S O P H I A H O N E Y

I FLIP over the bed, my limbs still heavy from the last round but fueled by pure need. My body knows what it wants-and it's all Theo.

I position myself on all fours, just like he told me, spreading my knees apart and sinking into the mattress, arching my back until I know I'm giving him a perfect view. There's a second of stillness... then I hear it:

"Fuck."

The way he groans sends a shiver straight through me. I can feel the warmth of his hands as they roam over my hips, down to my thighs, and up again to cup me, his thumbs spreading me just enough to make my breath hitch.

"You're so perfect, Soph,"He mutters, more to himself than me."Fuck, I still think I'm dreaming."

I can't help but chuckle, breathless and needy.

"Then you better fuck me before you wake up," I purr, pushing back slightly, not-so-subtly encouraging him. I'm already aching again, somehow even more desperate than before.

"Fuck me, Theo. Please." God, I sound desperate.

I am desperate.

Even after everything-after he literally fucked my mind out-I want more. No, I need more.

But instead of the stretch of his cock, I feel something else-something warm and wet and incredible.

His tongue.

"Oh-fuck, Theo-I wanted your-oh shit!" I choke on a moan, collapsing forward so my chest presses into the sheets, one hand flying back to grip his hair.

"More, Theo... more, more-!"

"You taste so fuckin' good," he growls against me, diving in again, tongue fucking me harder, deeper, like he's starving for me. I cry out, practically shaking as he grips my thighs to hold me still.

My hips roll without meaning to. When his hand lands with a soft smack on my ass, I jolt, then moan louder than I mean to.

"You like that?" he asks, already doing it again.

I nod frantically, pushing back into his mouth. I don't care how shameless I sound-my brain's a mess of curses and desperate pleading.

His tongue leaves me aching-wet and pulsing-but the second his hands slide up to grip my hips, I know exactly what's coming.

I stay right where he put me, head pressed into the pillow, my back arched for him as far as I can manage. I feel the heat of his body behind me, the soft drag of his fingers spreading me apart-and then, the slow, hot press of his cock, thick and hard, nudging against my entrance.

He teases me, barely pushing in, dragging the tip just enough to make me want to scream. I squirm, grinding my hips back into him with a little whine.

"Theo," I warn, breathless, glancing over my shoulder again. "You better put it or else-oh, fuck!"

My voice breaks. My threat dies on my tongue.

I swear I see stars.

Fucking bright sparkly stars.

Because he slides in. Slowly. Stretching me inch by inch until my eyes roll back and my nails claw the sheets. The pressure, the burn, the full, relentless slide-it's all too much. And not enough.

And then he starts to move.

"Oh my god," I whimper, back arching deeper as my body adjusts around him.

Slow, deep strokes that make my whole body rock against the mattress. His hips roll in that steady, devastating rhythm-grinding into a spot I didn't even know existed. My legs tremble.

He's not just fucking me-he's ruining me.

This isn't like prom night, when everything was awkward and a mess in the guy's garage.

This is sex. Real, adult, fucking sex.

Better than any vibrator tucked in my travel bag. Better than any artifical dick I've put inside my hole.

"F-fuck me harder," I gasp, barely able to breathe. I feel him thick and deep inside me, every inch rubbing just right, making my thighs tremble. "Theo, please... I need it... need you."

I want more. I want it so bad.

He growls something low, something primal and his hands tighten on my hips. Then he starts to move faster, harder, his hips slamming into mine as his cock buries deep, hitting a spot that makes me scream into the sheets.

My hair's a mess. My body's shaking.

He's fucking me like he owns me-and God, I want to be owned right this second.

"Harder," I gasp, my voice catching as I clutch at the sheets. "Please, Theo, harder."

He leans forward, his chest pressed against my back, one hand sliding up my stomach while the other anchors my hip. His lips brush my ear and I feel the scrape of his teeth.

"You want it harder?" he murmurs, then bites my earlobe, making me gasp.

