Chapter 34 Lexie
Oh, God. I know I should be more bothered about how wildly unprofessional it was to leave the wedding unattended like I did, but the way Theo played with me today—on the dancefloor, in the break room—was too delicious to regret. Completely worth it.
The images replay on a relentless loop as we make our way to Theo’s parents’ home.
When I first suggested this visit earlier in the week, he was adamant about not going.
But we needed to stay in Boston anyway because of the wedding and I’m desperate to know more about him, all of him, including the home where he grew up.
When he checked with Michael and learned his parents would be away for the weekend, he very reluctantly conceded.
Sometimes I feel like what Theo and I have isn’t real at all—more mirage than substance.
We’re living in denial, acting as though broken hearts and irrevocably altered lives aren’t waiting just beyond the horizon.
I’ve tried to tell myself that I’m just being paranoid, that Annabelle and Theo are working hard to cancel the wedding, that this is simply how things work when families have obscene amounts of money and an army of lawyers.
And yet, the doubt lingers, quiet and insistent, refusing to be dismissed.
I sit upright suddenly, holding my breath, as Michael rounds the vehicle into the Astor property.
My gaze sweeps past the circular cobblestone driveway, the pristine manicured hedges, the pillars nestled on top of marble steps leading to a stone archway and massive double doors.
It looks like a hotel. I’ve seen homes like this—in the movies and real estate ads—but never in person.
When I glance back at Theo, his face is not reflecting any of the wonderment of mine. He’s stiff, unsmiling, and scratching at the back of his neck.
I place my hand on his thigh. “Are you okay?”
He exhales sharply through his nose. “Yeah, I just don’t like being here.”
A long moment passes, when I press my hand to his leg. “Thank you for sharing this with me. It means a lot that you’d let me see this part of you.”
We step out and Theo places a hand on my lower back as we walk up the stairs. Before we reach the cathedral-sized double doors, a smiling woman in a housekeeping outfit opens them and waves us in. “Dr. Astor, welcome home. Please come in.”
The door opens to an expansive mahogany and goldaccented open space, a grand double staircase, and twelve-feet-tall Italian paintings. It’s beautiful, but in the way a cold museum is beautiful. My mom’s studio apartment feels homier than this place.
Theo nods at the housekeeper, offering her a small smile, but otherwise stays silent. I take another step inside and hold back a low whistle. “I can’t believe you grew up here,” I say. “How the hell did you not get lost as a kid?”
“You get used to it, I guess,” he says as he escorts me further into the home. “There’s a family wing where we mostly stayed. A lot of the house is for entertaining and guests. I wasn’t even allowed into some of the areas until I was older.”
Although he says this matter-of-factly—and maybe this is normal for people in this socioeconomic class—my heart dips. Never once did my mother make me feel unwelcome in our own home.
With every step, his face grows sterner, his eyes darken, his body tightens. Normally, I’d reach for a joke, a touch, anything to ease the weight settling between us. But tonight, I can’t.
By the time we reach the top of the stairs, his jaw is clenched, and he hasn’t said a single word.
I ask him where the bathroom is. He jerks his chin down the hall, offering nothing more than a grunt. When I come back out, he’s gone.
I try to find him, peering into a den-like space, sitting rooms, and then landing on a cozy reading room. “Theo?” I call.
It’s quiet. Too quiet. What the hell? My heartbeat ticks higher as I pass a bedroom, an indoor theater outfitted with a dozen leather recliners and a screen that rivals an Imax, then another bedroom. But still no sign of him.
It’s not like he just disappeared.
Did he duck into one of the kitchens?
“Theo?” I repeat and again I’m met with silence. The house might be well lit, but it’s still eerie as fuck, and a shiver runs through my body.
I turn another corner when hands seize me. A scream claws up my throat, only to be smothered by a palm wrapped tightly around my mouth. My brain barely registers what’s happening as I’m picked up, dragged into a dark, poorly lit room, the door slamming shut behind us.
“Let me go!” The words come out panicked, but thankfully the hands are gone. I stumble back, clutching my chest, my heart hammering violently as I put as much distance between me and this person as I can. The room spins. My lungs burn.
Then my eyes adjust and relief crashes through me.
Theo.
“Theo! What the fuck are you doing?” I breathe, still wired.
His head moves, as if assessing me like a predator and I’m his prey, and then stalks towards me with measured intent, like he knows exactly how cornered I am—and exactly how much I don’t want him to stop.
“I’m kidnapping you,” he says calmly. “Obviously.”
A shiver runs through me. My body reacts before my brain can catch up—heat blooming, pulse stuttering. The way he looks at me, like I’m something he’s claimed, makes my knees buckle.
I glance past him, taking in the room for the first time. I can just about make out a wooden-framed canopy bed, trophies lining a shelf, a long black desk. “Holy shit… is this your bedroom?”
