, my knees weaken. I’m already too close, and he is feeling it, because he’s not slowing down.
He pins my hips, like he’s inside my head and telling me without words, ‘You’re not going anywhere. Not until I’m done.’
I came so hard, I swear I left my soul on the kitchen counter.
When I finally collapse forward, panting, he stands, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand like he just tasted something he intends to worship, and lifts me with ease. My dress falls back over my hips, useless and wrinkled, as he carries me down the hall like I weigh nothing.
“Round two,” he says, low and certain. “Bedroom.” He looks at me like I’m the center of the goddamn universe.
He lays me on the bed and climbs over me like he owns every inch of me, because he does, and I let him.
His hands are everywhere. On my hips, my waist, my breasts, my throat, my thighs.
He is claiming, guiding, teasing me right up to the edge again.
I’m still sensitive, still pulsing, still dizzy from the kitchen. “Theo, I can’t—”
“Yes,” he practically growls. “Yes, you can.” I arch into him, helpless. My whole body wants him. I’m so needy for him. I gasp when I feel two fingers sliding into me. I swear I have no air left inside of me.
He yanks the dress, exposing my breast, and starts licking and biting my nipples. I fall apart again, faster this time, like he has my body on a string he’s tugging with lots of precision. My vision goes blank. I stop remembering my own name. I don’t even get a full minute to recover.
Theo pulls me onto his lap, pressing me against his chest, and the filthy, reverent praise he whispers into my neck has my whole body lighting up again.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “You look so wrecked, and you are mine to wreck over and over.” I gasp loudly because that phrase hits every nerve I have.
He guides himself into my entrance, slow at first, teasing, then deeper, and his hands slide down my back, keeping me exactly where he wants me, moving me exactly how he wants me.
And I’m gone. I can feel the stretch, every inch of him.
I’m shaking, clawing at his shoulders, moaning into his neck as he thrusts up into me with a controlled, devastating rhythm that makes me dissolve all over again.
“Round three,” he whispers against my ear, dark and triumphant, “and you’re still so needy for me. You’re going to kill me, Samantha.” I came all over him. So hard that my legs gave out. Theo looks down at me and smirks like he’s proud of what he’s done.
“We’re not done, you said no sleep tonight,” he murmurs. My laugh is a pathetic, breathless little sound. “I can’t move.”
“You don’t have to.” He flips me gently onto my stomach, kisses down my spine, and pulls me back against him with this slow, possessive tenderness that makes me melt all over again.
He’s softer now, but every thrust is deeper, and I can feel him in my entire body. By the time I come again, quietly, helplessly, barely able to breathe. I’m shaking in his arms. He pulls me onto his chest, covering us both with the blanket, one hand stroking slow circles on my hip.
My body’s still trembling in little aftershocks. “You okay?” he asks softly. I manage a hum, barely a whimper. Something that means I’m alive but barely. He chuckles, low, smug, unbearably sexy.
“Good. Because I meant every word I said tonight.” His hand tightens on my hip.
“You drive me insane.” Another kiss. “You’re mine.” Another. “And when you send me pictures like that?” He laughs quietly. “I lost my mind for you, sweetheart. Every damn time.”
I curl into him, exhausted and warm and stupidly in love. “Theo?”
“Mm?”
“If this is what being your wife-to-be is like…” I nuzzle into his neck. “I’m not surviving the first month of marriage.” He tilts my chin up and kisses me slowly and deeply.
“Oh, you’ll survive,” he murmurs.
He pulls me tighter, holding me like he’s never letting go. And I fall asleep on his chest, completely ruined, completely safe, and completely his.
I groan as I move around the bed.
Oh no, Oh no.
I wake up and immediately regret having a body.
Every muscle in me protests. My thighs feel like they’ve been on a CrossFit retreat. My hips ache in ways I didn’t know they could. I try to roll over—oh no, bad idea. Pain shoots down my legs like I’ve done a triathlon. “What the fuck,” I croak.
Then I smell bacon, and I hear soft humming. And I realize two things. Theodore Jones absolutely wrecked me last night, and he is currently in our kitchen making us breakfast.
I try to stand up.
Nope, nope, nope.
My body basically said, ‘sit down, you slut’. So I limp, limp to the bathroom, splashing water on my face. I look like someone who barely survived a very pleasurable natural disaster.
As soon as I get to the kitchen, Theo sets a plate in front of me—eggs, bacon, fruit, a stupidly sweet kiss on my forehead— and whispers, “Eat, baby. You’re going to need the energy.”
After breakfast, or my best attempt at nibbling food while my entire body throbs, Theo sits next to me, and he runs his hand down my thigh, gentle, soothing. I melted into him out of instinct.
Then he clears his throat. And I know that sound. I freeze. “Don’t you dare break the mood,” I whisper dramatically.
“Sam,” he says softly, brushing hair from my face, “we need to talk about our prenup.” Every molecule in my body screams no. I drop my head on his shoulder. “My legs don’t work. My voice is gone. I am freshly fucked and deeply dehydrated. You’re picking a BAD time to be a responsible adult.”
“I know,” he murmurs. “But I also know you. If we don’t talk about it now, you’re going to spiral later.” Ugh, I hate this man.
“Okay, talk,” I whisper. He exhales, thumb tracing slow circles on my hip.
“There’s a clause I wanted to add, well, I added it already,” he says. “About your trust fund.” Of course. My stomach twists a little. He continues before I can react, “I want you to cash it before we get married.”
What. The. Fuck. I blink. “What? Why?”
“Because,” he says, cupping my cheek, “I want it separate from Hayes International. Completely protected. Completely yours. I don’t want it tied to my life, my company, or my name.
I want you to be safe from your father. From anyone.
” I stare at him. “So, you want me to use my trust fund… to protect me from my trust fund?”
