Chapter Six #2
‘Nothing you say has the power to hurt me,’ he said, simply.
‘But you are welcome to keep trying.’ He leaned closer, so his lips were just a hair’s breadth from hers.
‘I like fighting with you, Annie. I think we both know that if you keep it up, we’ll end up in bed together, so by all means, do your worst.’
Her jaw dropped and her brain went blank. He was so casual about sex, about referring to going to bed together. Would he be the same if he knew she was a virgin?
Annie frowned, the idea not one she’d really contemplated.
But somehow, she suspected even this version of Theo might balk at the idea of being her first lover under these circumstances.
She was a twenty-seven-year-old innocent.
Not really by choice or design, but because of circumstances.
Almost her entire life, it had been about Theo.
After their break-up, and her mother’s death, she had come to the conclusion she didn’t have a sexual bone in her body.
She simply wasn’t interested in dating, or exploring that side of herself.
‘You have a one-track mind,’ she muttered, and then he laughed, a deep, throaty sound.
‘I take it back. Honesty is difficult for you.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘If I were to touch you right now, you’d burst into flames. You are so hungry for me, you are practically drooling. Which is not to say I do not feel the same for you—but if I do have a one-track mind, it is something we share.’
Her tongue darted out, licking her lower lip. ‘But we’re not animals,’ she said, her voice soft, though, most definitely lacking conviction.
‘Actually, we are. And the desire we feel is the very definition of animalistic passion.’
Her cheeks flashed with warmth and her body felt unimaginably heavy. ‘Well, you’d know more about that than I would.’
‘Meaning?’
‘That you’re no stranger to casual sex, whereas I—’
‘Only sleep with men your father approves of?’ he supplied, a hint of anger in the words. She opened her mouth to dispute that, to throw her virginity in his face, but the words died in her throat.
She didn’t want him to know. She didn’t want to risk that it would change things between them.
‘How does that work, Princess? Does he give you a list? Pre-screen your dates? Ask for proof of their aristocratic lineage before you’re allowed to drop your pants?’
She closed her eyes, his questions stinging.
‘I’d rather not talk about my father, particularly not with you, and definitely not now.’
‘Why not now, agape?’ He put his hands on her hips then, pulling her towards him, away from the spilled coffee and broken cup, and against the knot of his towel, beneath which she knew his dick was barely contained by the fabric.
Her tongue was thick in her mouth, and refusing to cooperate. She could barely think of words, much less say them. She felt backed into a corner, so all she could do was shake her head and feign exasperation. ‘This is ridiculous,’ she finally managed to squeeze out.
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m never going to beg you to make love to me. You’re the one who said you wanted this to be a real marriage, you’re the one who insisted on that. So if you want us to have sex, then fine. But don’t expect me to take the first step.’
Another laugh, this one short and sharp, before he dropped his head so his lips were just an inch from hers and her pulse was a throbbing, twisty mess.
‘Okay, I’ll take the first step,’ he said. ‘Would you like me to kiss you?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘You’re still asking me to ask you.’
‘I’m asking you to tell me,’ he said. ‘Tell me it’s okay to kiss you.’
Her eyes widened, because it was a nuanced difference.
He was asking for consent, for permission.
She could say no, and he’d respect it. This was her line to draw.
But a kiss was just a kiss. In fact, a kiss was a good way of showing him they could feel the stirrings of physical need and ignore them.
‘I married you, didn’t I?’
‘That’s not an answer.’
And despite having said she wouldn’t take the first step, it was Annie who was lifting up onto the tips of her toes and seeking out his mouth with hers, Annie who was kissing Theo, Annie whose need was so strong she momentarily forgot everything they’d been, said, and were, and existed simply in the moment for this.
Annie kissed Theo, but she only had control for a few seconds before he was deepening the kiss and taking over, dominating her as he had at the piano, and earlier, at the wedding.
It was Theo whose hands roamed her body, her back, her sides, before curving around her buttocks and pushing her forward, hard against him, against his arousal, his bare chest, Theo who ground his hips so she could feel all of him, so she moaned hungrily.
Theo who made stars flood her eyes when he dragged his lips from her mouth to her jaw, flicking the pulse point there, before tracking upwards to the flesh just beneath her earlobe and sucking on it, the combination of his warm, moist mouth and his breath make her whimper and cry his name.
Theo who lifted her and carried her to the bench, sitting her down and standing between her legs, kissing her until she was crying out.
His name, a curse, but somehow, even in that moment, she was able to stop herself from begging for him, even when the word please ran around and around her mind like lightning in a bottle.
Last night, he’d cupped her breasts through her shirt but this morning, he had no patience for that, as he pushed the fabric up her stomach and over her head, removing the T-shirt carelessly, throwing it on the ground.
She tilted her head backwards and his mouth dragged from her throat to her collarbone and then lower, his stubble rough against her soft skin, leaving pink marks in his wake, as he found a nipple and took it in his mouth, his hand squeezing her other nipple until the heat between her legs was a form of mind-altering madness, like some kind of hallucinogenic drug.
