15. Azaria
AZARIA
Two hours into endless conversations about tax write-offs and youth hockey programs, I need an escape. The charity gala sparkles around us, all crystal and careful smiles, but my patience for performative philanthropy has reached its limit.
I catch Theo's arm as he finishes discussing ice rink maintenance with a board member. "Come with me for a second."
He follows me toward the quieter corridor near the restrooms, away from the main crowd. I pull a small, elegant silver case from my clutch—nothing obvious, just something to take the edge off this endless parade of small talk.
"Want to make this evening a little more interesting?" I flip open the case, revealing a perfectly rolled joint. "It's completely legal, and I could use something to help me get through another hour of Mrs. Doosey explaining her grandson's hockey potential."
Theo's entire posture shifts. The easy warmth that had been building between us all evening vanishes, replaced by something colder, more distant.
"I can't."
"It's just a little?—"
"No, Azaria. I can't, and you shouldn't either. Not here."
The disapproval in his voice stings more than it should. I snap the case shut, shoving it back into my clutch. "Fine. Forget I asked."
We return to the gala, but the atmosphere between us has changed. Theo maintains perfect politeness, but there's a wall now where moments before there had been connection. We leave the gala an hour later.
The drive home passes in tense silence.
As soon as we step through his front door, Theo turns on me.
"What the hell were you thinking?"
I kick off my heels, immediately losing three inches of height but gaining attitude. "Excuse me?"
"Bringing drugs to a charity event. In front of board members, donors, people with cameras everywhere."
"It wasn't drugs, it was weed. Legal weed. There's a difference."
"Not to the press there isn't." He loosens his bow tie with sharp movements. "I was so wrong thinking I could trust you to handle yourself appropriately. You're always looking for the next way to create a scandal."
Heat flares in my chest. "Oh, lighten up, Theo. It was just something to help us enjoy the evening. You don't have to be so fucking uptight all the time."
"Uptight? I'm trying to protect both our reputations while you're actively sabotaging them."
"I'm trying to have a normal human experience instead of walking around like a robot programmed for maximum respectability."
We're moving closer as we argue, the space between us shrinking with each heated exchange.
"You think this is a game, Azaria. Everything is just entertainment to you."
"And you think life is a performance review where one wrong move gets you fired from being human."
"At least I think before I act."
"At least I actually feel things instead of calculating every emotion for maximum PR value."
We're inches apart now, both breathing hard. His face is stormy with frustration, jaw clenched tight. I can see the pulse at his throat, fast and uneven.
"You're maddening," he growls. "Absolutely infuriating."
"Good. Maybe that means you're finally feeling something real."
The air between us crackles with tension, anger mixing with something darker, more dangerous. My heart pounds against my ribs as I hold his stare, refusing to back down.
Then he closes the distance and kisses me.
Hard, demanding, nothing gentle about it. His hands frame my face as his mouth claims mine with all the frustration we've been building between us. I melt into him immediately, my hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer.
His mouth crashes into mine again, but this time there's no anger left—just hunger.
The kiss deepens immediately, tongues sliding together, teeth catching my lower lip with just enough pressure to make me gasp.
His hands are everywhere at once, one tangling in my hair while the other slides down my back, pulling me flush against him.
I can feel every hard inch of him through his tuxedo pants, and the knowledge that I did that to him makes my breath catch.
My fingers find the buttons of his shirt, working them open with impatient movements.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to growl against my lips, "Fuck, Azaria," before claiming my mouth again.
The shirt hits the floor. His skin is hot under my palms, all hard muscle and smooth skin over steel.
I trace the lines of his chest, feeling the way his breath hitches when I scrape my nails over his nipples.
His hands are just as busy, sliding under my dress, fingers tracing the lace edge of my thong before dipping lower.
"You're already so wet," he murmurs against my neck, his voice rough with need. "Is this for me?"
"Shut up and touch me," I demand, arching into his hand.
