Chapter 16
My breath stutters as my palm meets the hard plane of Teddy’s chest. Under my fingers, his heart kicks. There’s an answering gallop in my own.
“Can I undress you?” I breathe, thumbs brushing the hem of his T-shirt. His pupils flood dark, jaw twitches. “I want to see you.”
He gives one silent nod. I lift the cotton. Copper curls appear first, then the sculpted slope of pectorals, nipples alert in the cool air. A pale silver scar slants between two ribs.
“How?” I trace it lightly.
“Age eleven,” he murmurs. “Decided a tree branch could be a diving board. Branch disagreed.”
“Yeah, I knew you were the sort of kid to give your mother grey hair,” I tease.
A grin flirts at his mouth, but his exhale is ragged. I press a kiss to the rippled skin, then follow the faint line of hair south until my thumb sinks into the hollow beside his hip. The shiver that travels through him detonates inside me. My lips follow its path back to his chest.
Ink catches the lamplight—Elodie, ringed by thread-fine wildflowers, resting over his heart.
“When the doctors told us she might not make it.” His voice thins. “Rowan and Tim got one too. We wanted her here—” he taps his chest “—no matter what.”
Emotion pulses between us; I answer with my lips, a soft brush over the name before peeling the shirt over his head. He tosses it aside, muscles flexing. His broad forearms are strong, dependable, like he’d effortlessly carry any burden placed in them.
“Can I?” he whispers, the request careful, without presumption or demand.
I place his hand on my chest. Buttons slide free beneath his calloused fingers. He eases my shirt off like he’s handling something precious. I unclasp my bra; the straps sigh to the floor, and cool air ghosts across my skin until his gaze heats every inch.
“So fucking beautiful.” It’s half curse, half prayer.
He bows and takes one nipple into his mouth. Heat spears through me; my head tips back, a moan spilling before I can catch it. His thumb teases the twin peak, rolling, testing, coaxing pleasure higher.
I dig my fingers into his hair, tug just enough to feel the resistance. “Teddy…” I plead.
He answers with a gentle bite that melts into a kiss, then stills. His hands cradle my waist, thumbs stroking circles as if to soothe, but they only stoke the fire.
“Rachel.” His breath hitches against my sternum. “If we start…I won’t want to stop. Tell me to, and I will.”
I tip his chin up. “I want this. If I need you to stop, I’ll say.”
Conflict flickers behind stormy eyes. He exhales through his nose, presses his forehead between my breasts as though drawing strength, then sets the smallest distance between us—one you could measure in heartbeats, not inches.
“Your pace, Teddy. I’m not going anywhere.”
I catch a faint sigh, and then patience gives way to urgency.
He stands, pulls me to my feet. His fingers find the button of my jeans; I cover his hands and pop it myself, shoving denim past my hips while he drags it to my ankles. A scarlet scrap of lace follows with one slow tug, puddling on the floor beside us.
“All of you,” I murmur, my hand palming the hard length of him straining at the seam of his zipper. He groans at the pressure.
“No.” His voice is thick. “This is about you,” he rasps, then settles against the headboard, knees splayed.
“Come here.” He invites me back with a slow pat to the quilt.
I settle between his legs, lean back against his chest. He nuzzles my hair, one strong arm wraps me in, the fingers tracing leisurely loops over my breast. I melt into the crook of his arm.
Soft nonsense spills against my ear—beautiful, stunning, incredible.
He tips my chin and kisses promises into me: I got you. I see you. You’re safe with me.
He sees me, and the armour I wear for everyone else slides quietly off my shoulders.
His free hand slips between my thighs, parting them with a sure palm.
A teasing fingertip drags across my entrance; a jolt shoots through my core.
He eases the finger inside—slow, exploratory—then curves deeper, finding the exact spot that makes me gasp.
His nose brushes mine, tender and steadying, as he adds a second finger.
An exquisite ache blooms as I stretch then tighten around him.
The other hand drifts to my clit, where nerves clash like cymbals. One hand drives a measured pulse inside me; the other sketches coaxing spirals until pleasure layers, syncopates, swells.
Warm honey seems to ooze through my limbs, pooling in the curl of my toes. I’m powerless against the rising tide; waves of sensation crest and break.
My breath comes in short, panting bursts. His mouth claims mine, hungry, as though he’s breathing pleasure straight into my centre. I cling to him, taking everything he’ll give until release rips through me, my cry swallowed by his kiss.
He slips his hand free, and I sag boneless in his arms. One palm curves around my breast, comforting heat against my cooling skin. His erection presses into my spine—his need obvious—yet he still reins himself in.
“You want me,” I murmur.
“Yes,” he answers, drawing a blanket over us. “But I want to wait. I want to earn it.” He shifts behind me. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding arrogant.”
“Try me,” I say. “When I look at you, arrogance isn’t what I see, Teddy.”
He swallows, twirling a strand of my hair around his finger.
“I’ve never really had to wait for anything—gigs, girls, the hype. It all just…landed. And because it was so easy, none of it ever felt real.”
“With the girls—” he swallows again, Adam’s apple bobbing “—I didn’t feel real to them either. A bit of fun, a good time, maybe a shiny gift or two. Surface-level.”
I breathe in. “And with me?”
“With you…” He lifts my hand, presses his lips to my knuckles. “I want to be the man who waits, if that’s what it takes to matter to you. To be real to you.”
I fold into him, the blanket cocooning everything.
Teddy here in my room, warm bare skin against my back, his arms containing the thump of our hearts—it should feel like triumph.
I told myself I wanted the neat win: a fling.
Holding it now, it tastes like the wrong prize—because he wants more.
And the worst part? I think I might too.
He’s waiting for me. Waiting—for the first time in his life—and that puts the weight on me. What if I can’t give back what he’s brave enough to offer? Then I’m just another girl using him. The thought strikes harder than one of his drumsticks.
He presses a gentle kiss against my hair. “Better go. Big day tomorrow. Second song to prepare.” He swings his legs clear and stands. “Oldies to win over with our performance.”
A grin flickers and he scoops up his T-shirt and tugs it over the riot of bronze curls.
“We’re still riding out first thing?” He’s leaving, and already I need to know the next time he’s mine.
“Yeah, for sure. Make the most of it. Now Bodie’s given up trying to toss me off every chance.”
He leans in with one final languid kiss, and he’s gone. The door clicks shut. Silence stretches, broken only by the gentle hiss of the gas fire. I lie back, my eyes tracking the tangle of vines and flowers across the plasterwork ceiling, my thoughts in knots.
Teddy may not realise he already holds more of me than I meant to give. This was supposed to be easy—a no-strings rebound, a quick scrub of my ex from my system.
Except now Teddy’s fingerprints are pressed into the places where strings take hold. Sex wasn’t the victory; it was that he saw the unedited me and I didn’t flinch. He sees me—properly—and I still feel safe. That’s the dangerous bit I hadn’t planned for. I meant this to be simple.
It isn’t.
How do I keep my feelings in their carefully constructed box and keep Teddy Hargrove out of it?