26 | Always
She kissed me.
Hard. Desperate. Cutting off my words.
I pulled back. “Tessa, I need to finish—”
She was laughing. Actually laughing.
“I know.”
I blinked. “You know what?”
“I’m actually relieved.” She cupped my face. “That my uncertain, overthinking Theo is still in there somewhere under this professional, sexy exterior.”
“What?”
“I talked to David. Earlier. On out first trip.” Her thumb traced my jaw. “He made it pretty clear that suggesting something like that to you would be highly inappropriate.”
My stomach dropped.
“So if you’re not here to make Vanessa jealous—” She paused, kissed me. “And you’re not, because we’re naked and she isn’t here—” She smiled. “—then you’re here because you have some kind of obsession with me.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“And honestly?” She leaned closer, stopped, talking straight to my ear. “Of those two options, I prefer the second one.”
“You’re not angry?”
“Should I be?”
“I manipulated the situation—”
“You gave us both an excuse to do what we wanted. I told you about my problem for a reason.” She kissed me again, softer this time. “I’m not mad, Theo.”
“I should have just asked you out. Properly. Instead of lying.”
“To be fair,” she said, “I probably would have said no.”
My heart sank. “Oh.”
“It’s not like that. I was hurt, and I would never have thought about you as rebound.” She smiled. “But look at us now—in a hot tub, you about to fuck my insecurities out of me.”
“I will?”
“I really hope you do.”
I stared at her. “You’re serious.”
“Very serious.” She started moving against me. “Now—are we going to waste more time talking? Or are we going to test out those condoms?”
Relief flooded through me so fast I felt dizzy.
I pulled her closer, kissed her hard.
“The condoms,” I said against her mouth. “Definitely the condoms.”
“Good answer.”
----
TESSA
He kissed me like he’d been holding back all night.
And maybe he had been.
His hands were everywhere—in my hair, on my waist, sliding down my back. The water sloshed around us as he pulled me impossibly close, until there was nothing between us but heat and want and the complete absence of space.
I could feel him—hard, pressing against me.
I rolled my hips and he groaned into my mouth.
“Bedroom,” I managed between kisses.
“Yeah.” His voice was wrecked. “Bedroom.”
We got out—dripping, stumbling, grabbing towels that we didn’t really use. He wrapped one around me anyway, then took my hand and pulled me inside.
We left wet footprints across the floor. Didn’t care.
The bed looked huge suddenly. White sheets, moonlight starting to filter through the windows now that the sun had finally set.
He reached for me slowly, like he was giving me time to change my mind.
I didn't.
His hands slid the towel from my body—unhurried, deliberate—and he stepped back just enough to look.
Really look.
The moonlight caught the planes of his face, the sharp line of his jaw, and his expression did something I hadn't seen before. Not controlled. Not careful.
Undone.
"God," he said quietly. Like it wasn't meant for me.
Heat crawled up my throat.
I reached for him—pulled at his towel until it dropped. He let me look. Stood there, patient, while I took him in. The broad shoulders, the chest, the stomach. The evidence of exactly how much he wanted this.
My mouth went dry.
He stepped closer and kissed me—slower this time, softer, nothing like the desperation of the bathtub. His hands moved over me with intention. My shoulders. My waist. The curve of my hip.
Then the bed hit the backs of my knees and we went down together.
He hovered over me for a second—just looking again, his weight on his arms—and then his mouth found my jaw. My neck. The hollow of my throat.
I exhaled.
His lips moved lower. Across my collarbone, down to my breast—his tongue circling, his teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp and arch toward him.
"Theo—"
"I've got you."
His hand slid down my stomach, slow and deliberate, watching my face the whole time. My breath shortened. His fingers found me—warm, careful at first, then less careful as he felt how ready I already was.
"Christ," he breathed against my skin.
"Please—"
"Not yet."
He worked me slowly, learning. Two fingers, then a curl, then pressure building in steady, relentless waves until I was gripping the sheets and making sounds I hadn't planned on making.
"Theo—I need—"
"Tell me."
"You. I need you."
He pulled back just long enough to reach for the nightstand.
