S O P H I A H O N E Y

FIVE HOURS. It's been five hours, and still no sign of Theo.

I sink lower into the bathtub, warm water hugging every inch of my body, the steam curling softly around my face like a silk scarf. My eyes flutter shut for a moment, letting the stillness of the bathroom soak into my bones. It's bliss. Just... bliss.

After I devoured enough food to make my stomach protest, I'd crawled into the bed and passed out like a baby. I didn't mean to nap, but it just happened. The kind of nap that makes you forget what year it is when you wake up.

When I finally stirred, groggy and still full, I texted the girls. Sent them about ten different pictures of the room, the massive bed, the fancy food (what was left of it), and of course, the view.

God-the view.

Even now, as I soak in the tub, I can still see it through the bathroom's open blinds. The sun's disappeared, and in its place, the lights of Miami glow like a thousand tiny stars, stretching across the horizon. The ocean reflects them like it's wearing diamonds. Smooth, dark, and stunning.

It's almost six now, and the hotel has come alive with soft jazz playing faintly through the halls, distant conversations, the clinking of glasses. Everything feels rich, like I've stepped into a lifestyle that doesn't belong to me.

And yet... I'm sharing it alone.

I stare up at the ceiling, letting my wet fingers glide lazily along the surface of the water. I should feel grateful. I do feel grateful.

But five hours?

Where is he?

No text. No call. Not even a sarcastic "don't miss me too much."

I sigh, the warmth of the water suddenly not as comforting.

A part of me feels it has something do with him saying I should trust him. I guess perhaps he wants to get me a dress for the night. It's a lovely gesture. I'd appreciate it.

But still...

A part of me feels like he should've come back by now. Or at least checked in.

I close my eyes again and let myself sink just a little deeper beneath the water, trying not to think about him.

But of course, the harder I try, the stronger he creeps in.

His face. That stupidly perfect face that hovers in my mind like some forbidden dream. The way he tilts his head when he's teasing me, the way his jaw clenches when he's trying not to say something too honest. His laugh. The low, amused rumble that curls inside me like smoke.

And his words.

"She's mine."

God. Those words.

I bite down on my bottom lip, hard, but it's useless. My body's already betraying me.

They shouldn't mean anything. But they do. They echo. Over and over, like a haunting. I feel them in my chest, in my spine. Between my thighs.

My hand glides absentmindedly over my stomach, and everything inside me tightens. The cool air grazes my wet skin, brushing against my breasts, and I feel it-my nipples, already stiffening under the surface of the water.

I shift, and the motion sends a slow pulse right through my clit. I squeeze my thighs together. It doesn't help. Nothing helps.

I'm hot-despite the warmth of the bath already starting to fade, my body is on fire. This ache building inside me is slow and dangerous and undeniable.

My fingers move without permission, brushing the underside of one breast, then gently cupping it. I give a soft, tentative squeeze and gasp.

Stop.

But I don't. I can't.

Why did he say that? Why did he have to say it like he meant it?

It's like everything he's done-every casual touch, every loaded glance, every half-smile that promises something he won't say aloud-has been quietly feeding this need inside me. And now it's roaring.

I know I told him that I wanted to forget about that night but the me right now is feeling so fucking stupid for even saying that.

I let out a frustrated breath, head lolling back against the edge of the tub. Eyes fluttering shut. Breathing fucking shallow.

My entire body is tense with want.

I really wish I had my vibrator right now.

Correction-I do.

Because apparently, some small, devilish part of me thought ahead. Packed it. Along with Mr. Jones, my very discreet, very efficient little friend. I wasn't expecting to actually use it on this trip. But now?

Now I'm seriously considering it.

But my bag's too far.

Way too far for me to make the effort. It's on the dresser, half-zipped, and the idea of getting out of this warm bath, dripping and needy, just to rummage through it for my vibrator feels like some cruel test of patience.

So I don't.

I make do with what I have-me.

