Page 98 of What We Don't Say: Part One

I reach down and ease his pants lower. He kicks them the rest of the way off, and then there’s nothing between us. The first slide of his bare cock against my wetness makes both of us still. Theo’s forehead drops to mine. His purr stutters, then strengthens, vibrating through his chest into mine.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Oh, that feels—Callie, that feels so good.”

I wrap my hand around him, stroking once, twice, learning the shape of him. He’s thick, flushed, already leaking. Theo’s hips twitch into my fist, and a soft, broken sound leaves his throat.

“Please,” he says. “Can I—inside? Please. I want to feel you.”

“Yes.” I guide him to my entrance, watching his face the entire time. “Slow. We’ve got time.”

He pushes in carefully, inch by inch, eyes locked on mine. The stretch is perfect, deep, and when he bottoms out he makes a sound like he’s been struck. His arms shake on either side of my head. The purr in his chest turns continuous, low and helpless.

“Green?” I ask, voice unsteady now.

“Green. So green. You’re—god, you’re so warm. I love this. I love being inside you. Callie—”

He starts to move, tentative at first, then with more confidence as he finds a rhythm that makes my breath catch. Every thrust is accompanied by soft, stunned fragments of talk that spill out of him without filter.

“It feels so good. You’re holding me so tight. I can feel you—everywhere. Mine. You’re mine like this. Please don’t stop letting me—”

I slide my hands down his back, feeling the muscles work under his skin, and lift my hips to meet him. The angle changes. Theo’s eyes go wide and glassy. His next thrust hits deeper, and a broken little cry leaves him.

“There—right there—Callie, please—”

I keep one hand in his hair and the other on his hip, guiding without taking over. Whenever the pace starts to turn frantic with leftover panic I slow him with a touch or a soft word, and every time he answers with another clear green and another breathless confession.

“I love you touching me. I love the way you look at me. It feels real. It feels chosen. I’m not confused. I’m not—ah—Callie—”

The dryer is silent. The only sounds left are our breathing, the soft wet slide of him moving inside me, and the continuous, stunned purr vibrating through his chest. I feel my own orgasm building slow and deep, fed by every soft word he gives me, every careful thrust, the way he keeps choosing me out loud.

“I’m close,” I tell him. “You’re doing so well. You feel perfect.”

Theo’s rhythm falters, then deepens. “Can I—can we—together? Please. I want to feel you. I want—”

“Yes. Come with me.”

He does. The moment my body tightens around him he follows, burying his face in my neck with a broken, overwhelmedsound as he spills deep inside me. His hips stutter through the last pulses, and the whole time he keeps talking in shattered little pieces against my skin.

“I love this—I love you—it feels so good—mine—Callie—”

The aftershocks leave him shaking hard. He collapses against me, still buried inside, the soft uneven purr returning as his body tries to settle. I wrap both arms around him and hold on, stroking his hair, his back, the damp nape of his neck, while the laundry room stays quiet and warm around us.

Some part of me knows the house may carry enough of us for Garrett to name later if he wants to. The thought should make me move faster, clean up quicker, open the door and make this look harmless before anyone can turn it into something else. I can’t do that to Theo while he’s still shaking against me.

Theo stays inside me until his breathing begins to level out. The dryer has gone still, and the tile stays cold beneath my back, but his weight keeps me pinned in a way that feels trusting instead of desperate. His face remains tucked into the side of my neck, his breath damp against my skin, and every few seconds his purr catches, stumbles, then starts again when my fingers comb through his hair.

I keep touching him as he keeps answering me. A hum against my throat. A twitch of his fingers in my shirt. A long, shaky breath when I press my mouth to his temple. My body feels loose and shaken, but my mind keeps flashing back to the doorway: Garrett’s calm face, Theo’s panic, the way shame arrived where there hadn’t been any before.

“I’m still here,” he whispers.

“I know, Star.” I tighten my arms around him because I do know. I know it in my skin, in the warmth of him, in the way he chose words even when fear kept trying to steal them. “I’m here too.”

“I meant it,” he says, and his voice is sleepier now but no less urgent. “All of it. I don’t want him to take it.”

“He doesn’t get to take it.” The sentence comes out before I can doubt it, and for once, I let myself believe the shape of my own words. “We’ll get you water in a minute. Then we’ll figure out the rest.”

Theo lifts his head just enough to look at me. His mouth is swollen, his cheeks flushed, and the sweater has slid half off one shoulder. He looks wrecked and beautiful and young in the way vulnerability makes a person young, not the way Garrett keeps trying to make him small.

“I don’t want to go alone,” he says.