‘Theo,’ she groaned, and wiggled forward on the edge of the bench, needing to be closer to him, needing him. She wouldn’t use her words to beg, but with her body, she pleaded, needing his touch, his possession, his everything.
‘I want to hold your breasts when we make love,’ he said, pulling up to look into her eyes. ‘I want to take you from behind, and watch in the mirror as you fall apart.’
She shivered at the imagery, the heat of it, the promise, but she bit into her lip to stop herself from saying that she too wanted that. That she wanted everything he wanted. That she was utterly and completely in his hands.
‘All that time, I stopped us from having sex,’ he muttered, his hands now shifting to her thighs, one creeping higher, beneath the loose fabric of her shorts, all the way to where her leg met her body and resting there, before his fingers began to draw invisible circles, making her shiver.
‘I didn’t want to rush you, to pressure you.
Yet now, all I can think about is the fact other men have had you, have worshipped you, and I have not. Do you have any idea how that feels?’
Intellectually she knew it was a gross double standard, given he’d lived whatever the opposite of celibacy was, but that didn’t stop it from touching something deep inside of her.
His jealousy. His possessiveness. Would he feel that if, on some level, he didn’t care about her?
Or was it all just about ego and ownership?
Before she could answer that, his hand had crept down a little, his finger finding her underpants and pushing them aside, then pressing against the heat of her sex.
His eyes latched to hers, a question in their depth, and he moved slowly.
So slowly, as though he was giving her every opportunity to object, to tell him to stop.
But she didn’t. While she wasn’t ever going to beg him—pride was on the line, after all—nor would she put a stop to anything they were doing, because it all felt too damned good.
It was Theo who moaned as he pushed a finger into her wet, warm core, brushing against the muscular wall so that Annie bucked her hips in pleasure.
‘You are so wet,’ he ground out, shaking his head a little. ‘And still you refuse to ask me to take you?’
She bit into her lip, speech beyond her.
‘It is a shame, Annie, because I would love my cock to be here, instead,’ he pushed his finger in harder, faster and she cried out at the sharp sense of invasion—the welcome feeling of having any part of him inside her.
She wanted to tell him she wanted that too, but whenever she opened her mouth to say it, she held back.
They were playing a dangerous game, and if Annie were to concede so early, to give away her power, she knew she’d live to regret it.
He was trying to break her. He was trying to get her to admit that no matter what he said or did, she would fall in with his plans, that she would be his again, and she instinctively knew she had to fight that.
‘Since when do you need a handwritten invitation?’ she muttered. ‘Are you telling me you make every woman you sleep with beg for you?’
‘Oh, no, Annie, this is just about you,’ he said, confirming her thoughts. ‘I want you to beg for me. I want you to admit that you still want me. I want the woman who acted like I meant nothing to prove herself wrong…’
‘I’ve told you,’ she moaned, as he moved his finger faster, and tilted her head back, eyes clinging to the ceiling as a wave of pleasure spread through her body. ‘I—can’t—’
‘You can’t what?’
Pleasure built, intense, fast, hard. ‘Beg me, Annie,’ he said, pulling his finger out, so she whipped her head forward, staring at him, heart racing. ‘All you have to do is ask me to take you, and I will make you feel better than you’ve ever known possible.’
The throb in her gut demanded that of her.
She needed him; what was the harm in admitting it?
Please. Such a simple word and yet when she opened her mouth, it wouldn’t come out.
He stared at her, his own cheeks slashed with colour, so she knew he wasn’t unaffected by this, that it was taking a degree of willpower all of his own.
‘Please,’ she said, and then, added quickly, ‘stop. Stop now.’
His eyes widened with surprise and his lips clamped together to form a grim line, but he did what she’d said, every part of him growing still, and then Annie’s heart sank as he pulled his hands away from her, his chest moving though with the force of his breathing.
‘Is this really what you want?’ she asked sadly, her heart heavy. ‘Do you need to demean me, by hearing me beg, because five years ago I had the nerve to break up with you?’
‘I don’t give a shit that you dumped me, Annie. That’s always been your prerogative.’
She tilted her chin, ignoring the way pain seemed to slice through her.
‘It’s your reason for ending it that I think pathetic. To leave someone, when you are grown woman, because your mummy and daddy don’t think he’s good enough? It’s my own fault, but I did think better of you.’
She flinched.
‘I was wrong. You’re just as superficial as them. What is that expression about apples and trees?’
She glanced sideways, trying to catch her breath. It was a body blow, even though he’d used a few short words.
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I know that you were a coward then, by not standing up to your parents, and you’re a coward now, for not admitting how much you want me. You live your life with your head in the sand—I’m disappointed in you, Annie.’
She ground her teeth, trying not to react, but she could feel her emotions spiralling out of control. Given the choice between anger, and showing how hurt she was, she firmly chose the former. ‘Seriously, Theo, just go to hell.’
He leaned closer then, his eyes locked to hers, somber and intense. ‘Are we not both already there, Annie Leonidas?’