Page 102 of The Pairing

As if they can hear my thoughts, they say with tight, meted remove, “I want to propose another amendment.”

“I’m open to that,” I say, just as taut.

“I would like to get your cock out.”

Something like a solar eclipse happens inside my brain. I stare directly into it and go momentarily blind.

“But,” they go on, “I’m not going to touch it.”

“You’re—you’re not?”

“No,” they say, “you are. And I’ll tell you how.”

“I—I think that was already allowed, technically.”

“Don’t be such a fucking priss.”

I smile, tipping my chin up.

“Don’t like it so much, then.”

Theo’s grip hardens, but their expression does the opposite.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes. Fucking—yes, but I’ll need lube.”

At the exact same moment, we reach for our toiletry kits on opposite nightstands. We stop, then burst into laughter.

“What’s yours?” Theo asks. “Fucking organic unrefined coconut oil?”

I feel around my kit for its familiar shape, tossing it on the bed as Theo tosses theirs.

“Coconut oil can cause yeast infections,” I say. “I’m a more considerate lover than that.”

Theo eyes my travel-sized, fifteen-mil vial of lube. “That’s not a lot.”

“I packed refills.”

“Hm.” They nod thoughtfully, as if they’re not currently bending me up like a Bavarian pretzel. “Sustainable.”

I read the label on Theo’s much bigger, sapphire-blue pump bottle, feeling lightheaded. “Aloe based? And you calledmebougie.”

“Shut up,” they say, and I do.

True to their word, they don’t touch me. I lift my hips at an instructive raise of their eyebrows, and they tug my underwear down until it cups the bottom of my ass, leaving me heavy andhard and exposed to the honeyed lamplight and the mild breeze carrying distant, wine-loose conversation through the open windows. They stare down at me, at the bright, wet glisten of anticipation already showing.

“Still so pretty when you’re needy,” they murmur, like I’m not meant to hear. I respond anyway, hitch a low whine in the back of my throat to make them claim it.

They look up then, directly into my eyes, and take their hand away.

“Hands on the pillow. Don’t move them until I tell you.”

Again, I do as I’m told. Theo shifts, widening their knees, then takes a small, blunt thing from their kit and slips it into their underwear. A pause—their teeth dig into their lip in a moment of disorientingly adorable concentration—and then comes the low rumble of their little vibe switching on.

A shorthuhpunches out of them. They roll their hips forward, using my body to pin the pressure where they need it, and through the single layer of fabric separating us, the hum resonates into me, into the muscle they once trained with their fingers.

“Fu—uck,” I exhale.