Thirty-Six
Isla
T heo doesn’t move. Or blink. I’m pretty sure he’s also stopped breathing.
Just when I think I’ve short-circuited something vital in his brain, he finally boots up. “You love me?”
I frown. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“No,” he murmurs, hoarse. “Not at all. I just want to hear you say it again.”
“I love you, Theo Thorne.”
He grins. “You love me?”
“How many more do you need?”
“How much time do we have?”
“Forever?” I whisper, testing out the word.
“That rope better get here soon. I’ve got big plans to tie you to the bed and make you tell me over and over again until we’re old and gray.”
His hands slide up to my hips, pulling me down onto his lap. One arm coils around my waist. The other hooks under my knees, tugging them across his thighs until I’m tangled in him, held so close I can’t tell where I end and he begins. He squeezes me, mouth brushing my ear, voice a low caress.
“You may begin now.”
I nip at his bottom lip. “And you plan to just sit there and look pretty?”
“Exactly.” He nuzzles into the crook of my neck, his warm breath sending goose bumps skittering across my skin. “But do a good enough job, and I might be tempted to throw in a few love you s of my own.”
The man talks a big game, but it only takes one before he surrenders.
He cradles my face between his palms, his thumb sweeping across my cheek.
“I’ve loved you for a long time, Sunshine.
” His lips find mine in a gentle kiss. “Long before I ever earned the right to the feeling.” The next kiss is firmer.
Longer. “Now that I can finally say it out loud, I don’t want to go a single day without making sure you know exactly how loved you are.
” By the time he finishes, his tongue is deep in my mouth and his hands are tightly woven in my hair.
We stay wrapped in each other, trading three little words, quiet breaths, and kisses that leave no room for doubt.
When we come up for air, my eyes are glassy and my voice is hoarse.
“Ready for your final present?”
Theo sweeps my bangs from my forehead. “I can’t imagine how anything could top the first two. Home and heart. ”
“This one leans more toward sin than sentiment.” Reaching over, I drag the last box over so it’s positioned directly next to us.
“I recognize this design.” His fingertips glide over the raised edge of the brand’s logo, tracing the embossed lettering. “Stunning.”
“It’s a prototype.” Pride threads through my voice as I examine my work. It’s my first freelance project through NXT, and I’m thrilled with how it turned out.
Black velvet. Metallic embossing. Gold foil interior. Decadent by design, it’s luxury packaging for a lingerie house that deals in seduction. The kind of box that gets repurposed. Remembered.
“The company let every team member who worked on the campaign choose a custom piece as a little thank-you token. Key word— little . The fabric is practically imaginary.”
“Is that so?” Theo tears off the lid with keen enthusiasm. “ Huh .” He frowns. “Empty.”
I smirk. “Exactly.”
It takes all of two seconds for his gaze to darken in understanding. “Show me.”
“Don’t be lazy,” I taunt. “Unwrap your own present.”
His fingers flex at my waist. “Keep running that mouth, Sunshine. Let’s see how smug you sound when you’re begging me to let you come.”
That’s the only warning I get before he hauls me upright, positioning me in front of him like a gift he’s seconds from tearing into.
I open my mouth to tell him I’ve got no regrets—only a wicked thrill racing through my bloodstream—but his hands are on me, stripping my shirt away, dissolving my words the heat of his touch .
“ Fuck , Isla.” The way his tongue caresses my name tells me he’s tasting the very thought of me. “You trying to end me?”
He drinks in the crimson bra I picked with his destruction in mind.
Featuring a network of lacy cutouts playing a shameless game of peekaboo with bare skin, the thing is so sheer it might as well be painted on.
My nipples help add to the effect, launching into a Pavlovian response to the hunger in his stare.
“Lingerie like this should come with a warning label,” he growls. “It sparks too many filthy ideas. All of them ending with the product in tatters.”
“I think that’s the whole point,” I say, pressing my arms together to showcase the goods. “Then you have to buy more.”
Theo groans. “I’m gonna need to call a department meeting on Monday.”
“To discuss my tits?”
“To review the ad copy.” His palm skims my ribs, drawing out a shiver. “Make sure we’re not liable for advertising nonexistent fabric.”
“You’re such a workaholic.” I dodge out of reach with a smug grin. “Can’t even get turned on without talking shop?”
Theo tugs on the bra straps. “Get back here. Let me perform some hands-on market research. My company’s reputation is at stake.”
He leans in and presses his mouth to the swell of my breast. The friction of lace against flesh, combined with the pressure of his tongue, makes my core clench and my head spin.
When he starts sucking my nipple in slow, possessive pulls, I’m pretty sure I’m about to faint.
The other gets claimed by greedy fingers that squeeze, roll, and pinch until I’m reduced entirely to sensation.
“Creative design,” he murmurs, trailing a path of kisses to my sternum. “Maximum visual impact. Solid support.” He tests that theory with both hands. “Perfectly abysmal coverage. ”
In one quick flick, he undoes the front clasp. The cups fall open, and the garment starts to slip down my arms. Theo helps it the rest of the way, mouth never leaving my skin.
“Market penetration looks promising?” I pant the words into his hair, swaying on my feet.
“We’ll see. Need to conduct a detailed analysis.” His hands dip beneath the waistband of my sweatpants. Hooking his fingers, he tugs them down in one smooth motion, exposing the whisper of fabric that’s less underwear and more sexual warfare.
