Chapter twenty-three

Poppy

I kept my arm around Theo as we walked through the living room. His shirt was drenched with sweat. Though he wasn’t leaning on me like he had on Main Street, he still seemed unsteady. Whatever panic attacks I thought I’d witnessed before were nothing compared to the one that just happened. It was like he’d gotten so locked in his mind, he wasn’t even aware of me or anyone else around him. All the color had drained from his face, and his breathing was so erratic, I don’t know how he hadn’t passed out.

“I’m going to hop in the shower,” he said.

“I’m coming with you.”

I darted past him into the 1970s bathroom. Whoever decided mustard yellow was a good color for wall tiles should have their eyes checked. The busy pattern on the floor tiles was an equal sin.

Theo leaned against the sink while I turned on the shower. “You don’t have to babysit me, Poppy. I promise, I’m fine.”

“Well, I’m not,”

I snapped. “Fifteen minutes ago, you looked like you were having a heart attack. Plus, I think there’s gum stuck to my leg. Not to mention all the ice melt. I’m taking a shower with you.”

I contorted and groped until I found the zipper on my back and yanked it down. I kicked off Rowan’s torture shoes and wiggled out of my dress. Even though I’d already sat on the gross sidewalk, I hung it carefully on the empty hook on the back of the door.

When I turned back around, I caught Theo staring at my ass, his gaze heated. Well, at least he bounced back fast. I slid off my bra, then my panties, his eyes following my every move.

“You going to shower in your clothes?”

I asked walking to him.

He started fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, getting nowhere fast. I placed my hand over his and took over. His chest moved up and down, and for a second, I worried he was starting another attack before he reached out and brushed his thumb across my nipple, sending a throb of need between my legs.

I slid his shirt off and ran my hands down his abs to the waistband of his pants. He sucked in a breath as I undid the button and slipped down his fly. He was already hard, his cock bobbing up to meet my hands when I reached inside his boxers. Definitely not pierced.

He closed his eyes and threw his head back. Good. I wanted him distracted when I saw his scars for the first time. I kept pumping him in slow strokes while I pushed his pants to the floor.

My hand stilled. Thin scars covered his legs. There was no pattern, no apparent design other than to inflict pain. All the marks had healed over to shiny white or pink scars but one. A long, angry gash on his inner thigh that looked hot and painfully red.

“Please, don’t cry,”

I heard him say. I hadn’t realized I was until he brushed the tears from my cheeks.

I let go of him and pulled back the shower curtain. “Get in.”

“Poppy—”

“In,”

I snapped because I was one second from losing my shit. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to scream at him or sob my eyes out. Probably both. He stepped under the shower head, the water sluicing down his toned body. I climbed into the yellow tub and yanked the curtain closed.

He grabbed my hands and pulled me under the water with him before wrapping his arms around me. We stood pressed together while the water ran down our skin. When I no longer felt like yelling or crying, I dropped my arms and stepped back. I grabbed a bar of soap from the built-in holder on the wall and lathered it in my hands.

Theo squirted some shampoo in his hand but froze when I started rubbing suds on his stomach. “You don’t have to do that,”

he said, even as he leaned into my touch.

“I want to,”

I said, rubbing my sudsy hands over his perfect ass.

He let the water wash away the shampoo on his hand and watched me lather his shoulders, then arms, then torso again. He let out a groan when I lowered my hands to his dick. He reached for me, but I dropped to my knees, running my soapy fingers over the raised skin on his legs. He started to step back, either because I was touching his scars or because there was a real threat his impressive erection would poke me in the eye. I dropped the bar of soap and wrapped my hand around his cock.

I looked up at him while the water washed the last of the soap away and placed a gentle kiss on his crown. He watched me take him into my mouth before he closed his eyes and groaned.

Since I’d held onto my v-card until Theo, I considered myself somewhat of an expert at giving head. When I opened my throat and sucked his entire shaft into my mouth, his eyes popped open.

“Holy shit,”

he panted.

I smirked and hummed, my tongue caressing his delicate skin as I bobbed my head back and forth. He gripped my hair. “Poppy,”

he said as his legs started to shake. “No one has ever been able to—”

His grip tightened. “Touch yourself,”

he ordered in a voice that made heat pool between my legs.

I slid one of my hands to my clit and moaned.

I worked both of us into a frenzy until Theo finally started thrusting into my mouth. “I’m going to come. You don’t have to—fuck,”

he yelled, when I started massaging his balls with my free hand.