My hand slides lower under the water, gliding over soft, slippery skin until it finds that ache that's been begging for attention. I spread my thighs slowly, the water shifting with the movement, caressing me like it knows.

My pulse is on edge. Every part of me is humming.

Lust floods through me, thick and urgent, and for a shameful second, I actually hope-fucking hope-he would walk in. That Theo would open that door, step in, and see me like this.

"Ugh," I gasp as two fingers slip inside. My head lolls back against the porcelain edge and I hold my breath.

I imagine the door creaking open. The silence breaking.

His eyes widening at the sight of me-legs spread, water rippling, fingers buried deep.

And then that look. That dark, greedy look he gets when he wants to say something dirty but bites it back.

"Are you being naughty for me, Soph?"

I imagine him saying, his voice low and deliciously sharp.

And in my head-I nod. Obedient. Needy.

So, so gone for him.

My hips move slightly, chasing that building heat, that inevitable explosion waiting to happen. And in that moment, it's not just about the fantasy-it's about the need. The fire he's lit and left burning.

My breath comes in quiet gasps, my fingers moving faster, rougher. His name on the tip of my tongue.

Theo.

Oh God, Theo.

I try to push deeper.

But it's not working.

My fingers just... aren't enough. Not long enough, not thick enough-not him.

"Push deeper, love," my mind teases, throwing his voice into the air like some wicked spell. I whimper, actually whimper, trying to listen, trying to obey, but my hand won't go far enough. It curves and angles but never hits that place. That sweet, sharp place that makes my body light up like a wire's been tripped.

I groan in frustration, hips shifting beneath the water as I move faster instead-hoping speed will make up for depth. The ache is almost unbearable now, like pressure behind a dam, rising, rising.

It feels good.

God, it feels so good.

But it's still not enough.

My free hand trails up, restless, needing more. It finds my breast, cupping the soft weight before my fingers close around my nipple and tug gently. I hiss.

It's so hard. So damn sensitive I feel it all the way down between my legs.

The combination sends my body jerking slightly in the water, lips parting, breath stuttering. My thighs tense, closing a little around my hand but then I force them open again, chasing that edge.

I want him here.

Right now.

Watching me fall apart for him.

But I can't and Time isn't on my side right now.

I need a release.

Fast.

Dinner will be soon, and I can't show up to a table full of his relatives looking like I just fell apart thinking of him. I clench my jaw, moving my fingers harder, faster. It's messy, desperate. My hips roll into my hand with every stroke, my breath ragged as water sloshes softly around me.

I need something more. Something sharper.

One last image.

Just one.

And I give in.

The memory slices through me like lightning-him, dropping to his knees that night. His eyes dark, lips parted. And then his tongue-God-thrusting deep inside me, curling, dragging pleasure from me like he was starved for it. The way his hands gripped my thighs, holding me open as if he couldn't get enough of the taste of me.

"Oh fuck," I gasp.

My back arches. My head drops back.

"Oh shit-"

The moan slips out before I can stop it, and I bite my lip hard, trying to hold back the rest. But a few more escape-soft, desperate little sounds that echo in the steamy bathroom.

My body is a live wire, every nerve screaming as the tension crests so high I feel dizzy. I'm so close.

So close.

I squeeze my thighs tighter, let the image of him fill every inch of my mind-his voice, his mouth, the low groan he made when I tugged on his hair, how he said my name like it was a prayer and a promise all at once.

That's it.

It builds-God, it builds.

My body coils tight, every inch of me pulling taut like a string about to snap. My fingers don't stop, chasing that edge like I've never needed anything more. I feel my stomach tense, my toes curl, and my head loll back as my mind blanks out everything except him.

Then it crashes.

It shatters.

The heat floods through me so violently, I cry out-a strangled moan caught between my teeth as my hips jerk and I come undone. My back arches up from the tub before I collapse back into the water, breathing like I've just run a marathon.

My chest rises and falls in heavy gasps. My body is flushed, sensitive, spent.