He chuckles darkly, but obeys, two fingers sliding inside me. I moan against his shoulder, biting down as he curls them just right. His thumb finds my clit, circling with maddening slowness.
"More," I pant, riding his hand. "Harder."
Theo pulls back just enough to look at me, grey eyes dark with desire. "You want it harder, baby?"
Before I can answer, he's lifting me, laying me back against the couch cushions. His mouth finds my breast through the fabric of my dress, teeth grazing my nipple before sucking hard. The sensation shoots straight to my core, making me writhe beneath him.
"Please," I whimper, not even sure what I'm begging for anymore.
Theo's answer is to hook his fingers in the neckline of my dress and yank it down, exposing my breasts completely. His mouth is on them immediately, tongue swirling around one nipple while his fingers pinch and roll the other. The dual sensations have me gasping, back arching off the couch.
"God, you're perfect," he murmurs against my skin, switching to the other breast. His free hand slides down my stomach, fingers finding me again. "So wet. So ready for me."
I can only moan in response as he adds another finger, stretching me while his thumb works my clit in tight circles. The pressure builds quickly, my body tightening around him.
"Not yet," he commands, pulling his fingers out. I whine at the loss, but then his mouth is there, hot and wet, replacing his fingers with his tongue.
"Fuck!" The word tears from my throat as he licks into me, tongue fucking me with deliberate strokes. His hands grip my thighs, spreading me wider as he devours me.
"Please, Theo," I beg. "Please let me come."
He looks up at me, lips glistening, eyes burning. "Since you asked so nicely."
His mouth returns to my pussy, but this time he focuses on my clit, sucking hard while two fingers slide back inside me. The combination is too much, too perfect—I come with a cry, body shaking as pleasure crashes through me.
Theo doesn't stop, working me through my orgasm with gentle licks and soft kisses. When I finally go limp beneath him, he presses one last kiss to my inner thigh before standing.
The euphoria fades instantly, replaced by a cold wash of reality that makes my stomach clench. I stare down at myself—my dress twisted and torn at the neckline where Theo's hands grabbed the fabric. The dress is ruined, hanging in shreds around my waist.
My hair, which took two hours to perfect into sleek waves, I am sure now looks like I've been caught in a hurricane.
What the hell did I just do?
Theo stands there watching me, chest still rising and falling from exertion, those grey eyes searching my face. Waiting. Expecting me to say something clever or cutting or seductive. Something that acknowledges what just happened between us.
But all I feel is the familiar burn of shame creeping up my throat.
"Could you get me a shirt? Something to cover up with."
His brow furrows slightly, confusion flickering across his features, but he nods. "Of course."
He disappears while I sit here surrounded by the evidence of my complete lack of self-control. The torn dress, the lingering scent of sex in the air. This is exactly the kind of reckless behavior that got me into this mess in the first place.
When Theo returns, he's carrying one of his oversized Rangers t-shirts—soft cotton that will swallow my frame entirely. Perfect for hiding the disaster I've become.
"Here." He holds it out, still studying my face. "Azaria, what's?—"
"I'm going to sleep." I snatch the shirt from his hands and pull it over my head, letting the destroyed dress pool at my feet. The cotton falls to my mid-thighs, mercifully covering everything.
"Wait, we should probably talk about?—"
"Good night, Theo."
I don't wait for his response. Can't bear to see whatever expression crosses his face—disappointment, confusion, regret. Instead, I flee toward the stairs, taking them two at a time despite my bare feet.
Behind me, I hear him call my name once, but I don't stop. Don't look back.
The guest room door closes with a soft click, and I lean against it, breathing hard. My reflection in the mirror across the room shows exactly what I expected—a woman who looks thoroughly debauched, wearing a man's shirt like a walk of shame uniform.
I should have known better. Should have kept my distance, maintained the careful balance we'd been building. I am starting to ruin everything.
Just like I always do.