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“Oh God, Theo,” I cry, fighting between needing to watch him feasting on me and closing my eyes to focus on the sensation.
“So sensitive, babe,” he mutters, lowering my feet back to the floor and dropping to his knees before me.
His nose brushes across the top of the boy shorts Callie demanded I wear to compliment the dress.
“These are different,” he breathes, knowing that I have a certain taste in underwear.
“Stop,” I command, and he instantly sits back, following my orders.
I stare at him for long seconds, just taking in the sight of him on his knees before me.
To the rest of the world, he’s such an enigma, so cold, powerful, dangerous. Yet he’s here, kneeling at my damn feet, following my orders. After everything we’ve been through, the control that he’s shown me time and time again that he so badly needs, he’s here, handing every ounce of it over.
My head spins to the point that I actually forget why I stopped him.
“Don’t walk away, Em. Do not fucking—”
A soft, sympathetic smile plays on my lips, and a frown forms on my head.
My beautiful, broken boy.
“I’m not leaving, Theo. Nothing, and I mean nothing, could make me walk out of this room right now.”
He releases a breath and his entire body relaxes at my words. The actions tell me more about where his head is at right now than his words did.
His relief, his hope, is palpable.
His brow creases when I don’t say any more. “So why did you stop?”
“Because,” I say, pushing from the door and stalking into the room, “I thought you might want to get a look at this before you rip them from my body.”
“W-wha—”
His word cuts off the second I turn around and show him my arse.
“Holy fuck.” He barks out a laugh, seeing his name printed across the arse of the knickers. “We’re getting more of those made,” he announces, getting to his feet and striding up to me.
“I knew you’d ruin these.”
“Not replacements, babe. A pair for every day of the fucking week, just to show any motherfucker who might get too close to you that you’re fucking owned, Hellcat.”
He steps up behind me, one of his hands slipping down my stomach, his fingers dipping under the black knickers until he can part me and circle my clit.
A low growl rumbles in his chest when he finds me soaked for him.
His other hand cups one of my full breasts while his teeth nip my ear.
“Get on the bed, babe. Face down, arse up.”
He releases me with a gentle shove, and I immediately mourn the loss of his fingers as the release he was quickly working me toward fades away.
“Knobhead,” I hiss, although doing exactly as I’m told, falling onto the bed on my hands and knees, waving my arse temptingly at him.
“No need to tease me, babe. That arse is mine. It’s got my fucking name on it,” he states proudly, making quick work of shedding his clothes.
I watch, enthralled, as he loses each item, revealing inches upon inches of perfection. Before finally, fucking finally, he drops his boxers, giving me a look at what I’m really dying for.
Sex in that cupboard in the club was great, don’t get me wrong. We fucking needed it. But it has nothing on this.
