Bonus Scene
Chapter twenty-four from Theo’s POV
The apartment was dim, washed in the faint amber glow of streetlights bleeding through gauzy curtains. The air held that charged stillness like the moment before a summer storm and when she turned to look at me, I felt the breath catch in my throat.
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.
I stepped forward slowly, one measured stride at a time. Giving her space. Giving her the chance to walk away — even though the thought of that nearly wrecked me.
She didn’t move.
My fingers found a stray strand of hair falling across her cheek. I tucked it behind her ear, knuckles grazing the soft curve of her face. She tilted into my touch instinctively, and something sharp and aching twisted in my chest.
“I’ve waited for this,” I said, and fuck, my voice was rough with everything I’d buried. “For you. All this time.”
Her eyes flickered, wide and soft. I kissed her. Not gently — not tonight. I needed her. I needed this. And the second our mouths met, everything fell away. The wine on her lips. The tension I’d been holding for days — for years. I poured it all into her.
I kissed the side of her neck, testing. She sighed, and I kissed her again, slower this time, until she was breathing unevenly, eyelids fluttering. She shifted slightly and stumbled — just a little. Her hand grabbed my shoulder, and I caught her with ease.
We both laughed.
“Not ideal footwear for seduction,” she muttered, and the blush rising in her cheeks made my heart ache.
“I can help,” I said softly, crouching in front of her.
My hand ran slowly down the length of her bare leg, steady and reverent.
Her breath hitched. I reached her ankle, brushed over the delicate bone, and undid the buckle.
Then the other. Her shoes dropped to the floor with quiet thuds.
Every motion slow. Intentional. I knew what I was doing.
And I knew exactly what it was doing to her.
When I stood, our eyes locked. She was already breathless. Already glowing.
I brushed her hair back with both hands, my fingers grazing the sides of her face. She bit her bottom lip, drawing it between her teeth. My thumb traced the same path, pulling it free.
“Tell me what you need,” I said.
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Still too in her head. Still trying to figure out how to ask for what she wanted.
“Okay,” I murmured, dipping closer. “Then tell me what you want.”
“A kiss,” she whispered.
I tilted my head. “A kiss? ”
She nodded, but we both knew it wasn’t just that.
It never was. Still, I gave it to her. My hands held her face like it was something sacred and I kissed her slowly, deeply, tasting the soft surrender in every brush of her mouth.
Her whole body leaned into mine. I felt it — the shift, the heat — her skin humming beneath her dress.
When I pulled back, she swayed forward, chasing me.
“Anywhere else you want me to kiss you?” I asked, already knowing the answer. The flush in her cheeks, the tension between her legs — I could feel it in the air between us.
She nodded.
“You’re going to have to talk to me, Celia.”
She hesitated, and I saw it — the war behind her eyes. She wanted to be held, to be claimed. To be ruined and rebuilt all at once. But she didn’t know how to ask for it.
“Theo, I need you—”
I didn’t let her finish. I kissed her hard, hands tangling in her hair as her fingers clawed at my shirt. Then I hooked my arms under her thighs and lifted her. Her legs wrapped around my waist like they were made to.
“Bedroom?” I asked.
She pointed behind me, breathless. “That way.”
I carried her there, heart hammering, and stopped at the edge of the bed. Her dress had a bow at the front — one I desperately hoped was functional.
“Please tell me this actually does something.”
She laughed. “It’s fake. ”
“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered, smiling now as I pressed another kiss to her neck, trailing up toward her mouth. She reached back and unfastened the real clasp. The dress slipped off her shoulders and pooled at her feet.
She stepped out of it, calm and steady, and I swear my pulse flatlined.
No bra. Just a pair of black panties. Her skin was all soft curves and long lines and quiet power and she stood there like she didn’t even realise how devastating she was.
Something primal sparked in me.
My mouth went dry. My hands twitched at my sides.
Jesus Christ.
I’d dreamed about this — hell, I’d fantasised about this — but nothing came close to the way she looked in front of me now, vulnerable and unflinching, fire and softness all at once. I wanted to drop to my knees. I wanted to build her a fucking cathedral and pray to her every night.
“You’re beautiful,” I said, because I needed her to hear it. Needed her to know I wasn’t just seeing her — I was devastated by her.
My hands skimmed up her sides, over the curve of her breasts. I dragged my thumbs across her nipples, watching them harden under my touch. I bent down and took one into my mouth, sucking gently before giving it the lightest scrape of teeth.
She let out a sound that made my cock twitch — part gasp, part plea.
Her hands fumbled with my shirt. I let her pull it over my head, her palms trailing over my chest like she was memorising me. No jokes now. No teasing. Just her. Just us. Just this impossible heat.
I whispered something against her neck — nonsense, maybe prayers — and guided her down onto the bed.
I kissed her stomach. Lower. Her thighs tensed as I settled between them.
“Can I take these off?” I asked, fingers brushing the waistband of her panties.
She nodded, lifting her hips.
I slid them down, slowly, reverently. When I looked up again, my breath caught.
Every inch of her was perfect.
“You are much more breathtaking than any fantasy I could conjure up in my mind.”
Her breath stuttered. “Does that mean I should make you beg?”
