He’s right, and we both know it.
“I’m not asking you to lose anything,” Theo says, voice breaking. “I’m asking you to choose me. To choose us.”
All he wants is honesty between us. No games, no manipulation—just the plain truth of what he needs. What we both need.
I sink down onto the edge of my couch, staring at my hands. Hands that can break a man’s jaw, that grip barbells loaded with hundreds of pounds, that have touched every inch of Theo’s body—and I’ve never felt more powerless.
“I don’t know how,” I admit, the words tearing out of me. “I don’t know how to be this person.”
The confession hangs between us—the truth I’ve been running from since the night of the Hunt. I don’t know how to be a man who loves another man openly. I don’t know how to reconcile the Victor Kaine everyone knows with the man who comes alive in Theo’s arms.
Theo steps toward me, his expression softening. I stand, meeting him halfway. When our lips finally touch, it’s not the desperate clash of teeth and tongue that usually marks our encounters. It’s tentative, questioning—his way of asking for something that we’ve not yet put a name to.
My hands frame his face, thumbs brushing along his cheekbones. He sinks into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed. The vulnerability in his expression undoes me.
“I missed you,” I whisper against his mouth, the words I’ve been holding back for three weeks.
He answers with a kiss that speaks volumes—hurt and hope and hunger all at once.
We move together with a gentleness that’s almost obscene in its intimacy, bodies remembering each other’s contours even as something new sparks to life between us. I guide him toward my bedroom, not pulling or demanding as I once might have, but leading with veneration.
Clothes fall away, each layer revealing more than just skin. When we’re finally bare, I lay him on my bed and hover above him, taking in every detail I’ve memorized in the nine months of knowing him—the constellation of freckles across his shoulders,the small scar at his collarbone, the way his eyes darken when I trace my fingers down his chest.
“Let me see you,” he murmurs, pulling me closer, his hands mapping territory they already know by heart.
I sink into him slowly, our bodies joining with none of our usual urgency. For the first time, I’m not chasing release or control. I’m seeking connection, trying to tell him with each careful thrust what I struggle to say aloud.
Theo’s legs wrap around my waist, his hands tangled in my hair, guiding my face to his. Our foreheads press together, breaths mingling as we move. The intensity builds not from roughness but from intimacy—from looking into his eyes and letting him see parts of me I’ve kept buried.
“I’m here,” I whisper, a promise in my voice. “I’m right here.”
A tremor runs through him. I feel the wetness on his cheeks before I see it, tears tracking silently down his face. Instead of looking away from the first real emotion we’ve shared, I kiss them away. The sight of him so vulnerable—for me—makes my chest tighten.
The pressure builds at the base of my spine, pleasure coiling tight as we move together. Everything feels different—not just the sex but the way Theo looks at me, like he can see straight through to parts of me I’ve spent decades fortifying.
“Theo,” I gasp, his name a confession on my lips.
When the release hits, it’s not just physical. Something inside me fractures, breaks wide open. My entire body shudders as I come deep inside him, and to my horror, a sob tears from my throat. Then another. I can’t stop them.
Tears stream down my face as I collapse against him, my body still pulsing inside his. I try to turn away, hide this weakness, but Theo’s hands frame my face, forcing me to look at him.
“Victor,” he whispers, eyes wide with shock.
I’ve never cried during sex. I’ve never cried in front of anyone since I was a child. The vulnerability is excruciating, terrifying—and somehow freeing.
Theo pulls me down, kisses me with such tenderness that more tears fall. His thumbs brush them away, even as his own eyes grow wet. Our kiss tastes of salt and surrender.
My chest aches with emotions I’ve never allowed myself to feel, let alone express. The truth crashes over me in waves I can no longer outrun or outfight.
I love him.
I fucking adore him.
Even when my life, my reputation, my carefully constructed identity wouldn’t allow it, my heart has been revolving around him as if he were my center of gravity. I’ve been fighting against an orbit I was already caught in, pretending I could escape when I’ve been his since that first night.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper against his lips, not even sure what I’m apologizing for—the tears, the months of hiding, all of it.
Theo kisses me again, deep and claiming, his body still wrapped around mine like he’s afraid I’ll try to run again. He doesn’t need to worry. I’m done running.
