“Oh, Theo—” My voice cracks as I’m coming apart. He tightens his grip on my thighs, and the low sound he makes when I pull his hair is obscene. He enjoys every inch of wrecking me.
“Eyes on me,” he murmurs against me, and my whole body jumps. I tried. God, I tried. But he dragsanother sound out of me when he slides a second finger in, one that echoes in the kitchen, and my head falls back against the cabinets with a thud. My vision blurs, my knees weaken. I’m already too close, and he is feeling it, because he’s not slowing down. He pins my hips, like he’s inside my head and telling me without words, ‘You’re not going anywhere. Not until I’m done.’
I came so hard, I swear I left my soul on the kitchen counter.
When I finally collapse forward, panting, he stands, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand like he just tasted something he intends to worship, and lifts me with ease. My dress falls back over my hips, useless and wrinkled, as he carries me down the hall like I weigh nothing.
“Round two,” he says, low and certain. “Bedroom.” He looks at me like I’m the center of the goddamn universe.
He lays me on the bed and climbs over me like he owns every inch of me, because he does, and I let him. His hands are everywhere. On my hips, my waist, my breasts, my throat, my thighs. He is claiming, guiding, teasing me right up to the edge again. I’m still sensitive, still pulsing, still dizzy from the kitchen. “Theo, I can’t?—”
“Yes,” he practically growls. “Yes, you can.” I arch into him, helpless. My whole body wants him. I’m so needy for him. I gasp when I feel two fingers sliding into me. I swear I have no air left inside of me.
He yanks the dress, exposing my breast, and starts licking and biting my nipples. I fall apart again, faster this time, like he has my body on a string he’s tugging withlotsof precision. My vision goes blank. I stop remembering my own name. I don’t even get a full minute to recover.
Theo pulls me onto his lap, pressing me against his chest, and the filthy, reverent praise he whispers into my neck has my whole body lighting up again. “Look at you,” he murmurs. “You look so wrecked, and you are mine to wreck over and over.” I gasp loudly because that phrase hits every nerve I have.
He guides himself into my entrance, slow at first, teasing, then deeper, and his hands slide down my back, keeping me exactly where he wants me, moving me exactly how he wants me. And I’m gone. I can feel the stretch, every inch of him. I’m shaking, clawing at his shoulders, moaning into his neck as he thrusts up into me with a controlled, devastating rhythm that makes me dissolve all over again.
“Round three,” he whispers against my ear, dark and triumphant, “and you’re still so needy for me. You’re going to kill me, Samantha.” I came all over him. So hard that my legs gave out. Theo looks down at me and smirks like he’s proud of what he’s done.
“We’re not done, you said no sleep tonight,” he murmurs. My laugh is a pathetic, breathless little sound. “I can’t move.”
“You don’t have to.” He flips me gently onto my stomach, kisses down my spine, and pulls me backagainst him with this slow, possessive tenderness that makes me melt all over again.
He’s softer now, but every thrust is deeper, and I can feel him in my entire body. By the time I come again, quietly, helplessly, barely able to breathe. I’m shaking in his arms. He pulls me onto his chest, covering us both with the blanket, one hand stroking slow circles on my hip.
My body’s still trembling in little aftershocks. “You okay?” he asks softly. I manage a hum, barely a whimper. Something that means I’m alive but barely. He chuckles, low, smug, unbearably sexy.
“Good. Because I meant every word I said tonight.” His hand tightens on my hip.
“You drive me insane.” Another kiss. “You’re mine.” Another. “And when you send me pictures like that?” He laughs quietly. “I lost my mind for you, sweetheart. Every damn time.”
I curl into him, exhausted and warm and stupidly in love. “Theo?”
“Mm?”
“If this is what being your wife-to-be is like…” I nuzzle into his neck. “I’m not surviving the first month of marriage.” He tilts my chin up and kisses me slowly and deeply.
“Oh, you’ll survive,” he murmurs.
He pulls me tighter, holding me like he’s never letting go. And I fall asleep on his chest, completely ruined, completely safe, and completelyhis.
I groan as I move around the bed.
Oh no,Oh no.
I wake up and immediately regret having a body.
Every muscle in me protests. My thighs feel like they’ve been on a CrossFit retreat. My hips ache in ways I didn’t know they could. I try to roll over—oh no, bad idea. Pain shoots down my legs like I’ve done a triathlon. “What the fuck,” I croak.
Then I smell bacon, and I hear soft humming. And I realize two things. Theodore Jones absolutely wrecked me last night, and he is currently in our kitchen making us breakfast.
I try to stand up.
Nope, nope,nope.
My body basically said, ‘sit down, you slut’. So I limp,limpto the bathroom, splashing water on my face. I look like someone who barely survived a very pleasurable natural disaster.