He let out a feral groan, and I swallowed around him, his hot cum sliding down my throat.

I sat back on my heels and took a few deep breaths. He lifted me to my feet, spun me around and placed my hands on the tile wall. Before I could ask what he was doing, his soapy hands began to roam over my body. Once I was clean, he kneaded my breasts before sliding his hand between my legs where I ached for release. The orgasm I’d started to build with my own fingers felt much closer with his.

“Come for me,”

he growled in my ear. Pleasure ripped through me with such intensity my vision darkened. He kept touching me, drawing out my orgasm until I sagged against the shower wall, spent. He turned me back to face him and wrapped me in his arms. We stood like that until the water began to cool.

“I’m making Aiden install one of those endless hot water heaters,”

he said when the water became icy. He turned off the faucet and opened the curtain, both of us shaking.

There was only one bath towel in sight. He yanked it from the bar, wrapped it around me, and dried my skin with the nubby fabric while goosebumps erupted over his entire body. Only after I was dry and wrapped in the towel did he reach into the closet and pull out an equally ratty towel for himself. He grabbed my hand and rubbed the water from his skin as he pulled me out the bathroom and down the hall toward the bedroom, leaving puddles on the hardwood floors the whole way.

If it weren’t for the mauve carpet, I wouldn’t have recognized Theo’s room. The air mattress was gone. In its place was a queen-sized bed with soft gray bedding. It even had a black headboard. He’d taken down the floral drapes and swapped the mini blinds for sleek roller shades. A pair of nightstands with matching silver lamps completed the new furnishings. The room still looked as personal as a mid-range hotel, but at least he wasn’t sleeping on the floor.

He tossed his towel on the pink carpet, pulled back the covers, and motioned for me to climb in. I dropped my towel next to his and lay down, still slightly damp from the shower. Once he was beside me, he wrapped the comforter around us and drew me close.

“Ready for me to cuddle the shit out of you,”

I said laying my head on his chest. His heart pounded beneath my ear. He didn’t answer me, but he kissed my wet hair. I placed my hand on his stomach and felt the tip of his erection.

I lifted my head and smirked at him. “Doesn’t take you long to rally, does it?”

“I need to feel you come around my cock at least twice before we cuddle,”

he said, running his hands down my back.

Woah. OK. Wasn’t expecting Theo to be a dirty talker, but I liked it. “Oh yeah,”

I said. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

He smiled down at me before lowering his mouth to mine. The kiss was gentle, his tongue caressing with languid strokes that put every nerve in my body on alert. In one swift move, he flipped me onto my back. He lifted my arms above my head and wove his fingers in mine while he sucked a sensitive spot on my neck. I arched off the bed when he ran his stubble across my nipples. He let go of my hands and moved down my body, kissing and stroking every inch with his equally skilled hands, his pace achingly slow. By the time he reached my waist, I was panting.

“Don’t come,”

he said in that deep voice that made my core clench. “Not until I’m inside you. Tell me to stop when you get close.”

Then he pushed my legs apart and lowered his mouth to me. I gripped his hair and pulled. If he repeated the magic thing he did with his tongue and his hands on Thursday, I’d be a goner.

“That close, huh,”

he chuckled and then blew on my clit. When I didn’t yank his hair, he swirled his tongue against me. I clenched and let out a strangled cry. I was right there. One more swipe was all I needed. He pulled away. I groaned in frustration.

“Are you always this responsive?”

he asked, rubbing lazy circles on my inner thighs with his thumbs.

I shook my head. Honestly, I was lucky if the guys I’d dated could find my clit. None had been able to pull pleasure from my body like Theo. None had even tried.

“I could keep going if you want me to edge you,”

he said, dipping his hands between my legs. “But you have to promise not to come.”

“Yeah, can’t promise that,”

I said and arched against his fingers.

He flashed me a boyish smile, and I realized I’d never seen him like this. Playful. He reached into the nightstand and pulled out a condom. When he gave himself a hard stroke, I almost came. I’d just had an orgasm, yet I’d never felt this turned on before, like I’d combust and burn to ash if I didn’t get relief soon. He rolled the condom down his length and rubbed his shaft across my throbbing center. I gripped the sheets, fighting my release while he positioned himself at my entrance.

“We’re taking it slow this time,”

he said. He kissed me as he pressed his crown inside. I tightened around him, the need to come so strong it was almost painful.

“How far in do you need to be to consider yourself inside me?” I panted.

He smiled and withdrew, then pushed forward another inch.