“Yes, essentially,” he says, unapologetically, like it’s the clearest logic on earth.
“Because you’re young and stubborn. And maybe one day you’ll want options you can’t see right now.
I’m protecting your future.” My throat tightens.
“You don’t care about that money, so why?
” I whisper. “No,” he says immediately. “But, I do care about you.”
I sigh. “If I weren’t so sore, I’d be arguing harder. But I’m exhausted from all the… things we did last night.” I smack his chest. He catches my hand and kisses it while looking at me like asking for forgiveness. I groan. “Fine, I’ll talk to my lawyer and my accountant.”
He smiles like he just won the lottery. I look at him, groggy, ruined, loved, overwhelmed. “Thank you for always looking out for me, even when I don’t see it that way,” I whisper.
“Always”
Me: Hey, can we meet? I need a lawyer.
Naomi: Why? What happened? Are you okay? What did you do, Samantha?
Me: Nothing, I’m okay, just need to talk about some things.
Naomi: Okay. That’s not vague at all.
I arrived at the coffee shop near the office, and Naomi was already there, laptop closed, coffee untouched. She looked up the second she saw me, eyes flicking over my face like she was running diagnostics.
“So,” she said, folding her hands. “Talk to me.” Not hello. How are you? She was in full business mode.
“Theo wants me to cash out my trust before we get married.”
“Okay, that’s smart. But why?” she asked slowly.
“He says he wants to make sure it’s mine,” I said.
“That he doesn’t want it tied to the company.
I think he wants to protect me. He keeps saying he wants to take care of me, that this way the money can never be used against me.
” Naomi let out a slow breath, rubbing her thumb against the edge of the table. “That’s not a casual request, Sam.”
“I know,” I whispered. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I never wanted that money, but it is mine.”
“You’ll inherit it anyway when Dad dies, so it will be yours sooner or later.
” I hate this conversation so much. “I cashed mine out right at twenty-one,” she said.
I looked up. “You did?” That doesn’t surprise me much.
Naomi has always been the smart and calculated one.
She softened then—really softened. “This is your life,” she said.
“And on this one, I’m on Theo’s side. This is your money, and it should be only yours.
There are other accounts where you can put it under your name and your rules.
I can help you cash it, and then open those accounts. ”
I hesitated. “You really think this is the right move?”
“I think you’re marrying a man who wants you protected,” she said. Then, quieter, “And that matters.”
“How much is it?” She asks like I have a clue. “I don’t know, I texted Lauren on my way here, she said she’ll send the papers via email, but I haven’t opened it.”
“You coward,” Naomi said affectionately. “Give me that.” She takes my phone out of my hands and stares at me. “Not bad, it is a bit higher than mine, but you’re cashing it a few years later than me, and Dad put some interest accruals and clauses to those accounts. That makes sense.”
When I finally saw the number, I almost choked on my drink.
$26,650,000
I hate my family.
I hate my dad.
I hate Theodore.
And somehow, impossibly, I still want to marry him. I swallowed. “I’m scared.” Naomi smiled faintly. “About the money, or about getting married?”
“Both?” She laughed softly. “Everything will be fine, you’re making the right decision, and you have a man who cares for you.” I nod and smile. We finished our coffees and walked to the office.
“Hey Harper, is Theo there?” I ask her to signal the office door. “Since when do you ask for permission to enter his office?”
“I’m trying to set boundaries,” She looks at me, confused.
“He is in a meeting, but I’m sure he won't mind if you step in.” That’s suspicious.
“Thanks.” As I enter, I can hear him say, “Yeah, I’m sure she will sign it, but she just needs more time—” He looks up.
“Give me a second.” He puts the call on mute.
“Hey, I’m glad you are here. You should be part of this conversation. ”
“Yeah, Harper insinuated that. What’s this about?”
“I’m on the phone with Mayle, we’re discussing the prenup and the trust fund.” I take an exaggerated breath in. “So, about that, yeah, I’ll sign it.” He looked surprised, but please. “You’re cashing it?”
“Yes, I talked to Naomi this morning, we discussed my options, and she advised me on some accounts I can open to keep that money safe, but available.” He’s looking at me like he is so proud of me. That makes my heart melt.
I know that sometimes, he sees me like this, a twenty-six-year-old who fell in love with this sexy and obnoxious older man, and she just lost her mind, and maybe I did.
And I still do, especially when his tongue is on my pu— the point is, I need to show him and everyone that I can be a responsible adult.
“You look like you are about to combust. What’s on your mind?” Fuck that doesn’t help.
“Well, I was thinking about how I made this responsible adult decision, but then got distracted thinking about your tongue.” He smirks now, “My tongue where?” He asks, grabbing me and pulling me to the edge of the desk.
“Here?” He asks, sliding his finger up my thigh, I shake my head, “I was thinking a bit higher.” He keeps sliding his finger up until he reaches the hem of my panties. “Here?”
“You are dangerously close, but higher.” Then he pulled the edge of my panties, pulled them to the side, and with his thumb, he pressed on my clit, and I gasped. “Here?”
“Yes, right there.” He rearranged his chair so that he was seated right between my legs and pulled me closer.
My legs were on either side of his chair now.
I’m seated at the edge of his desk, and he just pushed me backward.
As soon as my head hit the desk, his mouth was on me.
I saw stars. The way this man can stop whatever he’s doing just to taste me, to provoke me, to—, FUCK THE CALL.
I stand up and close my legs, “What’s wrong, what happened?”
I hit unmute on the phone pad, “Hey Mayle, yes, I will sign the prenup. You’ll have it on your desk by EOD, nice talking to you, bye-bye.” And I hung up.
He is just looking at me in awe. “Okay, now.” I resume my position and let him devour me right there on his desk.
The rest of the day was uneventful until we got home.