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We’re our limbs and spit and sweat, and the moment Prue reaches her release, I’m right there behind her, filling her with my semen.
I keep thrusting into her, emptying myself and reveling in watching Prue grow limp in my arms.
“Forever mine.” I kiss her gently, softly, leisurely, then trace my lips along her jaw, the curve of her neck.
“Yours,” she responds, relaxing into my body, whole and sated. “Always and forever yours.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Prue
Sweatypalms.Heartpalpitating.Erratic breathing. I’m nervous. Downright panicking.
The penetrating Arizona sun blares into my eyes, but it’s getting dark…Inky blotches cover my eyesight, and I…I think I’m going to faint.
Definitely going to faint.
“Prue.”
Theo’s voice laces itself around my anxiety, choking it with his immense power, suffocating it until there’s nothing left.
My vision clears. My knees quit shaking.
He’s been doing the same thing for the past two days. Pulling me out of a bad dream into strong, enveloping arms. Rushing to hold me—while he was clothed—in the shower the moment I started crying under the spray of the water.
His head has been between my thighs every morning, kissing, laving his tongue, biting me. Making it better.
Because I told him he could do it.
I gave Theo permission to take care of me however he saw fit. Handed him the keys to be in charge of my mental health, and I don’t regret it for a second.
When I asked him for the millionth time whether I was a bad person for killing my father, he didn’t huff an exasperated sigh.
He was there, the king of patience, master of compassion. He told me he would’ve done it if I wouldn’t have. Thatno onethreatened to touch what was his. That he was proud of me.
At no point, including now, has he disappointed me. Hasn’t complained or told me to grow up.
He loves me.
He’s mine and I’m his. And as the Metallica song goes, “nothing else matters.”
Except for those jitters in my belly before meeting my mom.
The reason I threatened Zeke with her address was simple. I wanted to give her a fair chance. My sperm donor said she snuck in to check on me in the orphanage, and it made her redeemable in my book.
Unless…she’s like him.
“Prue,” Theo repeats.
Slowly but surely, the colors return to the world. The gravel on the front of her trailer home crunches beneath my feet as I shift on them. The dull-gray door is still closed since we haven’t knocked on it.
Theo’s woodsy, virile, and comforting cologne curls around me. Protecting me, soothing me.
I turn to look up at his black eyes, the small bump on his nose, his sharp jawline. At the hint of a smile on his otherwise somber expression.
“Theo.”
His thumb caresses the inside of my wrist, his fingers tightening their grip around mine.
