“Say the word and I’ll take you back to your dorm instead,” he offered.
“I want to be alone for a while, but I don’t know … if I can.”
“Say the word and I’ll crash on the floor with you.”
“It’s a bed,” she defended.
“It’s a floor. With blankets.”
She scowled at him, and his attention snapped to her lips, the storm in his eyes darkening, roiling, as he watched her nose scrunch and her lip curl. Despite the intensity in his eyes, his smile threatened to appear.
“Isobel …” He rumbled out her name, the hint of his smile dropping away. He scrubbed both hands over his face, wiping away all traces of joy. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“I know,” she said, kicking the toe of her sneaker against the rocky ground.
“For hiding it from you,” he pressed.
“I know.”
“It’s not enough.” He sounded frustrated. “You should slap me. Call me names. Never speak to me again. For a day,” he quickly tacked on.
She snorted. “Two days.”
“Day and a half.”
“A week,” she said. “Final offer.”
“You’re negotiating in the wrong direction.” He backed her into the door before she realised what was happening, his hands on her hips. His body was trembling suddenly, his eyes full of turmoil. “Don’t speak to me for thirty seconds.” His voice had lowered to something resembling a warning, something that begged her to back away … but he had her cornered.
And he was warm.
And he was Theodore.
She lifted her chin, accepting the challenge, and his eyes flitted to her lips again. A short groan tore its way out of his throat. “I should be giving you physical intimacy to help ease the bond,” he said.
He hadn’t stopped touching her since she woke up. She furrowed her brow, showing her confusion. Twenty-three seconds and counting. The grip around her hips pinched tighter, his expression suddenly torn.
“We can’t push it too far. In either direction.” He sounded so agonised, the words guttural. One of his hands released her hip to lift her chin, tilting her face up. She could feel his breath against her lips, choppy and harsh. “I’m going to help you get through your first night alone, okay?”
She had already forgotten that she was supposed to not be talking to him, but she didn’t have any words anyway. Her mouth was dry, her throat tight, her hands shaking. Her whole body was tingling in fear and anticipation. Fear, because Theodore was untouchable. He was the most approachable, the most personable, the one with all the friends, the one people gravitated toward and championed. But Isobel suspected it was all an act, and that would make him the opposite of all the things he pretended. It would mean she didn’t really know him at all.
He waited for something, his thumb brushing along her lower lip from one corner of her mouth to the other, dragging the flesh slightly as he increased the pressure.
Every slow, measuring caress sparked something to life low in the pit of her stomach, eventually making her squirm. He hovered closer when she moved, every plane of his body pushing up against hers. She could feel how hard he was just from touching her mouth and everything suddenly seemed connected, their bodies triggering a cycle of responses in each other. His thumb pressed between her lips, catching on her bottom teeth, tugging her mouth open only slightly. Her stomach clenched hard. His erection pulsed, and he lowered his mouth over hers, not releasing her or making any move to kiss her. Some of his sharp, crackling power eased from her skin, but the goosebumps along her arms remained.
“Do you want help? Or do you want to do it on your own?” he whispered. “Should I tide you over? Fill you up enough that you can last the night?”
She made a small, begging sound. It was all she could do with his thumb in her mouth. It seemed like a strings-free offer … like he really was a surrogate instead of her actual mate, and that allowed her to be in the moment, to not think too hard about what he was offering.
It didn’t really mean anything.
He slipped his thumb out of her mouth, replacing it with his lips, and she melted, just like she did every time he touched her. He controlled the kiss right from the start, using his grip on her chin to angle her face, tasting her slowly and sweetly until she felt like she was drowning and only his strong body anchoring her against the door was keeping her upright.
She grew restless, but he kept the same maddening pace, scrambling her brain. She tried to move, to push against him, to tug his shirt and quicken the kiss, but he only nipped at her lips for the effort. She half expected his skin to start glowing or another chain to magically appear, but something didn’t feel right inside her. Something deep within her was hurting, and while Theodore’s touch was tunnelling her into a nerve-wracking cloud of lust, there was something deep down that was still broken.
She was on her own with this. No magic to siphon away her inhibitions and make her brave.
So when his hand brushed over her stomach, pushing her back just far enough to draw the oversized shirt up, bundling it above the hem of her shorts, she suddenly found that she couldn’t breathe. He paused, his breath rough against her lips, and she realised he was debating whether to stop.
“More,” she whispered. He was holding back too much. She was burning up from the inside and he was far too controlled. She hated it.
He issued a throaty growl, inching his face back as he considered her.
“You sure?”
“M-more.” She tugged on his wrist to try and bring him closer, or to pull his arm around her, but instead, his fingers pushed into her shorts.
She hadn’t been prepared for that. She just wanted him to feel as out of control as she did, but as soon as his fingertips slid into her panties and brushed her clit, she realised it was exactly where she needed him. Anyone else might have tried to ease her into having their hands down her pants … but not Theodore. He liked to shock her. He applied a little bit of pressure, watching the colour flood into her face as she clutched nervously at his arms.
“Stop pushing my arms, Illy. I can’t risk feeling how wet you are.” He groaned the words, nipping at her chin before kissing her. His lips pressed harder this time, his tongue demanding more from her as his fingers gently circled the bundle of nerves, increasing the pressure until she was squirming. It was like he already knew her body inside and out. Like she was an instrument and he had been practising her studiously for years and had already been awarded some kind of diploma.
What she wouldn’t pay to see him not automatically succeed at something.
He watched her every reaction, changing the pressure and position and cadence of his touch with every shift in her expression or hitch in her breathing. He took her right to the edge and then suddenly stopped, cupping her sex gently and leaving her there to float and pant into his lips.