Page 87 of The Pairing

“It’s . . . physical,” Theo says, eyes tracing Venus’s breasts. “It’s about being in your body, and strength, and stamina, and instinct, and, well, it’s kind of about winning.”

“You just described sports,” I point out, amused.

“Okay, fine, it’s more than that. It’s like . . . eating a great meal. Short-term pleasure. It’s fun and exciting, one of the best ways to spend an hour, maybe you try something new and find out if you like it, and one day you look back and remember how good it tasted. But it doesn’t have to be anything deeper.”

We pass each other again, face-to-face for a moment.

“Is that really what you think?”

Sweat gleams in the hollow of their throat, and I want them so much, I’d gather it on my fingers and let them watch me suck it off. I would lap it up like a dog.

“Well—” Theo says, moving, swallowing. “Maybe it’s morelike cooking a good meal. Curiosity, creativity.”

“Patience.”

“Sometimes.”

“All the time.”

We’re almost to Venus, the space between us nearly closed.

“Sometimes it’s just butter and a hot pan,” Theo says, voice hushed. “Or a—a peach and a really sharp knife.”

They face me at the fountain’s pedestal, turning their back on the goddess of love.

“I don’t know,” I say. “What good is a knife if the peach isn’t ripe?”

“What is that, a poem?”

“Sure. It’s about impatience.”

“I told you—”

“You told me you would show me,” I say. Without looking away from Theo’s face, I take hold of their wrists at their sides. “So, show me.”

My grip is light enough that they could break away if they chose. I wait for them to demonstrate they want this—to lean forward, to part their lips. Then, I pull gently away.

They watch, brow pinched in confusion, as I lift one of their wrists to my mouth and deliberately, slowly press a soft kiss to the inside. For a moment, they go still, their eyes widening. And then they’re laughing and pushing forward, grasping for my cheek with their fingertips, reaching out with their other hand. Still, I don’t let them touch me.

I don’t want to rush. I want to take care, to touch them how they deserve to be touched.

I direct their hands behind their back, onto the rim of the fountain. Like this, holding their palms down against the marble, my body brackets theirs. Another inch and our chests would be flush, our hips aligned, so I make sure to let neither happen when I kiss their neck. Theo sucks in a sharp breath and releases it as another laugh.

They keep laughing as I drag kisses up their neck and across their jaw, to their cheek and temple. Their skin is warm and salty under my lips, tinged with that essentially Theo scent of bitter orange leaves and spice. Soon, they’re not laughing anymore.

“Comeon.” Their body strains forward, but I hold myself back, even when they try stomping on my foot.

“Patience,” I remind them.

Theo groans, but they don’t stomp on my foot again.

I switch to the other side of their neck and treat it the same way, and Theo’s grunts and huffs of frustration begin to melt into sighs. I kiss and tease and swipe my tongue until their body goes slack, until I realize they’ve stopped making any sounds at all.

When I pull back to look at them, there’s tension in their brow and the corners of their mouth, the kind I know from trying not to let my own face show what I feel. That’s how it looks to be overwhelmed by the enormity of a feeling, afraid it’s going to burst out before it’s meant to.

My eyes speak for me.What are you hiding?

Theirs respond,Please don’t ask.

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