35. Theo
Theo
Eleanor scurries across the lawn behind me, fallen leaves crunching underfoot as she tries to keep up. I know I’m behaving erratically, but I can’t help it. My emotions are scattered and coming out at the worst times.
This week has been torture. Knowing how badly I want a life with her, and the uphill battle I’m going to have to fight to get it.
Every night she’s fallen asleep in my arms, and I’ve silently prayed that we’ll find a way to make this work.
That we’ll find a way to keep our jobs and keep this fragile new thing growing between us.
So far, nothing.
Today was enough to push me to the brink.
I spent the entire day watching her oversee the fundraiser set-up.
She walked around with a clipboard and a grin, absolutely radiant as she brought her dream to life, and I’ve had to simply watch.
I’ve had to sit on the sidelines, bursting with pride and love, unable to say a word. Unable to show any of it.
And it’s killing me.
Everything about this entire fucking situation is killing me, and I’m not sure how much more I can take.
I push open the door to the art room, motioning for Eleanor to step inside.
Her eyes are wide and uncertain as she does, and I close the door behind us, locking it.
I set Rowan’s keys on the counter, pacing the room.
I’ve got that feeling again, the same one I had on Halloween.
As if I’m an animal held captive too long.
A man at breaking point.
Eleanor hovers by the paint-splattered table in the middle of the room, and I force myself to take a deep breath, inhaling the smell of turpentine and old wood as I stalk in front of the long, wide window that overlooks the lawn.
The room is a mess; stacks of sketches scattered across the table, brushes soaking in the sink, paintings hanging to dry.
Why did I come here? This place is chaos.
We’d be better in my office, where I can remain in control.
But I know I’m kidding myself. I haven’t been in control in my office for some time. I haven’t been in control anywhere.
“I know you’re mad,” Eleanor says, gaze dropping to the floor. “I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you out there.”
I turn to run my gaze over her. She’s in a long-sleeved emerald green dress that falls to her knees, calves in heeled purple boots that lace up the front. Her hair is half tied back with a purple ribbon, tendrils falling loosely around her face after working in the wind, cheeks pink from the cold.
My heart seizes at the sight before me. At her unbelievable beauty.
She’s right, I am mad. I’m fucking furious.
But not with her.
I’m angry with the situation we find ourselves in, the sheer injustice of it. How she can be everything I could possibly want, but the rules state I can’t have her. That if I try, I’ll lose my job. My career. Everything I’ve ever known.
It was fine when it was just me and Eleanor sneaking around, not knowing where this would lead, before we went to the city when everything changed.
Before I finally admitted to myself that I’m in love with her.
But now I can’t stand it. I can’t stand having to sit by and watch her be so fucking brilliant while having to keep my mouth shut.
So, yes, I’m furious.
Furious at how much I feel for this woman. And how powerless I am to officially make her mine.
“You can punish me,” she whispers. “Punish me for being bad.”
I know what she’s doing. She’s deflecting from the pain of this shitty situation, deflecting from us having to face how we’re really feeling, having to admit it to each other. Giving me some control again.
And while a better man wouldn’t take it, I’m not a better man.
I’m not the man I thought I was at all.
I cross to her, sliding a hand over her shoulder, up her neck, thumb tightening on her throat for a second.
Her eyes widen, breath hitching in anticipation before I release, stroking the side of her neck gently.
I’ve never loved her more than this moment, giving me this gift.
The chance to feel in control, however fleeting, however illusory.
But I need to know I can take it. Truly take it.
“Is that what you want?” I grit out.
“Yes,” she breathes, reaching for my hand to place it back on her throat. Her eyes are dark pools of heat as my fingers tighten on her windpipe again, her words reverberating under my thumb. “Show me what happens when I’m naughty.”
I feel the moment when I let go. The moment when I know I’m going to take what she’s offering, here in the damn art room, of all places.
I stride to the door, double checking it’s locked.
Then I hit the light switch, plunging the room into shadow.
The windows glow with the last rays of daylight, making the room dark enough to give us the privacy we need to do this right here, in front of the window.
My eyes adjust quickly, and I turn to find Eleanor watching me with a gaze hot enough to burn the school to the ground.
I love how willing she is, how dirty she loves to get.