I close my eyes for a moment, the sound of my breathing loud in my ears, the water gently lapping against the porcelain sides of the tub.

What have I done?

I open my eyes and stare up at the ceiling, my cheeks still burning. My fingers slip out, and I feel... empty. But also warm. Dazed. A little ashamed. A little satisfied. A lot confused.

And still alone.

I sit up slowly, about to reach for the towel-

Knock knock.

I freeze.

Panic rushes through me like cold water dumped over my head.

"Coming!" I shout, voice catching in my throat as I splash water over my skin, trying to rinse the heat, the memory, the entire thing away.

I get out of the tub as fast as I can without slipping and grab the soft, beige wrap waiting for me. Not a towel, but one of those plush bath wraps with the Velcro strip-thicker than silk, softer than cotton, something expensive hotels give to make you feel spoiled.

I wrap it tightly around my chest, tucking it snug under my arms. My heart's still racing, not from pleasure now-but sheer dread.

What if it's him?

What if he heard?

I swallow hard, cheeks still flushed as I head to the door.

I open the door, still tying the wrap a little tighter around my chest, and freeze again when I see a woman standing there.

She's dressed in a neat hotel uniform, polished and professional, with a warm smile on her face.

"Good evening, ma'am," she greets.

"Uh, hi," I manage, blinking because she's not alone. She's holding onto one of those tall racks-like the kind they use backstage at fashion shows. A rolling clothing rack with wheels, and at least ten hangers filled with fabric. Dresses. Silks. Satin. Something sparkly.

"What's... all this?" I ask, confused as I step to the side so she can roll it in.

"These were sent up for you, ma'am. From Mr. Theo Gray."

My mouth parts. "He-what?"

The woman smiles politely, wheeling the rack smoothly into the room and placing it gently near the corner, beside the wardrobe. "He said you might need a few options for tonight."

A few? There are at least six-maybe more. All of them hanging like they belong in a boutique, not my freaking hotel room.

I stand there, barefoot and slightly damp under this fancy bath wrap, speechless again because what the hell is this man doing to me?

"Um..." I hesitate before the woman can leave. "Wait-sorry-just... do you know where Theo is? I mean, Mr. Gray?"

She turns with another soft smile. "He said he'll see you downstairs, ma'am."

"Oh," I say, trying not to sound disappointed. Or weird. Or desperate. "Okay. Thanks."

She gives a small nod and slips out of the room, leaving me alone again. I close the door gently behind her and lean against it for a second, letting the silence settle back in.

Then I turn around.

And stare at the rack of clothes.

Dozens of colors. Cuts. Styles. And all of them... for me.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

◇◇◇

"Pick the golden one!" Blair practically screams through the phone.

"No," Alex counters immediately, rolling her eyes. "Pick the blue one. It's classy."

I had no choice. I had to FaceTime them.

All the clothes Theo sent are breathtaking. Silks, satins, lace-there's even a shimmery beaded one that looks like it belongs on a red carpet. There's no way I can choose alone-and I need to, fast. Theo texted a few minutes ago that dinner starts at eight. It's already after seven.

There's still time, but I haven't even touched my hair or makeup. And we all know how unpredictable the getting-ready process can be.

"Blair, the flashy one's too revealing," Alex says, leaning closer to her screen. "Remember, she's there as a guest. She needs to look presentable. Not like she's headed to the club."

Blair scoffs dramatically. "Please. That's the whole point. She's supposed to turn heads."

She looks straight at me. "What do you think? Isn't the golden one stunning? It suits your hair perfectly."

I chuckle, sitting at the edge of the bed wrapped in my robe. "It does," I admit, glancing at the shimmering gold fabric. "But Alex has a point."

Blair pouts. "Ugh. I wish I had that same dress in my size."

That makes me pause.

That's another thing-I haven't even told them yet. All the dresses... they're my exact size. Every single one. I would have texted him asking how he knew but I remember when he checked the size label of my black dressed.