I watched him roll it on, fascinated by the care he took, the focus.
Then he came back to me.
“You sure?” he asked.
“I’ve never been more sure about anything.”
“Look at me,” he said.
I did.
His eyes held mine as he pressed forward—slow, careful.
I gasped.
“Okay?” His voice was strained.
“Yes. Keep going.”
He did. Inch by inch, watching my face the whole time.
Until he was fully seated, buried deep.
We both stopped. Just breathing. Just feeling.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “You feel—”
“Yeah.”
He started moving—slow at first, letting me adjust, letting us both adjust.
His mouth found mine. His hand slid into my hair. The other braced beside my head.
Something clicked into place. The weight of him, the rhythm we found—it felt earned. Like we’d been moving toward this for years without knowing it was where we were headed.
My hands found his back, his shoulders. I felt the muscles shifting under my palms, felt the tension coiling in him.
“Faster,” I said.
“You sure?”
“Please.”
He did. And oh—
My head fell back. His mouth found my neck, my shoulder, the curve of my breast.
“You’re so—” He thrust harder. “God, you’re perfect.”
“Theo—”
“I know. I can feel it.”
His hand moved between us, found where we were joined, pressed.
My back arched.
“That’s it,” he said. “Let me see you.”
I couldn’t hold back anymore.
It hit without warning—my whole body clenching around him, thighs locking, back arching clean off the mattress.
I cried out his name, gripped his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
He followed. Two more thrusts and he was gone too, my name on his lips, his whole body shaking.
We lay there, still connected, breathing hard.
Slowly, the world came back into focus.
He pulled out carefully, dealt with the condom, came back and pulled me against him.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Better than okay.”
“Good.” He kissed my hair. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”
I laughed. “Already?”
“Give me twenty minutes.”
I smiled against his chest, let my hand trace patterns on his skin.
We existed like that for a while. His hand moving slowly up and down my back, mine on his chest, over his heart.
Content. Safe.
And then I felt him—hard against my hip again.
I looked at him, raised an eyebrow.
“Twenty minutes,” he said. “I told you.”
“Show-off.”
“You complaining?”
“Absolutely not.”
He rolled me onto my back, settled between my thighs.
“Where were we?” he asked.
“I think—” I gasped as he pressed against me. “I think you were about to show me you’re not letting go.”
“Right.” He reached for another condom. “Let me refresh your memory.”
----
I woke sometime in the night.
Moonlight streamed through the windows. The room was cool. The sheets were tangled around us.
He was still there, holding me.
I watched him sleep. His face peaceful, completely relaxed.
No walls. No professional mask. Just Theo.
My Theo.
The thought should have scared me. Should have felt too big, too soon.
It didn’t.
It felt right.
“Stop staring at me,” he mumbled, eyes still closed.
I jumped. “I wasn’t—”
“You were.” He opened one eye, smiled. “It’s creepy.”
“Shut up.”
He pulled me closer. “Make me.”
So I kissed him.
And we weren’t sleeping anymore.
His hands found me in the dark—unhurried this time, like we had all night and he intended to use it.
“Again?” I breathed.
“Always.” He kissed me slowly. His hands moved like he was relearning something he already knew. There was no urgency now. Just warmth, and weight, and the particular quiet of two people with nothing left to prove to each other.
We took our time.
----
When I woke for real, sunlight was streaming through the windows.
He was propped up on one elbow, watching me.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Hi.” My voice came out rough.
I stretched, felt pleasantly sore in all the right places.
“I should probably get up,” he said. “We have that meeting with Henderson, but you can stay in bed as long as you want. I can order us room service.”
“Perfect.”
He reached for the phone, ordered far too much food. And while we waited, he pulled me back against him.
It was easy.
The food arrived. We ate in bed, fed each other bites, laughed at nothing.
And I thought: I could get used to this.
I could get very used to this.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“That this weekend went very differently than I expected.”
“Good different or bad different?”
“Very good different.” I kissed him. “The best different.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He smiled, pulled me closer.
“I need to change and go now. But you can join us after noon if you want to. The official part should be over by then.”
“Maybe I will,” I said. “But first I need a nap.”
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