He’s behind me before I can ask another question.
A hand tangles in my hair, the other possessively cupping my breast. I gasp at the sharp, jarring movement, and the way his mouth feels at my ear, his voice low and measured.
“Rules of captivity,” he says, pausing long enough to let the words settle. “You do exactly what I say.”
My breath catches.
“Now,” he murmurs, closer still, “lift up your dress.”
I lean back into him and push my ass into his rock-hard, waiting cock. “Are you… sure…” I swallow. “We’re in your parents’ house…” His fingers slide across my nipple, and he pinches so hard that a bolt of heat jolts through me like lightning.
“I was very clear about the rules.”
My shaky fingers lift the fabric, so it skims just above the crease of my butt cheeks.
“That’s right, my dirty, beautiful girl. You know you want this.” He reaches under my dress and inside my panties and I whimper. His touch is rough and demanding and so fucking good. “Tell me who this belongs to.”
Mmmm… My legs quiver. This is wrong… so, so wrong. We’re in his bedroom at his parents’ house. There are staff and people… and… ohhhh… his grip tightens on my pussy and my breath locks in my throat.
“Tell me who owns this beautiful fucking cunt,” he says with a rasped, throaty breath as his palm grinds into me. “Say it.”
Need and heat ripples through me. I reach behind me to grip his legs and push him harder into me, shamelessly grinding into his length.
My thong is already wet, filled with my unabashed arousal.
My body begs to be filled, but we shouldn’t…
His hand slides up to my neck and he squeezes. “Fucking tell me.”
Hot, erotic fear tears through me. His hold on my throat tightens enough where I can feel my pulse thud against his palm. “You…” I stammer, breathless from restricted air and dizzy with desire. “It belongs to you.”
“That’s my good fucking girl.” He drops his hands and swings me to face him. Even in the dim light, I can see his eyes darken with a look that sends me stumbling back until I hit the bed. “Lift up your dress and show me your perfect tight pussy.”
A hard swallow rolls through my tender throat. I bunch the fabric in my palm, until I expose my white lace fabric.
A wolfish grin forms, and he licks his lips. “Mmm… so beautiful…” he growls. “Sit on the bed, spread your legs, and show me what’s mine.”
Like I’m possessed, my body shivers as I slide back on the bed, dangle my legs off the mattress and tug my panties to the side.
“Wider.”
I spread my legs farther and tug. I hear him move towards me before I feel him pulling me onto my feet and flipping me over.
I brace my palms on the mattress as air rips from my lungs.
A belt buckle unclasping and zipper being pulled is the only sound before he yanks my panties down to my knees and slams into me so hard I’m lifted onto my tiptoes.
The impact crushes my insides, but the pain is so good, so deep, and I want more.
He pulls completely out and does it again.
The single, brutal thrust is raw and possessive.
He’s claiming me. Marking me. And God, I want to be marked and scarred and branded.
I want to keep him with me, etched into my soul, feel him from the inside forever.
One more time, all the way out, and he crashes back into me with such ruthless force my body lurches forward.
“Oh God, yes… more…”
And then, he moves. Fast, hard, carnal. “That’s right, fuck…
take this cock. This beautiful fucking cunt is mine.
Do you hear me? It belongs to me.” His words are as harsh as his movements and my ass slaps against him.
“Stick your ass out more. Higher. That’s right, baby…
Oh… right there, right fucking there. You know exactly how to take me, don’t you?
Good girl. Such a good fucking girl.” He fucks me with a frenzied possessiveness.
With a raw savageness. Like a man possessed.
Over and over, he pounds. My head wildly jars with each thrust. His fingers dig into my hips.
Guttural moans and screams echo in the room.
Dizzying stars fill my vision. My breath seizes and locks as he keeps going, furious and unrestrained.
I grip the bed, the comforter, anything in reach, but I’m losing balance, losing air, and it’s so fucking good.
“Give it to me, give it all to me,” I demand with a thick, husky breath. “Show me what you can do. I want you to prove that you fucking own me.”
He perches my ass and rails into me. Frenzied.
Frantic. Unhinged. My heartbeat thunders against my chest. Choked cries rush from my mouth.
He pushes into me, pumping more and more until my body, my entire being, trembles as urgency builds.
I want him to keep going, to never stop, to brand me and bruise me and own me.
I want the pain, the break, the way he’ll rebuild me.
“Fuck, yes, right there…” I scream and everything in me clenches and shakes, ravaging me with a rattled sob.
His cock throbs inside of me and he collapses against my back as the pulses continue, as his warm cum fills my insides and slides down my thighs.
He stays there, holding me, pulsing, his heart beating so fast I can feel it on my back.
When his cock stops throbbing, he pulls out but pushes me onto the bed and puts his thumb inside me. “Keep it in you. Absorb me,” he says against my ear as his thumb stays in me. “And know that you will always belong to me.”