Page 36 of Caden & Theo
“I want to.” His voice leaves no room for argument. He’s already shifting closer, warm fingers finding the waistband of my sweats with steady certainty. “Ineedto.”
And the second his hand slips beneath the fabric and wraps around me, all the teasing, all the posturing I might’ve thrown in, it disappears. Gone. Blown clean away by the feel of him, of Theo, touching me like he knows exactly how I fall apart. Because he does.
Because it’shim.
My whole body jerks, hips rising instinctively into his palm, and I bury my forehead against his shoulder, trying to catch my breath. My hand curls at the base of his spine as he starts to move—slow at first, maddeningly slow, dragging every drop of pleasure out like he’s savoring it.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
I can’t even speak. I just nod, eyes squeezed shut, my entire nervous system tuned to his hand, his breath, his warmth against me.
His other hand trails up my back, fingers splaying out between my shoulder blades to hold me steady as he finds a rhythm. My body arches into his, chasing every motion. I’m panting now, every breath a ragged prayer, every nerve lit up like a live wire.
Theo leans in, presses his lips to my jaw, whispering, “You feel so good like this.”
I release a deep, raw moan into his neck, my hand fisting in the sheets beside him.
He keeps going, steady and unrelenting. I feel the shift as he tightens his grip, the slick slide of skin, the unbearable heat building inside me. We don’t say much—just gasps, broken moans, and whispered curses. His name is on my lips like it belongs there, over and over, tangled withpleaseandGodanddon’t stop.
My whole body tenses. “Theo—” I manage, voice cracking.
“I’ve got you,” he breathes, mouth close to my ear. He throws my words back me. “Let go.”
And I do.
I come hard, my body jolting with each wave, his name the only thing I know how to say. He strokes me through it, soft and slow, until the shaking stops and all I can do is cling to him like he’s the only solid thing in the world.
And right now, he is.
Afterward, we lie here tangled up, sticky and half dressed, grinning like idiots. We don’t untangle for a while. Eventually, we clean up—quick wipes, fumbling grins, kisses in between—and collapse back into bed under the blanket, limbs a mess of heat and skin.
I tuck my chin over his shoulder, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on his stomach. “I’m never letting you go six weeks again,” I murmur.
“Next time,” he says, yawning, “I’m kidnapping you.”
I smile against his skin. “Deal.”
We lie here a while longer, curled together on my narrow twin bed. The window’s cracked, the breeze carrying in the sound of people outside—shouts, laughter, someone playing music too loud.
But in here, it’s just us. Warm, close, steady.
Theo traces lazy circles on my back. “I’ve been dreaming about this,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.
“Me too.”
There’s a beat, and then he shifts under me to look at me properly. “I don’t want to go home on Sunday.”
I kiss the tip of his nose. “Then let’s not think about it yet.”
He closes his eyes and breathes deep, like he’s trying to soak this all in.
“Happy birthday, Theo,” I whisper again.
“Best one yet.” His smile is slow, sleepy, and everything.
NINE
THEO
