Those filthy words from his pretty mouth snap the last thread of my restraint. I release one of his wrists just long enough to grab the lube, coating myself with a shaking hand before positioning at his entrance.
“This is what you want?” I growl, pressing the head of my cock against him. “My cock splitting you open?”
“God, yes,” Theo moans, his free hand clutching at my shoulder. “Need it so bad.”
I drive into him with a single brutal thrust, burying myself to the hilt. His back arches off the bed, a strangled cry tearing from his throat.
“This is mine,” I snarl. “Say it.”
“Yours,” Theo gasps between thrusts. “All yours, Daddy.”
I pound into him mercilessly, reclaiming every inch of control I momentarily surrendered. His smaller body takes everything I give, his moans growing louder with each thrust.
“Nobody else gets this,” I growl, gripping his hip hard enough to bruise. “Nobody else sees you like this.”
18
THEO
Istare at the ceiling, shadows dancing across the textured paint as the city lights filter through my half-drawn curtains. Sleep isn’t coming tonight—not that it ever really does. My mind races with melodies and beats that need arranging, club logistics that need solving, and increasingly, thoughts of Victor.
Victor with his giant hands. Victor with his growl that vibrates through my chest. Victor, who thinks he can compartmentalize what’s happening between us.
I turn onto my side, the sheets sliding cool against my bare skin. The music from my speaker shifts to something low and throbbing, a track I’ve been working on for Eclipse—all bass and suggestion. It matches the rhythm of blood pulsing through me as I replay our last encounter.
The way he looked when he came. The shock in his eyes when he realized what his body was capable of. The fierce reclaiming that followed. I’m painfully hard at the memory, and I slip my hand beneath the sheets, palming myself through my briefs. I wonder if he’s sleeping. I wonder if he thinks about me in the dark too.
I reach for my phone, checking the time—2:17 AM. Too late for most people. Not for club owners. Not for Victor, who I’ve seen posting about early morning training sessions.
I open our message thread, his last text from yesterday morning still unanswered. I tap the voice message icon, bringing the phone close to my lips.
“Hey,” I whisper, my hand working slowly over my cock now. “I can’t sleep. Keep thinking about how you felt inside me.” I pause, letting my breathing deepen just enough to be noticeable. “About how you looked when I touched you. The sounds you made.” I squeeze myself harder, my voice catching slightly. “I’m hard just remembering it. Wish you were here to do something about it.”
I send the message without hesitation, toss my phone aside, and close my eyes. The music washes over me as I imagine Victor listening, his body responding just like mine is now.
My phone buzzes against the mattress forty seconds later. I don’t pick it up immediately. Make myself wait. Ten seconds. Twenty.
I turn it over.
Victor:
What the fuck is wrong with you.
I smile at the ceiling. Type:
Nothing. Go back to sleep.
A pause. Longer than it should be if Victor was simply disgusted and dismissing it. The three dots appear, disappear, then reappear. My smile widens. I’ve got him.
I wasn’t asleep.
Interesting. Very interesting. The admission feels like a small victory—Victor Kaine, awake at nearly half past two, just like me. Thinking about me, maybe? The possibilities send a pleasant shiver down my spine.
Want to video call?
I type, my thumb hovering over the send button for just a moment before I commit.
I expect hesitation, maybe even refusal. Victor’s still so caught up in who he thinks he’s supposed to be—what he’s allowed to want. But the response comes faster than I anticipated.