Page 45 of Theo

“You need me to clean you up, sweet girl?” She nods, her eyes locked on my face until it disappears between her thighs. I thought I knew my favorite flavor of Charity Lawson, but the taste of her cum mixed with mine is enough to kill me.

I eat her like a starving man, licking every drop until she’s moaning and writhing against my tongue again. She comes with a slight shudder, her legs giving out at last. My arms close around her thighs just in time to catch her before she falls, and I lower her gently to the ground in front of me. Carefully, without saying anything, I begin to put her clothes back on. Her underwear and joggers slide on easily, and she sits up when I grab her shirt, lifting her arms to help me slide it over her head. Once she’s settled, I turn to grab my own clothes, but she stops me, pulling me in for a kiss.

“Make me stay.” The words are whispered against my lips, and I almost give in. I almost tell her she can’t leave, that I will tie her up to keep her here, but I know it won’t make either of us happy.

“That isn’t how this works, Viper. You have to choose to stay. If you want me, you have to choose me.” I press our foreheads together, willing her to not only hear the words I have to say but to understand the meaning behind them. “I have chosen you every day for the last twenty years. Every single day. Every single time. And I’m not saying this so you feel like you owe me something. I’m telling you so you know, if you’re not ready to choose me right now, I’ll still be here, choosing you, whenever you are ready.”

Her nails dig into my scalp, pressing our heads that much closer together. “I can’t stay here, Theo.”

“That’s okay, sweet girl,” I shift, pressing a kiss to her lips. “You know where to find me if you ever change your mind.”

Charity shakes her head, her eyes squeezed shut against my words. “You can’t promise me that.”

“I can and I will,” I argue, pressing the side of my knuckle against her chin until she looks up at me. “I’ve been here, waiting for you, since we were nineteen. I traded my life for yours, and I don’t regret it for a fucking second because I always had hope. I had hope that you would?—”

My sentence is cut short by the sound of my phone vibrating against the hardwood floor. I want to ignore it, but my eyes drop to the screen just long enough for my brain to register the name flashing there.

The Father.

“Don’t go anywhere.” I grab the phone and my joggers, opening the door just far enough to squeeze through without moving Charity. I curse every deity I can think of as I move across the house, answering the call just as I reach my office door.

“This is Theo.” I pull my pants on, stepping around the desk to sit in the oversized chair on the far side.

“Hello, Theodore,” the Father’s cold voice filters through the phone, the total lack of emotion making the hairs on my arms stand on end.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“It would appear my sons have been up to some...

unacceptable behaviors of late. I am looking for assistance in resolving the issue.”

Reading through those lines is easy enough. He wants me to stop his sons from taking his throne. “How can I assist in such an endeavor?”

“It has come to my attention that my sons trust you.” He says ‘trust’ like the word may jump out and bite him. I have to keep myself from audibly sighing when I realize exactly where he got that information.

“I know he is a trusted advisor of yours, Father, but you cannot believe everything Edmund Lawson says. Your sons don’t trust me any more than they trust anyone else. He’s just upset that I’m in control of his daughter’s life.”

The words burn as I say them, but I have to sell this to the Father. It’s life or death for more people than just Charity and myself.

“Oh, I remember our little arrangement. How is dear Charity? Did she grow up as well as her mother?”

My teeth grind loud enough I think he might hear it through the phone. “She’s not nearly as obedient.”

The Father’s laughter is as cold as the rest of him. “Well, let’s hope you can beat that out of her.”

I want this conversation to be over. “I’ll help however I can, Father, but I don’t believe I will be as useful as you had hoped.”

“We’ll see,” he muses. The sound of metal clinking against glass filters through the phone, and I can just picture him sitting at his desk, dark hair slicked back, charcoal grey suit pressed within an inch of its life, and his gold ring bouncing off the crystal scotch glass in his hand. “I’m having everyone to the house for a little soirée this evening. I would like for you to be there, Theodore.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Seven o’clock, sharp.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Theodore?”

“Yes, sir?”

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