Page 77 of Wilder at Heart
There. I’ve said it. Made it real. And it’s true. Because no matter how gorgeous, and intimate, and rewarding, and important sex with Jonathan was, it wasn’t red hot.
And this really was.
It wassearing.
The confidence with which he touched me. Like I belonged to him. Like he knew exactly what I needed.
The way he spoke to me.
Every single thing I do, I’ll be doing it for you.
I just want to fucking devour you.
Good girl.
Oh, Jesus. All that—all that set up—was as hot as what he actually did with his body parts. I felt like I was in a porno. And letting Theo take me along for the ride catapulted me into a state of desire the like of which I’d never, ever known.
But this little dalliance will burn itself out, no matter how brightly it’s flaring right now in its infancy. Theo will get bored with proving his point. Of making his mark. And he’ll move on.
And besides. This isn’t about my spending a few blissful days having orgasms left, right, and centre.
It’s about the rest of my life, and it all boils down to one simple truth.
Theo can’t give me what I want. He’s not interested in that. It’s not who he is.
And Jonathan can. He’s everything I’ve always wanted.
‘I know what I want,’ I tell Elle. ‘I just—I’m trying to play it cool here, but my head is spinning. Why can’t I be that fabulous, liberated girl who has incredibly hot, casual sex with a guy she’s physically compatible with, without obsessing and spiralling? Honestly, I’m so sick of overthinking everything. I amnotgoing to be that person.
‘I know exactly what I’ve got into with Theo. No one can accuse your cousin of not being up front. We’re two unattached adults having fun, and it’s all the more fun because it’s a temporary hookup. I’m just… broadening my horizons. Okay?’
There’s a weighted pause before Elle responds. ‘Of course, hon. That’s the spirit. Go for it, and have fun. As long as both of you are on the same page, there’s nothing to worry about.’
I nod, even though she can’t see me. ‘Exactly.’
CHAPTER 30
Nora
‘Home.’
I catch the triumph in Theo’s voice as he shuts the door to his flat behind us, but I’m not quite up to speed on why it’s there. God knows why he looks so smug. I can’t help but feel deflated, which seems the more appropriate emotional state. The flat is quiet, especially since Olive’s still at the sitter’s.
We’ve left our glorious, sun-kissed bubble, the magical place where Theo lifted the veil and showed me what our bodies were capable of together. How extraordinarily good it could be between us.
He was spot on about chemistry trumping love in bed. Holy crap. It’s hard to believe I can have such a crazy connection with a man I’m not in a serious relationship with. Or any kind of relationship, for that matter.
But Theo called it. And he was right.
I wasn’t myself in Cap Ferrat. I was looser. More hedonistic. More in touch with my body. Like someone had Bridget-Bardot’ed me. And this man should take most of the credit for bringing out that wilder side of me.
Like last night, when he threw me over his shoulder, kicking and screaming with laughter, marched me back to our room and peeled my dress and thong off me with what can only be described as reverence before ordering me to sit on his face (spoiler: I obliged happily).
Or this morning, when sleep yielded to the most delicious, hazy sort of consciousness with Theo’s warm, hard body flush against mine, his erection ready for action, his hands busily adoring my skin and his voice already in my ear, rough and dirty.
But now I’ve stepped off the jet, and we’re back here, and we’ll probably be back to being fake boyfriend and girlfriend, both with clear agendas that don’t include each other, and possibly occasional benefits, now we’ve smashed through that particular barrier, and it’s so depressing I could cry, and?—
Theo takes my bag, drops it on the floor, and whips me around, pushing me up against the door, his eyes darkening as they zero in on my mouth. He drops his lips to mine and kisses me. Slowly. Deeply. His tongue dominating my mouth. His fingers tangling in my hair. His other hand sweeping up my waist so his thumb can brush the underside of my breast in my wrap dress.