He noticed and remembered.

That's... I don't even know what to say.

"So... what's your pick?" Alex asks, grinning. "Time is money, babe. And right now, you've got maybe forty-five minutes."

"I know," I mutter, standing as I walk toward the rack. My fingers slide across fabric after fabric, soft and cool under my touch. I pause when my eyes catch a black dress.

"What about this one?" I ask, pulling it out and holding it in front of me.

The dress is a fitted, off-the-shoulder black dress with long sleeves. It has buttons running down the front and there's a slit that travels daringly high up one side, and the neckline dips just enough to make your pulse stir.

"Hot," Blair whistles, eyes wide. "Theo's gonna jump on you the second he sees that."

God, I wish.

"Blair," I warn, trying not to blush. "That's not-"

"I know, I know," she says, waving me off. "You don't like him that way, even though that's a fucking lie. But okay. Denial noted. Moving on. You and Alex are just the same."

"Hey!" Alex shouts, making Blair laugh.

She leans closer to her phone. "Now get dressed. And take a picture in it."

"I will." I say, admiring the way the black fabric sways as I shift it.

"Oh! And take a picture of him too," Blair adds, grinning. "Tory would love that for the project."

"Yeah, but she wanted him shirtless..." I trail off, already imagining how that would go.

Alex shrugs. "Then just tell him to wear the suit. But no shirt under."

Blair gasps like it's the greatest idea she's ever heard. "Yes! Just jacket. No shirt. You know what I mean. Ugh, I could faint just thinking about it. Soph, you so fucking lucky right now."

She winks again, and Alex starts laughing.

I shake my head, smiling, trying to act like I'm not thinking of him in that position and not feeling hot once again.

"Okay, okay," I say, laughing as I back away from the screen. "I have to go. I'll call you after dinner."

Blair pouts but blows a kiss. "Don't forget the pictures!"

Alex gives me a thumbs up. "Text us the second you're done."

I end the call and set my phone down on the bed. A slow breath escapes me as I slip out of my robe and slide the dress on carefully, easing the zipper up the back. It glides like it was made for me. When I turn toward the mirror, I pause.

It fits perfectly. I didn't think it would but it proved me wrong.

The long sleeves hug my arms without suffocating, and the bodice cinches right at my waist before flowing out slightly at the hips. The slit reveals just the right amount of leg when I shift, and the neckline... bold but elegant.

The material molds to every curve like it's whispering secrets against my skin.

I smooth my hands down the sides of my waist, stunned for a moment.

He chose this.

He knew exactly what would flatter me. The fit, the fabric, the shape. Even the sleeves feel like they belong-dramatic and graceful, balancing out the daring slit with something timeless.

It's almost unsettling how well he got it right.

I take one last glance at myself, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. My heart flutters.

I dig through my bag and finally fish out my hair curler. "Thank God," I mutter, plugging it in and sectioning my hair.

I don't have time to do anything fancy, so I curl a few strands quickly, letting the soft waves fall over my shoulders. The rest? Twisted and thrown into a slightly chaotic bun at the top of my head. I tug two curled pieces loose to frame my face, and it actually looks... good. Like I tried but didn't overdo it.

Now makeup.

I rush through the routine, dabbing foundation and blending like my life depends on it. Quick contour. A little shimmer on my eyelids. Black eyeliner. Mascara. Then, the final touch-red lipstick.

It's bold, but it makes a statement.

I then slip into the heels I intended to wear with my black dress from before and thankfully it fits with the dress I'm wearing now.

After spraying my perfume at the corner of my neck and other side of the dress, I stare at my reflection, catching my breath. My heart's racing but my smile spreads slow and sure.

"I'm ready," I whisper to myself. "I can do this-"

Someone knocks on the door. The sound makes me jump. I freeze, eyes darting to the door. Shit. Is it already time?

I push off the bed and head toward it without thinking, smoothing my dress down instinctively.

Could it be....

