‘You have a one-track mind,’ she muttered, and then he laughed, a deep, throaty sound.
‘I take it back. Honesty is difficult for you.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘If I were to touch you right now, you’d burst into flames. You are so hungry for me, you are practically drooling. Which is not to say I do not feel the same for you—but if I do have a one-track mind, it is something we share.’
Her tongue darted out, licking her lower lip. ‘But we’re not animals,’ she said, her voice soft, though, most definitely lacking conviction.
‘Actually, we are. And the desire we feel is the very definition of animalistic passion.’
Her cheeks flashed with warmth and her body felt unimaginably heavy. ‘Well, you’d know more about that than I would.’
‘Meaning?’
‘That you’re no stranger to casual sex, whereas I—’
‘Only sleep with men your father approves of?’ he supplied, a hint of anger in the words. She opened her mouth to dispute that, to throw her virginity in his face, but the words died in her throat.
She didn’t want him to know. She didn’t want to risk that it would change things between them.
‘How does that work, Princess? Does he give you a list? Pre-screen your dates? Ask for proof of their aristocratic lineage before you’re allowed to drop your pants?’
She closed her eyes, his questions stinging.
‘I’d rather not talk about my father, particularly not with you, and definitely not now.’
‘Why not now,agape?’ He put his hands on her hips then, pulling her towards him, away from the spilled coffee andbroken cup, and against the knot of his towel, beneath which she knew his dick was barely contained by the fabric.
Her tongue was thick in her mouth, and refusing to cooperate. She could barely think of words, much less say them. She felt backed into a corner, so all she could do was shake her head and feign exasperation. ‘This is ridiculous,’ she finally managed to squeeze out.
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m never going to beg you to make love to me. You’re the one who said you wanted this to be a real marriage, you’re the one who insisted on that. So ifyouwant us to have sex, then fine. But don’t expect me to take the first step.’
Another laugh, this one short and sharp, before he dropped his head so his lips were just an inch from hers and her pulse was a throbbing, twisty mess.
‘Okay, I’ll take the first step,’ he said. ‘Would you like me to kiss you?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘You’re still asking me to ask you.’
‘I’m asking you to tell me,’ he said. ‘Tell me it’s okay to kiss you.’
Her eyes widened, because it was a nuanced difference. He was asking for consent, for permission. She could say no, and he’d respect it. This was her line to draw. But a kiss was just a kiss. In fact, a kiss was a good way of showing him they could feel the stirrings of physical need and ignore them.
‘I married you, didn’t I?’
‘That’s not an answer.’
And despite having said she wouldn’t take the first step, it was Annie who was lifting up onto the tips of her toes and seeking out his mouth with hers, Annie who was kissing Theo, Annie whose need was so strong she momentarily forgot everything they’d been, said, and were, and existed simply in the moment forthis.
Annie kissed Theo, but she only had control for a few seconds before he was deepening the kiss and taking over, dominating her as he had at the piano, and earlier, at the wedding. It was Theo whose hands roamed her body, her back, her sides, before curving around her buttocks and pushing her forward, hard against him, against his arousal, his bare chest, Theo who ground his hips so she could feelallof him, so she moaned hungrily. Theo who made stars flood her eyes when he dragged his lips from her mouth to her jaw, flicking the pulse point there, before tracking upwards to the flesh just beneath her earlobe and sucking on it, the combination of his warm, moist mouth and his breath make her whimper and cry his name. Theo who lifted her and carried her to the bench, sitting her down and standing between her legs, kissing her until she was crying out. His name, a curse, but somehow, even in that moment, she was able to stop herself from begging for him, even when the wordpleaseran around and around her mind like lightning in a bottle.
Last night, he’d cupped her breasts through her shirt but this morning, he had no patience for that, as he pushed the fabric up her stomach and over her head, removing the T-shirt carelessly, throwing it on the ground. She tilted her head backwards and his mouth dragged from her throat to her collarbone and then lower, his stubble rough against her soft skin, leaving pink marks in his wake, as he found a nipple and took it in his mouth, his hand squeezing her other nipple until the heat between her legs was a form of mind-altering madness, like some kind of hallucinogenic drug.
‘Theo,’ she groaned, and wiggled forward on the edge of the bench, needing to be closer to him, needing him. She wouldn’t use her words to beg, but with her body, she pleaded, needing his touch, his possession, his everything.
‘I want to hold your breasts when we make love,’ he said, pulling up to look into her eyes. ‘I want to take you from behind, and watch in the mirror as you fall apart.’