It consists of three strategically placed strings: one riding up front, barely enough to cover a thing, and two skimming across the curve of my ass, tying off in a bow at the base of my spine.
To say Theo’s eyes darken at the sight would humble actual darkness.
“Really leaning into the whole strings thing, huh?” His voice vibrates on some low, deep register that qualifies as foreplay in audio form.
An eager hand toys with the skimpy front panel that serves to cover absolutely nothing.
Curving two fingers under the delicate fabric, he gives it a measured tug.
I stumble forward half a step, knocked off-balance both physically and spiritually.
My thighs press together on instinct, pulse fluttering where the lace meets wet heat.
“This definitely calls for a more thorough evaluation.” His knuckles graze up and down my front as he toys with the string—and my sanity. “I’ll have to put in overtime. An all-nighter is likely.” He’s still playing his game; I’m clinging to consciousness by a thread.
“Get over here.” With another tug, he leads me across the room by my makeshift underwear leash to the antique vanity we picked up at a garage sale last weekend .
Mirrored from every angle, I get the full view: my flushed skin, swollen lips, and the man towering behind me—seconds from snapping and giving me the best orgasm of my life.
Our eyes meet in the reflection, and I sink deeper into him, molding to the solid wall of warmth at my back. Even fully clothed, he radiates enough heat to scorch me.
Releasing his grip on the lace, he slides two fingers under it—then thrusts them inside me. My moan shatters against the mirror, and I slap my palms onto the cold vanity as my legs give out.
“Soaked.” His voice hums with satisfaction as he drags his fingers up my torso, brushing the shimmering proof of my arousal across my stomach, between my breasts, and all the way up to my throat.
He wraps a steady hand around my neck, thumb resting on the frantic pulse beneath my skin.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, kissing my heartbeat without breaking eye contact. “A fucking vision.”
Restraint and abandon war in his blistering stare. “Bend over.” A commanding pressure lands at the base of my spine. “Taste test time.”
I fold forward, stance parting, spine arching. “NXT is nothing if not thorough.” No idea how the words make it out past my stuttered pants.
“Client satisfaction guaranteed.” Theo’s warm words drift down my spine as he lowers behind me. His palms glide up the backs of my thighs, coaxing them wider, before landing on my ass. With a firm grip, he spreads me open.
“Theo…” I can feel how wet I am, and from the rough groan he releases, there’s no doubt he likes the view.
Without removing my underwear, he gives me a thorough lick through the material, skilled tongue sweeping along my seam in a long, hard drag. The sensation shoves every coherent thought from my mind.
A startled moan tears out of my chest when he does it again. The next pass is deeper, darker, and each one after winds the tension tighter.
I’m so close.
My body begins to tremble, caught in the high of the climb before the crash.
Just when I think his tongue is going to wear a hole in the lace and give me what I need, he pulls back.
“No!” I whine, voice cracking, hips jolting back in protest. My nails scrape against the glass. “Don’t stop.”
“You gave Librarian Santa way too much credit today,” he says darkly, each word underscored by a possessive lick. “Let me remind you who owns the privilege of torturing you.”
I manage a choked laugh. “You’re such a sadist.”
“Say that again.” His teeth sink into the soft flesh of my ass. “With gratitude, this time.”
The strings of fabric are swiftly yanked to the side, and his mouth returns to the task of ruining me. Piece by piece. My clit becomes the center of his universe.
And, frankly, mine .
Two skilled fingers join the fun, curling deep inside me with a precision so perfect and familiar, I’m certain his brilliant mind has patented the very blueprint of my pleasure.
His tongue flays me as his fingers gut me. Hardly a poetic way to describe the act, but accuracy matters, and I’m being annihilated. Dismantled neuron by neuron. I can’t even tell if I’m sobbing, moaning, or have devolved into making sounds that no longer resemble any human language.
I’m going to come.
I’m going to come hard .
Screw his permission —I happily surrender to the free-fall.
My vision blurs. Stars explode behind my eyes. Pressure blends into pleasure.
Then it all crashes to a halt.
Theo stops.
He. Fucking. Stops.
Every trace of heat is stolen from me when his mouth moves away and his fingers vanish.
A strangled curse tears from my throat as my forehead knocks against the glass. My breaths fog the mirror, clouding my reflection. Even with interference, the feral look in my eyes is unmistakable.
“Theo— please .” My hips grind back, chasing friction, seeking mercy.
I expect him to dodge me, toy with me.
But I make contact.
His groan vibrates against me. “So warm. So wet. Your whole body is blushing for me.”
And for one wild, blissful second, he slips.
Licks. Touches. Bites.
“ Fuck —” I gasp. Maybe even drool a little. “ Yes . Like—”
The bastard returns to his senses much too soon.
“Little brat,” he rasps, pulling back. “Trying to trick me into letting you come?”
This time, when he retreats, I don’t lose my mind.
I glance over my shoulder, meet his gaze, and smirk. “If you don’t get me off soon, I’m taking back my love declaration.”
His nostrils flare in a lethal, measured exhale as he rises to his full height behind me.
A shiver of exhilaration rushes through me.
I know exactly what I’m doing. What this move will earn me .
“Oh, Sunshine. I’d planned on making this next part sweet…” His palm lands hard and hot against my ass. “But you just damned yourself to the filthiest fuck of your life.”
Whoops .