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‘Where did you go?’ I whisper, barely loud enough to be heard. The purposely low volume of my voice is maybe an indication that I actually don’t want to know.
But Theo hears, sighing and gripping my ankle, giving it a little tug. ‘Come here. I want to hold you.’
‘Do you need to hold me?’ I ask, turning my body around and shuffling down the couch, placing my head on his lap.
‘I always need to hold you.’ I know his reply to be true, but it doesn’t fill me with reassurance at this particular moment in time. Arranging my legs just so, he strokes up my thigh on to my tummy and circles his palm there for a few moments, and then so terribly slowly and tactfully, over my breast. My breath hitches. And he smiles at his hand knowingly. ‘That’s good,’ he murmurs, glancing at my frowning face. He flicks my nipple gently. ‘You’re still turned on by me, even when I look like this.’
I squirm with a girlish giggle when he flexes his hips up, pushing a surprisingly hard cock into my temple where it rests on his lap. I could just turn my head, tug down his shorts, and . . .
‘Stop it.’ My hand flies out and stills his on my boob. ‘You’re too weak.’ That’s something I never thought I’d say.
He makes an over-the-top display of his exasperation, his head falling back with a groan. ‘You’re pumping me with painkillers when all I need is to fuck you good and proper. That will sort me out.’
I laugh a little. ‘You can hardly move.’
‘Then you’ll have to do all the work,’ he tells me matter-of-factly, dropping his eyes but not his head. ‘For once.’
I throw him an indignant look. ‘It’s hard to do anything when you’re restrained.’
‘So that’s your excuse?’ He quirks a playful eyebrow, and I narrow unamused eyes on him. I know what he’s doing. He’s goading me, trying to force me into proving him wrong.
‘Maybe next week.’
Another huff of displeasure. ‘My balls are going to explode. They need release.’
Shuffling on to my side, I get comfy, placing praying hands under the side of my head on his lap. ‘You were going to tell me where you were.’ I get us back on track, and the lust that was building in his cobalt eyes vanishes, like it was never there. ‘Tell me,’ I push softly.
He smiles a little, though it’s a nervous smile. ‘You’ll think I’m crazy.’
‘I already think you’re crazy.’ I reach up and stroke his bearded face. Now I’m super curious.
‘There’s a village a few miles from here. We lived there before Dad bought this place and renovated it. It was quiet. A simple life.’
His childhood home? ‘But Judy looked there. She told me so.’ It was one of the last places she searched, since she was sure Theo would never want to be reminded of his childhood before everything changed.
‘I know.’ Theo shrugs sheepishly.
I balk. ‘You hid from her?’
‘I was a mess. I didn’t want her to see me like that.’
I bite my tongue, knowing it’ll be pointless to argue over this. What’s done is done. He looks around the room, falling into thought. ‘I liked it there. I went to school, played in the field, and went to Sunday school like a good little Catholic boy.’ He smiles. ‘Father Byron made me recite the Lord’s Prayer whenever he saw me – in the shop, on the street, playing with my friends. Wouldn’t let me go on my way until I’d reeled it off perfectly. No mistakes. He said God was proud of his children, especially those who knew his prayer.’ Looking down at me, he tilts his head a little, combing through my hair with his fingers. My lips twist, feeling sorrowful. He’s speaking fondly. Because this is the nice part of his tale. There’s more to come, some of which I know and don’t like, and some of which I don’t know. And I know I’m not going to like those parts, either.
‘Things changed when we moved away,’ he goes on, lost in a reverie, now talking freely and easily. ‘Dad needed to be closer to business and took the fight club out of an old derelict factory and put it here. He was raking it in. Thriving on the money and the power.’ He laughs lightly, when I believe he should be laughing coldly. ‘He really thrived on the power. My carefree childhood was lost the second he moved us out of the village. He’d never paid much attention to me, but suddenly I had lots of attention. And it wasn’t good attention. He used to cuff me around the head as he passed and tell me I should be prepared for the unexpected. Said I was a wuss. A poor excuse for a male. As soon as I was old enough, he threw me in the cage. I was sixteen. Just a skinny kid.’
