Chapter 33 Thea
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
THEA
Slade pushes me up against the wall, one hand on my throat, gently squeezing until my breath hitches into a whimpering moan. The other hand grabs my wrist and pins it above my head. I lick my lips, and my pulse rattles, thumping wildly.
His jaw clenches and unclenches as I wait for him to decide what to do with me. I wanted to push him. Annoyed he didn’t listen to me, I wanted to punish him, but I think my wounds are self-inflicted because I want him. I’ve been wanting him.
His lips meet mine, and the hand holding onto my wrist trembles so hard it slips.
Instead, he wraps his arms around my waist, hauling me against him.
His kiss is all heat and racing touches.
He can’t touch enough of me, so he urges me closer to the wall, and I break from his kiss to gather air with a gasp.
He moves to my neck, the warmth of his mouth nipping and licking my mind into oblivion.
He drops, scooping me up in his arms, opening the door before he tilts me through the threshold.
He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he carries me upstairs.
The cold air of the house claws at my exposed back, and all the hair on my arms stands on end when he leans forward to swallow my breath once more.
His mouth is devastating.
Our kiss is messy, teeth and tongues giving and taking. He carries me straight to his suite, kicking the door closed behind us.
A greater ache blooms when he lays me on the bed before him. He hovers over the end, taking me in.
I relax, allowing his comforter to envelop me. I hold his gaze, moving my hands over my stomach and lower. As he stares, I reach for a blanket, feeling too exposed, too vulnerable. Is he going to touch me? I need him to touch me.
“Don’t,” he groans. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long. Don’t cover up. Let me look at you, please.”
The pain in his eyes, the tightness of his fist—I smile. There’s no one who’s ever looked at me the way he does. Like he’s been tossed overboard and is drowning, but the water is soothing and warm, so he doesn’t mind. Love, reverence, obsession—they all blur together in the way he takes me in.
Finally, he moves forward, fingertips trailing up my thigh. I shake but arch and reach for his tie.
“Slade …” I whine.
He chuckles before the edge of his smile disappears. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he murmurs. “Waiting for you to want me the way I want you.”
His unguarded expression is dangerous, but there’s no turning back. Not now, not ever. And even though he’ll hate me in the morning, I need him. I’m not ashamed to admit it.
“I love you, Thea. Tonight, let me show you what words never can.”
I roll over and glance at Slade; he’s finally asleep. The room, alive with soft sounds an hour ago, has now settled into a deep silence. Sheets tangle around my legs, and I scooch closer to him, listening to his breathing, slow, steady.
The moonlight caresses his bare chest, outlining the cruel, jagged scar—EV’s signature branding a man who never wanted this. I barely brush my fingers over the edge, tracing it. This is why something more needs to be done.
I sink down into the down comforter, the weight making me not want to move. I nuzzle into the space between his shoulder and jaw, breathing him in. The musk of his skin, the mix of his scent with mine. I’m careful not to wake him, though part of me wants to—to explain. To convince him.
He doesn’t move, not even as much as a twitch, and I smile, wondering what if we’d met in a different life.
Something simple. Perhaps I run into him at the coffee shop while he’s getting his morning coffee with his assistant.
I accidentally pick up his coffee at the window, but instead of being upset, he takes mine.
He asks for my number, and we go on a dinner date three days later at a restaurant—one you can’t get reservations at for a year.
I shake my head, rubbing my forehead with the palm of my hand.
I’m not sure I could do it; trade our story for something different, a version less brutal.
I don’t want coffee shop courtesy, a polite exchange of numbers, or fancy dinners.
I love his silent obsession and unmannered devotion, plus our Frosted Flakes.
I’ve never loved a man, not really, but him … I could love him until death do us part. It’s just that the death part might come a whole lot sooner.
It was never going to be simple for us.
I stay close, letting the ache and fear seep away with him by my side for just a little longer. I don’t move; I don’t speak.
I inhale five long breaths, willing confidence I’ve never had. Then, I push back the comforter and get out of bed.