22. Dannica #3
The books are stacked in a way that suggests he had attempted to organize it but gave up halfway through. Framed photos catch the light at just the right angle, not arranged so much as placed where they landed. It doesn’t feel styled. It feels lived in.
Which, annoyingly, makes me like it more.
I pause at a shelf, pretending to be very interested in something that is definitely not as interesting as what he’s reading behind me.
Do not turn around, do not check his face. Do not.
I turn. He’s still reading, but there’s no visible reaction on his face. This is worse. I turn back quickly and keep moving. I find myself in the spare bedroom, where Teddy had set up his workspace.
That’s when I see it.
A photo of me from the masquerade. It’s framed. Just sitting on his desk like it belongs there. Like I belong there.
My breath catches, sharp and sudden.
Oh.
Drawn to it, I step closer. The version of me in that photo feels unfamiliar in the most unsettling way.
Softer. More open. In it, I’m not bracing for anything, or editing myself mid-expression.
I’m not trying to be whatever version of me the moment requires.
Just… me. Or at least a version of me I don’t usually get to see.
“Teddy,” I say, his name catching slightly in my throat.
He appears in the doorway a moment later, and I watch the shift in his expression when he sees what I’m looking at. Right. So he knows exactly how this looks.
“I was debating whether to give it to you,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck in a way that feels almost shy. “But I didn’t want you to think I was creepy for having it.”
I huff out a small breath, still looking at the photo. “It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen myself like that.”
I glance back at him, searching for the right words.
“It’s not just how I look,” I add, steadier now even though my heart is currently attempting a prison break. “It’s the expression on my face. I look like I’m actually myself. Not what people expect. Not what I think I’m supposed to be.” I hesitate. “That sounds strange, doesn’t it?”
He steps closer, and I feel the shift in the air before I fully register it. The space between us narrows without either of us making a big deal of it.
“That’s why I love portraiture,” he says quietly. “It lets you see the parts people don’t usually show. The ones under everything else. The real ones.”
My pulse picks up. I’m going to need CPR soon.
“Is this how you see me?” I ask.
There’s a split second where I almost take it back, but he doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah,” he says, his gaze steady on mine. “It is.”
He steps closer again, so close I feel his breath on my cheek. His hand brushes my cheek, certain and sure. Then his mouth is on mine.
I lean into him, my hands curling into his shirt because everything suddenly feels a little unsteady in the best possible way. The kiss deepens naturally, that steady pull we seem to fall into every time we touch. It builds without forcing anything, and I feel it everywhere.
Instinct takes over, the desire to give something back rising before I can overthink it. When I start to drop, it’s not really a decision so much as a continuation of the moment.
I undo his belt and lower his jeans. I heard somewhere that if you go down on a guy while he’s standing, the sensation is more intense because he has to focus on balance, which heightens everything.
I don’t know if it’s true, but the other day when he went down on me while I was standing, it was so hot.
The sound he makes when I take him into my mouth ignites something in me.
I take my time with him. I want to trace every inch of him, commit it all to memory.
The warmth of his skin against my tongue, every ridge, every vein.
I lick him slowly from the base to the tip, swirling my tongue around the head, paying particular attention to the ridge on the underside and reveling in the sharp hiss it draws out of him.
His fingers thrust into my hair and curl into fists. The pull sends a throb deep through me.
“Fuck, Dannica. Fuuuck.”
God, I don’t think I’ll ever not clench at the sound of him saying my name like that. The drawn-out fuck alone should probably get me arrested.
I take him deeper, paying close attention to every tremor in his legs and when his fingers tighten in my hair.
I glance up at him from under my lashes and find his jaw clenched, like he’s fighting the urge to push further.
The thought crosses my mind that this might make a perfect photo, though I’m sure Teddy would disagree.
I feel the exact moment he’s about to lose it before he even taps my cheek and grunts out the warning. Reaching up, I cup his ass, making it entirely clear I’m not going anywhere.
He throws his head back and groans, and I clench around nothing, so turned on it’s almost embarrassing. Heat hits the back of my tongue and I swallow every drop.
When he’s done, he hooks a finger under my chin and tilts it up. When I rise, he captures my mouth with his, kissing me deep and slow, and I feel the heady taste of him still on my tongue mixing with the warmth of his lips.
I think I’ve just found my new favorite hobby.