33. Theo
Theo
It’s amazing being in the city with Eleanor. Holding her hand, kissing her at a crosswalk, pulling her to my side as we take in an exhibit at the Met. It took some getting used to, not checking over my shoulder at every opportunity, but once I finally relaxed… fuck.
At dinner, I let my hand rest on her thigh, let myself lean close and whisper in her ear how gorgeous she is.
It’s unreal just being with her. Enjoying her company, laughing, being a couple, even if only for a weekend.
We head back to the hotel late, smiling and snuggling in the back of a cab after a delicious meal and bottle of wine. The date I wanted to take her on from the start.
In the hotel elevator, she kisses me softly against the mirrored wall, her hand in the back of my hair. It’s not the fevered, stolen kisses we’re used to, and I relish the feel of her in my arms, taking my time to kiss her slowly, properly.
Wondering, not for the first time today, how I can make this last beyond the weekend.
I let us into our hotel room with the keycard, smiling as she toes off her heels. She’s wearing the loveliest dress in a soft pink, black heels I’ve never seen, tiny roses in her ears.
“Have I told you how beautiful you look, sweetheart?”
She smiles. “Many times.” Sawing her teeth across her bottom lip, she adds, “But… I might have to take this off, sorry.” She motions to her dress. “These straps are killing me.”
I chuckle, running my thumb along her collarbone. “You never have to apologize for undressing in front of me.”
She grins, sliding one strap over her shoulder. I watch for a moment as she slowly peels her dress away from her body, then turn to my weekend bag. If I stand too close, I’ll pounce on her, and I don’t want to do that. Not yet.
I look at my own outfit—pressed shirt and dinner jacket, polished shoes—and decide I want to change too. Pulling fresh clothes from my bag, I head for the bathroom, keeping my eyes firmly away from Eleanor.
In the bathroom I strip out of my formal clothes, sliding into my favorite worn-in gray sweats and white tee.
My gaze lingers on the items spread out on the bathroom counter, my beard oil and cologne beside Eleanor’s makeup, toothbrushes kissing.
It’s so intimate, so domestic, and I hesitate. Maybe sweatpants are too much.
But as I contemplate going back out there in anything else, it doesn’t feel right. What feels right is this, our belongings side by side. The little touches and glances and moments today. Tonight, her and me, comfortable and honest.
I splash water on my face, washing my beard and brushing my teeth, raking a hand through my hair to make sure I’m still passable, then slip back into the room.
Eleanor sits cross-legged on the bed in gray leggings and an over-sized soft pink sweater that hangs off one shoulder, feet in fluffy socks, and I breathe out. We’re on the same page.
“Are you… in sweatpants?” she teases as I cross the room to hang my dinner clothes. “Or have I fallen into an alternate dimension?”
I shrug, a little sheepish. “I’m in sweatpants.”
“Wow,” she whispers, hand to her mouth in exaggerated shock. “I didn’t even know you owned clothes like that.” Her eyes catch on something, and her smile falters. “Wait. Stop. Is that a tattoo?”
I freeze.
She rises onto her knees on the bed, pointing. “Come here. Let me see it.”
I sigh, tempted to grab a sweater, wave her away, change the subject. I haven’t thought about that thing in years; a crowned pawn in black ink on the back of my bicep. A leftover mark from a version of myself I’ve long forgotten.
But she’s seen it. And I don’t want to brush it off.
“Alright,” I mutter, crossing to sit on the edge of the bed. I tug up the hem of my sleeve enough to expose the back of my arm.
“Holy shit,” Eleanor breathes, eyes wide. “Headmaster Wright has ink.”
She touches it softly, reverently, and I resist the urge to turn away. It’s strange how exposed I feel, even with a shirt on.
“I wasn’t always Headmaster Wright, you know,” I say wryly, glancing at her.
She giggles. “Impossible. I’m pretty sure you were born in a suit, frowning at the world. Although…” Her gaze drops to my sweatpants, one brow arching. Then she looks back at the tattoo, head tilting. “It’s kind of adorable.”
“It was supposed to be ironic,” I mutter.
She sinks onto her elbow at my side, looking up at me. “When did you get it?”
“In college. When my father made it clear it was already decided I’d take over from him, whether I wanted to or not.”
Eleanor frowns. “Was that before or after you were married?”
The question takes me by surprise. She’s never asked after Viv, and my first instinct is to deflect, to change the subject, but I can’t be anything other than truthful with her.
“Before.”
I hesitate, thinking about my late wife. Viv was kind. Familiar. She represented the kind of life I was supposed to want. And I tried. God, I tried.