"Theo-" The name slips out before I can stop it, my voice soft with something I don't want to name.

But it's not Theo.

It's Miles.

Dressed in a crisp black suit, the collar sharp and his tie knotted perfectly. His dark hair is slicked back and tamed, and the cologne he's wearing is strong-he looks good, really good.

His grin is all charm. "Hey, pretty lady."

"Uh, hey." I say, giving him a small smile as my eyes flicker past him, hoping maybe I'd see Theo behind his shoulder, standing there with that unreadable look in his eyes.

But no.

Nothing.

"You look nice," I tell Miles, just to say something. He grins like I handed him a gold medal.

"Thanks," he says, his eyes sweeping over me now. "Woah. You look stunning, by the way."

I nod. "Thank you."

I'm not sure if my tone comes off flat or uninterested, but I can't bring myself to care. I don't want his compliments. I don't want his attention.

I want the person who got this dress for me-the one who picked every size exactly right... and who clearly hasn't thought about me at all since.

"That sounded so fake," Miles chuckles, his hands slipping into his pockets. "Don't worry, Theo is downstairs. He's been busy ever since we got here. I swear, the second my dad saw him, it was like he got kidnapped or something. That's why he asked me to come get you."

He pauses, looking a bit sheepish.

"Don't be mad at him."

My cheeks suddenly feel warm, and I silently thank the blush I carefully blended earlier-it hides just how red I know I am.

"No... it's not about The-" I start to say, but Miles just waves his hand, cutting me off with that all-knowing look.

"Yeah, yeah. Sure. It's not him," he teases, raising a brow. "Let's go, shall we? I'm sure he's dying to see you." He wiggles his brows dramatically.

I roll my eyes, but I don't argue.

There's no point denying it. I'm dying to see him too.

"Let me get my purse," I say quickly, and he nods. I step back inside and grab my small black purse-the one where I've tucked in my phone and a tiny box of mint just in case.

I shut the door behind me and fall into step beside him as he leads me down the hallway toward the elevator. Once we step inside, I glance up at him, curiosity tugging at me.

"Quick question," I say. "How are your families? I mean... in terms of behavior. Should I be preparing myself for awkward jokes, political debates, or something worse?"

He turns slightly to face me, grinning. "In terms of behavior? Well... they're mostly fine. They can be nosy. Some try too hard. My Dad will definitely tell a joke that doesn't land. But no one's going to throw a drink or start a fight, if that's what you're asking."

I nod slowly, absorbing it all. "So... I should just smile, be polite, and not say anything controversial."

"Exactly," he says. "Oh, and stay close to Theo. Trust me, they behave better when he's around."

I glance at the elevator door as it begins to slide open. Stay close to Theo? That's easier said than done.

But I nod anyway.

""Are you ready?" he asks as we step into the corridor.

I nod once. "I guess."

He chuckles under his breath. "Good enough."

We exit the elevator, and instead of taking the way I remember, Miles guides me down a hallway I hadn't noticed before. The air smells faintly of jasmine and saltwater, and my heels click softly against the polished marble floor. My eyes drift to the walls-elegant lighting fixtures line the corridor, casting a soft golden hue that makes the place feel warm and luxurious, almost dreamlike.

In the distance, I can hear voices-low, lively chatter, laughter, glasses clinking. It must be the dinner crowd.

My heart picks up pace.

A sharp beep makes me flinch, but it's just Miles' phone. He pulls it out, glances at the screen, and scoffs. "Cunning bastard."

My brows pull together. "Is there a problem?"

He sighs and shakes his head, already slipping his phone back into his pocket. "Theo wants to see you. Clearly he must be impatient."

My heart instantly skips-no, slams. Like it's been jolted awake from sleep, slamming against my ribcage so loud I'm afraid Miles might hear it. But I force my face to stay calm, neutral. I pretend like the words don't affect me even though my chest is screaming yes.

"Oh?" I say, blinking a little too slowly. Cool. Casual. Unbothered. "Now?"

