Page 40 of It Destroys Me
Truth be told, I wished we could just forget it ever happened.
I went by his room and knocked, expecting no answer.
“It’s open.”
I stilled when I heard his deep voice. I waited on the other side of the door, trying to remember if he sounded annoyed.
“I said, it’s open.”
I stepped inside and found him on the couch in front of the TV. There was a game on, and he watched it in just his sweatpants, his decanter of scotch there, along with a bucket of ice. Most guys preferred a beer when they were off the clock, but that would practically be water to someone like Theo.
He looked at me, one arm over the back of the couch.
“Sorry, I didn’t expect you to be home.”
“Didn’t want you to think I was avoiding you.”
“So you stayed home to make me think you weren’t avoiding me, even though you do want to avoid me?”
“I don’t want to avoid you, sweetheart.” He patted the seat beside him. “Now get your ass over here.”
I stood there and stared at the vacant seat. “Can we just forget what happened earlier today?”
He stared at me for a long time, the reflection of the TV in his eyes. “I don’t want to forget.”
It was stupid to expect him to say he loved me back when I knew he wouldn’t, but I was somehow still disappointed when it didn’t happen. So I prepared for the worst-case scenario, of losing him altogether. But this reaction was much better than that, and it felt like a win.
He patted the seat again.
I joined him on the couch, still in my skirt and blouse, and immediately felt his arm circle my waist and pull me close. He cradled me into his body, his lips brushing across my hairline, his hand making itself welcome underneath my blouse on my rib cage.
My face went to his chest, and I lay still, not paying attention to the game on the TV, just the warmth of his skin, the way he held me, the way nothing had changed. My hand went to his thigh and felt the hard muscles underneath the soft material.
His fingers continued to graze my skin underneath my top as he watched the game. He didn’t yell at the TV when the plays were made, but he seemed to be into it because he watched with intensity.
“I didn’t know you liked sports.”
“I like gambling.”
“You bet on a team?”
“Manchester United.”
I didn’t watch sports at all. Bolton didn’t either. So I knew nothing about it. “I’m surprised you like to gamble when you’re already so wealthy.”
“It’s not about the money. It’s about the win.” When the game was over, he grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. The second the remote was tossed aside, he was pulling at my clothes like he’d been anxious for the game to end so he could get them off. He pulled down the zipper at the back of my skirt so it slid over my hips. He tugged the thong with it too, making me naked on the bottom. Then he yanked down his boxers until his dick popped out, and he guided me over him, telling me he wanted me to do the fucking tonight.
He pulled me onto his fat length like it was a bicycle seat and then ground against me. My clit dragged over him and immediately made my fingertips go numb in desire. His big hands squeezed my ass as he looked at me the way he did across the dinner table, like I was all he wanted in this world.
His hand cupped my neck, and he kissed me, kissed me hard and slow at the same time, making our kiss purposeful and raw, like it was the first time.
I felt the air leave my lungs. Felt the uncertainty leave my thoughts.
I just felt him.
He ended our kiss to lift me by the hips, his eyes never leaving mine as he lifted his dick and pointed it at my entrance. He let me sink at my own pace, let my wet lips kiss his head before I started to inch down his length, pushing him inside me even when my little body wanted to resist.
I was only able to make it work because I was soaking wet. Drenched for this man and those dark eyes and that heavy stare. He saw my bleeding heart on my sleeve, but he didn’t run. Didn’t shut me down or close himself off. He was there when I got home, ready to prove that a couple words, no matter how powerful, weren’t enough to chase him away.