But it wasn’t this. It wasn’t real, not like this.
And I feel the need to explain that to Eleanor.
“Viv and I were together a long time before we got married. Since high school. It… just… felt like what we were supposed to do.”
Eleanor nods, listening intently. There’s something about her open, compassionate gaze that urges me to go on.
“She was a good person. Sweet. But I think… even then, I knew I didn’t love her in the way I was supposed to. Not the way she deserved. I was trying to be the right kind of man. For her. For my father. For the school.”
Guilt twists through me. Despite it looking like we had everything, I was never fully invested in my marriage, and she was gone before either of us could admit it.
I draw a breath, the words catching in my throat. “I didn’t treat her badly. But I didn’t know how to want more, either. And now…” I glance at Eleanor, at the way she looks up at me. Not judging, just waiting, open. “Now I do.”
Her eyes are wide as she absorbs my words. We stare at each other for a beat, then she lowers her head into my lap. I thread my hands into her hair, stroking gently, my mind drifting to the night I got that tattoo.
It was during a drunken weekend with friends, shortly before graduation.
They used to joke that I was “The Prince of Wetherly Cove,” like I was some fucking heir, and it pissed me off.
Sure, my father was the headmaster, but that didn’t mean I had to follow in his footsteps.
I got the pawn tattooed with a crown to show I was in on the joke.
As if to say, Ha ha, sure. I’ll be crowned someday.
Of course, it didn’t mean much in the end. I fell in line, as expected. Now I am the damn headmaster, and the tattoo quietly mocks me anytime I catch sight of it.
I shake my head to myself. I haven’t thought of that night in a long time, but try as I might, I can’t summon any regret. Turns out I’ve got my own rebellious streak, deep inside, even if it’s been years since I’ve let it out into the light.
But as I gaze at the beautiful young woman in front of me, the woman I very much was not supposed to want, let alone touch, I realize I’m wrong.
I wanted Eleanor with my entire body, mind, heart, but the part that made it happen, the part who fucked her mercilessly in my office, bent her over the copier, spanked her sweet little ass, was the same guy who, in his twenties, got that tattoo.
The guy who resented the role he had to step into.
Who wanted to take something for himself, regardless of what others expected.
And as much as it scares me, I want to let him call more of the shots.
“That tattoo was the one time I acted out,” I murmur. “With everything else, I did what was expected of me. With Viv, with the school. But this…” I caress her cheek softly with my thumb. “This is the first time I’ve ever taken something just for me.”
Eleanor’s eyes gleam as she gazes at me, and a dangerous ache stirs in my chest. As if she already knows something I haven’t admitted yet.
She sits up, taking my face in her hands as she kisses me softly. Her sweet scent washes over me, roses and peonies, and she sighs, lying back on the bed, tugging me next to her.
“It was amazing to touch you while walking around the city,” she murmurs. “To kiss you.”
I slip an arm around her, and she curls into my side. She’s so soft and warm, so right in my arms.
“I didn’t think I’d like being touched in public,” I say, pressing a kiss to her forehead. When I glance down at her, heat flickers in her hazel eyes.
“I loved it.” Her voice comes out huskier than before. “Honestly, you should be glad I held back.”
My lips quirk in amusement. “Should I?”
She nods, gaze darkening. “I’m not sure how much longer I can wait, though. You’re giving serious fuck me vibes in those sweatpants.”
I glance at the worn sweats, soft and molded to me. They’re probably the least attractive thing I own, but then I would have said the same about those old ripped jeans, and she fucking ate me up in those, so who knows.
“Am I?” I ask, amusement deepening.
“Uh huh.”
Her gaze smolders as she leans forward, tracing the outline of my dick through the soft fabric. It responds to her touch, instantly thickening, and she grins.
I give a deep chuckle, rolling to my side to brush her hair from her eyes, to kiss her neck. A soft sigh escapes her as I trail kisses over her bare shoulder, then pull her sweater over her head, revealing her breasts underneath.
“No bra,” I rumble into her skin, cock hardening as I move down her collarbone to suck one perfect pink nipple into my mouth.
“I thought you’d prefer that,” she rasps, arching into my touch.
I hum in agreement, hands gliding over her smooth, warm skin. I’ve never had the opportunity to really take my time with her, to lay her out like this and just touch her. It’s intoxicating.
Her fingers tug at my shirt, peeling it off, then her hands are on my chest, my shoulders, her lips parted, expression reverent.
“Theo,” she whispers, eyes dark with need as she maps every dip and curve of me. “Come here.”