"Apparently, yeah. He asked me to bring you to him before dinner officially starts."

I nod, swallowing down the stupid, stupid smile threatening to form. "Okay."

Miles leads us away from the crowd, past the large glass doors where guests mingle under the Miami night sky. Laughter and soft jazz music drift faintly behind us as we turn into a quieter, more private corridor. The lighting here is dimmer, more ambient, shadows curling around the edges of the walls. It's... intimate.

"He's waiting at the end," Miles says, nodding toward the far side. "Probably wanted a quiet moment before facing the wolves."

I nod again, this time slower, my fingers gripping the mini purse at my side. Calm down, I tell myself. But it's hard. My legs feel light and heavy at the same time, my heels clicking like they might give away just how fast my heart is racing.

Miles waves me a quick goodbye and heads off toward the other side of the hall, leaving me alone.

I walk slowly, heels tapping lightly against the glossy floor as I try to gather my thoughts. What am I even going to say to him?

I'm a little angry. Okay-maybe more than a little.

Yes, I know he's been busy. Family stuff, resort stuff, and apparently playing fairy godmother with the dress situation. But he could've at least called. Texted. Something.

I bite my lip, feeling the irritation crawl up my spine. I'll argue with him-that's what I'll do. It's easier to be annoyed than to admit the truth. That I missed him. That I wanted him to see me in this dress first. That I wanted him, period.

I try to come up with something-anything-I can throw at him. A witty jab, a sarcastic comment, a dramatic complaint about being ignored for five whole hours like some abandoned girlfriend. Because the reality?

I want to kiss him.

Kiss him until I can't think or breathe.

God, I'm down bad.

Just five hours without him and I'm already a horny mess in heels and lipstick.

Shame on me. Shame on me.

I exhale through my nose and glance around the corridor. That's when I spot it-a glass door just ahead, slightly ajar. A warm golden glow spills from inside, and I pause, wondering if he's in there. My steps slow as I approach, peeking briefly through the glass, but I don't see much. Just more lights. A glimpse of polished wood. Maybe-

Suddenly, a hand grabs my wrist.

I gasp, spinning around-barely getting a breath in before I'm pulled, fast and smooth, against the cool wall. My heart's pounding, adrenaline ready to fight whoever-

And then I see him.

He's right there-pressed close, his hand still on my wrist, his body shadowing mine. His expression relaxed, but his eyes? They burn.

"Theo," I whisper, breath hitching.

He grins, tilting his head just slightly, and my chest squeezes like it's holding back a scream.

"Hey, gorgeous," he says, voice low and deliciously smug. His two dimples revealing at their finest.

Before I can even process the sound of it, his hand is on me. Low on my hip, then sliding-slow, deliberate, like he's claiming territory no one else is allowed to touch. He stops at my waist, fingers spreading just enough to remind me how big his hands are... and how easily they could hold me down.

It takes everything in me not to melt right there against the wall.

My body goes hot-burning hot. My insides clench, a wave of heat rolling straight down to where I've been aching since earlier. That miserable half-climax, the one that left me feeling empty and desperate, claws back into memory now that he's this close.

I swallow hard.

"Where were you?" I ask, my voice low and tighter than I meant. I'm proud it came out at all, considering I can feel the heat pooling between my legs. I'm practically throbbing under his gaze.

He pulls back a little, just enough for me to scan him from head to toe-and god.

Beautiful isn't the word. It's not even in the same zip code.

I know most people would call him handsome, but that word feels criminally lacking. Hot doesn't even cut it. He's just... breathtaking.

His dirty blonde hair has been gelled back, sleek and styled, but a few rebellious strands have fallen forward, softening his sharp features in a way that's completely unfair. It's polished but imperfect-just like him. And somehow, it still suits him. It suits him so well.

He looks like trouble wrapped in Armani.

And his suit? Pitch black, tailored perfectly, with a subtle sheen that clings to his frame in all the right places. He looks expensive. Dangerous.