She’s the picture of sweetness, so wholesome and innocent with her pretty dresses and flower barrettes, then she lets me finger-fuck her in the copy room, lets me spank her over my desk.
She isn’t only pretty, and smart, and funny, she’s filthy, and she loves letting me lead, letting me dominate her.
Something I never knew I needed until I met her.
Something that helps me feel like I still have a grip on this precarious situation.
“Turn around,” I say thickly. “Hands on the table. Bend over.”
Her breathing accelerates as she does what I ask, hands braced on the edge of the art table, ass in the air for me. But when I push her skirt up over her backside, I realize she’s wearing skin-colored tights underneath. That absolutely will not do.
“These,” I mutter, tugging hard enough to tear them, “are in my way.”
She gasps as the sound of shredding fabric rings through the room, but I don’t care. I let it fall around her legs, yanking her panties down too, until her perfect ass is bared to me.
Then I take a second to simply appreciate it, running my hands over her warm, creamy skin, following her curves.
I can’t help myself—I sigh, leaning over her as I press my already stiffening cock to her softness.
I breathe in the sweet scent of her, wanting to kiss her gently, to voice every single emotion that’s pressing against my chest, desperate to escape.
But I can’t be that guy now.
With a deep breath, I straighten, checking she’s still okay, still willing, and she glances at me with dark, needy eyes, breathing hard.
That’s when I realize this isn’t only for me, it’s for her, too.
She needs this as much as I do. Needs me to step up and take charge for her, needs to know I can guide her, can be the pillar she can lean on.
Since coming back from the city, she’s different.
Even as it’s full steam ahead on the fundraiser, she’s more hesitant with me, more uncertain, and I can feel her need for me to be strong. To be there for her.
And I’ll do that however she needs.
I bring my hand down onto her ass with a loud crack, the sound echoing through the empty room. A split second later it’s followed by Eleanor’s gasp, then her moan.
“Yes,” she whimpers, a sound that goes straight to my dick.
“You shouldn’t have tried to kiss me,” I say roughly, striking her again, watching my red handprint bloom on her pale ass.
I kick her legs apart, the smell of her arousal filling my nose, and my fingers stray between her legs, finding her already wet. Wet and ready for me, and I’ve barely touched her.
I stroke her clit, savoring her moan as I push a finger inside her. Her slick grip makes my cock swell in my pants, eager to replace my finger. Not yet.
“If you’re a good girl, I’ll let you come,” I grate out. She quivers as I sink a second finger into her tight wet heat, knocking one of the metal stools beside the table. It clangs loudly through the room.
“And if I’m bad?” she rasps.
A dangerous chuckle rumbles from me. “You don’t want to be bad tonight, sweetheart. Not with the mood I’m in.”
“Yes, I do,” she breathes, glancing at me over her shoulder with a defiant expression, cheeks flushed. “I want to be bad. Just for you.”
I breathe out hard, cock twitching at the promise in her words. Just for me. That’s all I want. I want her all to myself, her and no one else. I want to claim her as my own, every single part of her.
Even the parts I’m not supposed to want.
“You know what bad girls get?” I ask, in a voice that’s low enough to border on threatening. A voice that makes her shiver.
“What?” she asks, wide-eyed.
“They get a finger in their ass.” I suck my index finger, moistening it, then lower it between her ass cheeks, finding the tight ring of muscle.
She draws in a sharp breath of surprise, and I pause, waiting for a sign she’s comfortable with it.
Her legs tremble, and I begin to pull away, but her next words stop me dead.
“What if I want more than a finger?”
Her eyes meet mine, expression somehow both daring and vulnerable, and I freeze. My balls tighten at her suggestion, dick leaking in my pants.
Holy fucking hell. She’s filthier than I thought.
And I love it.
I love that this woman gives me a reason to let go.
She wants me in control here, but not in the way I usually am.
Not in the way I need to be in every other aspect of my life.
With Eleanor, I get to be the person I never get to be anywhere else.
Hell, the person I didn’t even realize I needed to be.
But it’s more than that. It’s her trusting me, giving herself to me. It’s her needing me as much as I need her.
She falls quiet, a wisp of uncertainty eclipsing her bravado, as if she’s worried she’s said the wrong thing. I stare at her from under heavy lids, heart drumming, breath coming hard and fast.
“Don’t test me, Eleanor,” I warn. “Don’t say something you don’t mean.”