I wrapped my legs around him and pressed my heels against his ass, urging him on. I fought my orgasm for a couple inches and then exploded. He thrust deep and groaned as I tightened around him. As I started to come down, he began to move, slowly at first, his hips rolling in a way that stretched me to accommodate him.

He threaded his hands with mine again and kissed me, all heat and tongue. Each thrust a little faster until he started a rhythm that had me moaning into his mouth. My orgasm started to build again from my toes up my body, and before long, I was clenching around him and calling his name. He let go then. Fucking me with powerful thrusts that kept the waves rolling through me, one orgasm bleeding into another until he found his release, his cock pulsing inside me.

We broke apart, panting.

“I’ll be right back,”

he said, rising from the bed and walking out of the room in all his naked glory.

My stomach dropped. I wanted to run after him to make sure he wasn’t hurting himself, but I forced myself to stay in the bed until he returned a moment later with a washcloth.

Condom. He had to get rid of the condom. He pressed the warm cloth against me, soothing the ache I hadn’t realize was there.

“You all right?”

he asked, looking at me with concern. “I got a little rough there at the end.”

I nodded.

“You sure?”

he asked, small lines appearing between his eyes.

“Yeah. I just need to pee. I heard somewhere it prevents UTIs.”

UTIs. What the heck was coming out of my mouth? I mean, Rowan had told me that, but it wasn’t exactly something you said to a guy right after you had sex. Then again, most guys didn’t cut themselves after either.

He handed me the washcloth. I hopped out of bed, scooped up the wet towels, and wrapped one around me before I scurried to the bathroom and shut the door.

“Stop being weird,”

I told my reflection in the mirror above the sink, which pretty much cemented my weirdo status. I draped the washcloth on the side of the tub and hung the towels on the bar next to the sink. With a huff, I went ahead and tinkled because might as well. After I flushed and washed my hands, I contemplated putting on a towel again, but a badass bitch would strut back to the room like a runway model, so that’s exactly what I did.

Theo was propped against the headboard, waiting. He looked exhausted, and I felt a stab of guilt for taking so much from him before he’d had time to recover from the panic attack. He smiled and flipped back the covers like it was the most natural thing in the world to welcome me into his bed. I slid in beside him, and he pulled me close, my head on his chest, his arm resting low on my bare back.

“If I didn’t hurt you, what’s on your mind?”

he asked. “And don’t say you just had to pee. I know that’s a lie.”

“How?”

I asked, raising my head from his chest. His eyes looked sad. All the playfulness of earlier gone.

“You scrunch here when you fib,”

he said, running a finger down the bridge of my nose. “And you bite your lip when you’re worried,”

he added, tugging my bottom lip free from my teeth.

“Pretty sure you already know,” I said.

He nodded.

I propped myself up, so we were eye to eye. “I meant what I said before, Theo. I can’t be afraid you’re going to hurt yourself every time we’re together. More than that, when I see marks like this,”

I said, placing my hand lightly on the thigh he’d recently cut, “It breaks my heart.”

“Kardoula mou,”

he said, cupping my face. “That’s what it means. My heart.”

Holy shit. All this time, he’s been calling me his heart, and I’d thought he didn’t like me enough to date me. “But you’ve called me that for months.”

He nodded.

“Damn it, Theo,”

I said, swatting his chest. “I swear, if I see another mark on you, I’m wrapping you in bubble wrap, throwing you in the back of Tallulah, and driving your ass to your therapist. Then I’m ghosting you. Got it?”

He smiled and rescued my lip from my teeth again. “Would it make you feel better if I started seeing someone now?”

“Excuse me?”

I said, sitting up.

He threw his head back and laughed. The fucker laughed. I crossed my arms over my bare chest and waited.

“A therapist,”

he said when he got himself under control.

“You don’t have one?”

Most artists I knew had a therapist, let alone an artist with panic attacks and self-harm tendencies. Mom put all of us in grief counseling after Dad died, and I’d used the mental health services in high school when I felt overwhelmed with my senior project and the choices I had to make after graduation.

He shook his head and my chest ached. “Because you don’t think they work or because you don’t think you deserve to feel better?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, but his amber eyes looked a million years old. I climbed up his body and buried my face in the crook of his neck because if I looked at him any longer, I was definitely going to lose it.

“Prepare yourself for the longest snuggle of your life,”

I said with my face smushed against him.

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “I promise,”

he said rubbing my back, “it won’t be long enough.”