Between The Lines

“Don’t you dare stop!” Rising up on her elbows, Jo caught his chin in her fingers and pulled him down for a kiss. She sucked in a surprised breath, and he knew that she was tasting herself on his lips.

The greedy noise that slipped from her mouth was the hottest fucking thing he’d ever heard.

With hands that were far less steady than any other time he’d done this, he tore open the foil packet. Her curious eyes watched avidly as he removed the ring of latex, smoothing the sheath down over the length of his erection.

He hissed when she reached down and danced her fingers over his cock. God, he’d dreamed of this, of her hand on him, stroking him just like this.

Pleasure began to gather all the way down in the soles of his feet, and he jerked back with a rueful laugh.

“Did I do something wrong?” She sat up, eyebrows raised in alarm.

“Not at all.” Catching her hand in his—the one that had just been stroking him—he pressed his lips to it in a kiss. “It was a little too good, actually.”

“Oh.” She drew out the word, understanding dawning. “Duly noted.”

She smirked. What choice did he have but to kiss her?

They fell back down to the bed, the covers tangling around them. Rolling on top of her, he braced his weight on his arms on either side of her head, looking down into that face that he knew like he knew his own.

Jo Marchande wasn’t classically pretty. Her face was a bit too square, her features too angular. Her milky-white skin stayed pale year-round, except for the times she got so absorbed in a book she was reading out in the sun that she didn’t realize she was burning. The smattering of golden freckles stayed year-round, too, and he took a moment now to brush a kiss over them on each cheek.

It was her eyes that made people look at her twice. They were huge, a stunning gray that shifted with her mood, surrounded by lashes that she never bothered to tint with mascara. She never bothered with makeup at all, something he loved because it was so different from all of the other women he knew.

Her hair spread out around her head on the pillow as she returned his gaze steadily, the chestnut color adding warmth to that pale skin. No, she wasn’t classically beautiful, but he wouldn’t have changed a damn thing.

She was his.

“I love you.” The words slipped from his lips before he could even think about what he was saying. Her mouth parted in surprise, but then he was burying his face in that long mane of hair, tucking his hand between her legs. She rocked up against him as he tested one more time that she was ready.

His fingers came away soaked.

“Theo, I—” The words got caught in her throat as he reached between them and lined the head of his cock up with the sweet, sweet heat of her center.

She gasped as he slid just the head of his erection into her slickness. He sank his teeth into his lower lip as nerves fired to life. It was everything he could do to hold still, letting her adjust to the feeling of him inside her.

He wasn’t expecting her to grab onto his hips and rock herself up.

“Fuck,” he cursed as he slid deeper into her soaking-wet channel. He wanted so badly to be in deep, to claim her from the inside out, but when the head of his cock met resistance, he had to force himself to still.

His limbs shaking with the exertion of holding back, he pressed his damp forehead against hers, looking right into her eyes. Their breath mingled, fanning out over their faces, and he kissed her again, their first kiss with him inside her.

“Are you ready?” He rocked back and forth the slightest bit, testing. She whimpered, but it was a sound of pleasure, not of pain.

“Hurry up.” Her voice was greedy, her fingers eager as they dug into his ass. She pulled him closer, and he resisted for just one more minute before he pressed forward, the cock that was swollen past the point of pain pushing deeper.

Beneath him she winced, sinking her teeth into her lower lip. He automatically stilled, but she urged him on with an impatient hiss.

Her body resisted him, clenching tightly until finally something gave way, allowing him to slide home. He grunted as he sheathed himself fully inside her, the sensation causing his eyes to roll back in his head.

“Holy shit,” Jo whispered beneath him, looking up at him with eyes that were bright.

“It will only hurt for a minute. I promise.” Theo rocked inside her, just a bit to test, and she moaned.

“It hurts, but not the kind you mean.” Her hands moved from his ass to his hips, and she shifted impatiently beneath him. “It hurts because I don’t even know what this is, but I want it so bad. Please, Theo. Please. Move.”

The last strings of his self-control snapped. With small rocking motions, he pulled back, then worked his way back in. He’d never had anything so tight, so hot around his cock, and if he wasn’t careful, he was going to lose it before he could make her feel good again.

She wouldn’t let him be careful. She rocked beneath him, urging him to go faster and faster. Her tight sheath was swollen, pulling him back in again and again. The pleasure rose hot and fast, and sweat beaded on his forehead as he strained to hold back.

Slipping one hand between their bodies, he located her clit and focused his attention on it. At the same time, he dipped his head and sucked one of her puckered nipples into his mouth.

Beneath him she went taut as a bow. Her cleft tightened as her eyes went wild with pleasure yet again, and he felt his own release start, fire licking along every inch of his skin. Closing his eyes, he finally allowed himself to let go, to let himself revel in the fact that Jo Marchande, the strong, proud girl that he’d loved since the day they met, had given herself to him.

After, he pressed a kiss to her brow. Pulling out, he disposed of the condom, then slid back into the bed, tucking them both under his soft, expensive sheets. She was already drowsy when he tugged her against him, fitting his chest to her back.

“You okay?” He tucked a ribbon of hair behind her ear. She sighed, a small murmur of contentment that made his stomach do a small flip.

How was it possible that she was his? He’d never done anything to deserve having someone so wonderful in his life.

According to his father, he was lazy. He had no drive, no direction, no purpose in life. He was squandering the opportunities that he had. This, of course, was in direct contrast to Theodore Lawrence Sr., who owned a huge import-export company. His mother, famous in her native Brazil before her death, had been a world-renowned concert pianist.

He’d never live up to either of them, so he didn’t bother to try. He knew what he was worth, and it wasn’t much. So the fact that Jo Marchande, the woman who had imprinted herself into his very DNA, had deemed him worthy?

It wasn’t something that he would ever take for granted.

“I’ve never been better.” Casting a sleepy smile over her shoulder at him, she snuggled back into his arms. “Can I stay?”

His heart skipped a beat, sending his pulse skittering to catch up.

“You can stay.” If he had his way, she’d stay forever.

* * *

“You just couldn’t control yourself, could you?”

Theo stiffened, a steel rod snapping into place in his spine. Slowly, he turned, doing his best to look nonchalant as he leaned back against the endless expanse of marble countertop in the rarely used kitchen of the house he shared with his father.

“What am I lacking control in this time, exactly?” His voice was cold when he spoke, every trace of the warmth he’d had for Jo frozen into daggers of ice, meant to maim or at the very least protect. “You have such a long list, you’ll forgive me for not immediately understanding what it is that you’re referring to, this time.”

“You know exactly.” His father stepped out of the shadows and into the dim kitchen, leaning against the breakfast bar, his stance mirroring Theo’s own. He lifted his heavy crystal snifter of expensive scotch for a small sip. His gaze slid over the matching one in his son’s hand, but as per usual, he said nothing about the fact that Theo was drinking, even though he wasn’t yet twenty-one.

Theo knew that, at the end of the day, Theodore Sr. just didn’t care.

“I assume you’re referring to Jo.” The words were sour in his mouth. He hated even saying her name right now, not wanting to cast shadows on something that, to him, was so perfect. So theirs.

“Of course I’m referring to Jo.” His father’s voice was layered heavily with impatience. “They are family friends. They are our neighbors. They are good people.”

Theo said nothing. What was there to say?