Like a sin I'd pay to commit.

Then there's the cologne-richer than Miles's, more intense, darker. It hits me in waves, notes of cedar, spice, and something that makes my knees weaken. I inhale it like oxygen and immediately regret it.

I'm intoxicated.

And horny. Very horny.

Painfully horny.

Lord have mercy.

"I'm really sorry, Soph," he murmurs, voice rough around the edges, "I got caught up with my relatives and they refused to release me."

He rolls his eyes, smirking faintly. "They're fucking torment, I swear."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. My body feels like it's glowing from the inside out, my skin hypersensitive, especially with the way he's looking at me now-his gaze dropping to the long-sleeved, off-shoulder black gown hugging my frame.

His eyes darken.

And I feel myself heat up all over again.

I shift slightly, trying to clear the haze and break the tension that's practically buzzing between us.

"Oh... um..." I start, awkwardly motioning toward the corridor. "Okay then, maybe we should... ah-!"

I gasp, biting my lip hard.

His lips. On my neck.

He doesn't warn me, just leans in and kisses the space between my shoulder and jaw like it's his.

The gown gives him all the access he needs, the soft fabric doing nothing to protect me from the way his mouth trails lightly against my skin. His lips are warm, slow, almost lazy, but there's nothing casual about the way it makes my knees go weak.

"Theo..." I whisper, breath hitching.

His name escapes me like a secret I didn't mean to say.

My hands hover, unsure if I want to push him back or pull him closer. My pulse is a mess. I can barely think, let alone breathe, with the feel of his lips on my neck and his hand still gripping my waist like he owns every inch of me.

I feel his nose brush slowly up the curve of my neck, dragging a shiver from deep inside me. Then his breath-warm, slow-fans against the shell of my ear.

"You look so good, Soph," he murmurs. His voice is deep and a little rough. "Fuck, I hoped you'd wear this one."

My breath catches. My hands clutch at the front of his jacket like I need something to hold me up.

Then his hips move.

Just enough for me to feel it.

A small, slow grind against mine-intentional, unhurried-and it pulls a quiet gasp right out of me. I try to resist, to stay still, but my body betrays me. Every nerve lights up. I'm practically vibrating.

"Theo..." I whisper, like maybe saying his name will remind me we're still in public. Like it'll remind him.

But he doesn't care.

His lips hover just over my skin, teasing, never fully touching now-but his voice keeps going.

"When I first picked it out," he continues, ignoring my weak protest, "I thought of how it would look on you." His lips ghost along the side of my cheek now. "And my imagination doesn't even come close."

God.

"I want to kiss you." He says quietly, like a secret slipping from his lips.

"Let me kiss you, Soph," he begs, his voice so raw, so needy. It cracks, like he's on the edge. "I know you said we couldn't do this again, but damn, I need to taste you, love... Please."

God. Even the way he begs is sexy. Like if I told him to drop to his knees he would just for a kiss from me.

And just like that, every logical thought I told myself-every little pep talk about staying calm, playing it cool, not falling apart the second I saw him-runs right out the damn door.

"Fuck it," I whisper.

My hands find the hem of his shirt as I turn my face and yank him into me, smashing my lips to his like I've needed this for years-not hours.

He groans, deep and guttural, like he's been starved. His mouth crashes into mine, hot and greedy, and it's chaos from there.

His hand grips my hip like he owns it. The other tangles in my hair, pulling just enough to make me gasp into his mouth-and he takes advantage of it, slipping his tongue between my lips like he was made to ruin me.

We're a mess-grinding into each other, biting, gasping, devouring. I'm not even sure whose breath is whose anymore.

His body pins me to the wall, and I let it. I want him everywhere. His cologne, his heat, his need-it's all over me, in me, and I don't even care who sees.

I kiss him like I'm drowning and he's the only air I'll ever get.

And from the way he kisses me back?

Yeah.

He feels the exact same way.