My grip on her thighs tightened. I leaned in, close enough to feel her breath. “You already have me on my knees for you. You always have done.”
And when I said she already had me on my knees, I meant it. Every word. I would have crawled for her.
I licked a slow, deliberate line up her slit, pausing at her clit. She whimpered — already needy and the sound sent something primal through me.
“For you, Celia, I would beg as long as you wanted me to,” I murmured. “How about for now, you just let me worship you and I can beg later?”
She barely nodded before I dropped my mouth to her again — tongue circling, pressing, tasting her like she was the last thing I’d ever want. She moaned, body arching into me, hands gripping the sheets and my hair.
I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.
Every flick, every suck, every adjustment was deliberate — designed to wreck her, to make her fall apart under my mouth.
She gasped my name, and I groaned into her, the sound vibrating through her thighs. Then I slipped a finger inside her, curling it just right — and felt her clench.
Within seconds, she shattered. Her orgasm ripped through her like a storm, and I didn’t let go — kept licking, kissing, holding her as she trembled.
When I finally pulled back, I looked up at her — dazed and glowing.
“You, Celia Hart, are fucking delicious,” I said, grinning like the sinner I was.
I kissed my way up her body again, pressing her into the mattress with my weight. She didn’t shy away when I kissed her — tasting herself on my tongue. She pulled me closer.
My cock was throbbing against my jeans, pressed between her thighs.
She reached down, tugging at the waistband. “Take them off.”
I leaned in, brushed my lips against her ear. “Say please.”
She laughed shakily. “Please.”
I stripped, focused and steady, her eyes drinking me in like I was something worth looking at.
When I crawled back between her legs, I felt it — the shift. The gravity .
This wasn’t just sex. It hadn’t been for a long time.
I kissed her everywhere — knee, hip, stomach, breasts. I sucked each nipple until she was gasping and squirming again.
Then her hand found me, wrapped around my cock, stroking me slowly. My breath caught — and I grabbed her wrist gently, stopping her.
“Not tonight,” I murmured. “Tonight’s about you. I need to hear those pretty sounds from your mouth again. I’m already addicted to hearing my name leave your lips when you cum.”
She trembled under me. Her hand fell away.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Not just for tonight?”
She cupped my jaw. “No. But especially tonight.”
I grabbed a condom from the nightstand, tore it open, and rolled it on. Then I lined myself up and slowly, carefully pushed inside her.
She gasped. Her mouth fell open.
“Fuck, Celia,” I groaned, buried to the hilt, forehead pressed to hers. The intimacy of the moment felt like coming home.
Her nails dug into my back. I gave her a second, then moved and I could have sworn the feeling made my vision blur. Slow thrusts, deep and steady. She arched into me, whispering my name like a prayer.
“You feel so good,” she breathed.
“You have no idea,” I said, voice raw.
When I adjusted my angle and she cried out, I gritted my teeth.
“Right there?”
“Yes. Yes, Theo, please—”
I kept the rhythm slow, dragging every second out. Her body shook beneath mine. I kissed her collarbone, her throat, every inch I could reach.
“I want to hear you,” I whispered. “Say my name again.”
But she couldn’t speak — not with the way her body was tightening again, the way she was breaking apart under me.
I drove into her, harder now, faster, feeling her tremble. When her climax came again, I felt it ripple through her in waves — her body seizing around me, her voice catching on my name.
I held her tight, groaning as I followed, burying my face in her neck as I emptied into the condom.
After, I kissed her gently. Reverently. Her mouth. Her cheek. Her temple.
When I slid out of her, she blinked, dazed. “Where are you going?”
“Stay there,” I whispered, as I discarded the condom in the bin and ran a clean cloth underneath some warm water, before walking back to her.
I cleaned her up slowly, softly, taking my time with making sure she was still relaxed, still okay, still happy.
“There,” I said, brushing my lips against her hip. “Perfect again.”
She pulled me back into bed, and I wrapped her in my arms.
“I think I’ve never had anyone do that for me,” she whispered .
“You deserve someone who does,” I said into her hair.
We lay there in silence, wrapped in the kind of peace that only comes after chaos.
“I might be ruined now,” she murmured.
“Ruined?”
“In a good way.”
“Good.” I kissed her jaw. “You ruined me first.”
“When?”
I looked at the ceiling, searching. “Maybe when you made me laugh after I failed my driving test. Or when you fell asleep on my shoulder at that awful party.”
“That was years ago.”
“I know.”
“I’ve always felt more like myself when I’m around you.”
She didn’t speak. Just squeezed my hand.
We lay there, tangled, breath syncing.
“You’re leaving in two days,” she said.
“I know.”
I kissed her again on the temple and pulled her back flush with my front, stroking her arm absentmindedly until I heard her breaths soften.
I tucked the sheet higher around her bare shoulders and shifted just enough to see her face in the low light. Her lashes rested against her cheeks. Lips slightly parted. Completely at peace.
I exhaled slowly. My chest ached at the sight of her. Seeing her completely vulnerable with me, curled up in my arms asleep.
God, she was everything to me. She always had been.
And then, because she couldn’t hear me — because it was safe — I said it.
“I love you, Celia Hart.”
And I already knew I was ruined because from this moment on, I would always be irrevocably, irreversibly hers.