He slows down, cruelly slow. Torturously deep. Every inch of him dragging against the most sensitive parts of me like he knows exactly what he's doing. His hand slides up, wrapping gently around my throat-not choking, but just enough to make my breath catch and my mind spiral into the haze of him.

My whimpers turn high and breathless.

"If I slow down... what will you do?" His voice is low, velvet-dark, the kind of dangerous that makes my thighs tremble. "If I don't fuck you the way you need... will you walk away?"

I try to speak. Try to answer. But I can't-my throat is too tight, my brain too fogged. His mouth is on my neck again, kissing, biting, sucking. Marking me.

It's too much.

But do I want him to stop?

Fucking no.

He chuckles low against my ear, the sound sending a fresh pulse between my legs.

"You both know you can't leave," he growls softly. "You can't. You love this too much. Your body fucking loves this."

He shifts, angling his hips just right-just right-and suddenly he's hitting that perfect spot again, slow and hard and deep. My back arches.

"Oh God," I cry out, my voice wrecked and wild as I clutch onto him. "Yes! Right there. Right fucking there!"

One of his hands clamps down on my hip, forcing me lower onto his cock-every inch disappearing inside me with a stretch so deep, so overwhelming, it knocks the air from my lungs.

"Take it," he mutters, his voice frayed and dark, teeth grit like he's barely holding on. "Take all of me, like the filthy girl I know you are."

"F-fuck-oh God-" I choke out, legs shaking from how relentlessly he's filling me, ruining me.

And then he thrusts up-hard. Deeper than before. Brutal. Beautiful.

"Say my name," he snarls against my neck, his breath hot and ragged. "Say it while I fuck you like no one else ever will."

"Theo," I gasp, voice cracking.

"Again."

"Theo..."

His moan is raw-nearly desperate. "You sound so fucking pretty when you say it like that." He shifts, angling deeper, grinding his hips in slow circles that make my entire body jolt. "Tell me," he pants. "Tell me you want me."

He plunges in again-so deep it feels like he's breaking me in half-and I'd fall if his grip wasn't bruising against my skin, holding me steady like he owns every inch of me.

"Please..." he begs. "Say it, Soph. Say you fucking want me."

And I do. I say it like it's the only thing that matters.

"I want you." The words spill out in a breathless moan. "I want you so much, Theo. I need you."

"Fuck," he growls. "Say it again. Say you need me."

"I need you."

"Again, Soph. Say it again."

"I need you."

"Fuck yes," he breathes, rutting into me now, hips relentless. "Tell me how much you love the way I fuck you."

"I love it-I fucking love it, Theo. Oh my God-"

He lets out a sharp grunt of approval, like my words broke whatever restraint he had left.

His free hand slides up between our bodies and grabs my breast-his palm hot, his fingers rough. He pinches my nipple, rolls it, then gives it a firm flick.

"Shit!" I cry out, arching into his touch, nails scraping through his hair as he rolls my nipple between his fingers, playing with me like he knows exactly what he's doing-and exactly how it drives me insane.

"You like that?" he taunts, voice dark and tight. "You like it when I play with you like this?"

All I can do is nod frantically, helpless and wrecked and his.

"You love being used like this. Dripping down my cock while I fuck you stupid."

"Yes," I gasp, completely gone. "Yes, Theo, yes-"

"Then take it," he snarls. "Take every goddamn inch, and scream my name when I make you come."

He grips my breast even more and I cry in pleasure.

"Fuck, you have the softest breasts, love," he groans, voice thick with heat. "I fucking love them."

His words should embarrass me. But they don't. They make me burn even hotter.

I moan-loud, desperate, aching for more-and I swear if I'd known he was like this, I would've begged him to fuck me weeks ago.

But... maybe this is better. Better that it's now, when we're far from school, far from friends, far from distractions. Here, he can touch me however he wants. And I'll keep craving more.

Just Theo. Just me. Just the way he touches me like he needs to memorize every inch of my skin.

His pace slows slightly, hips grinding deep, and when our eyes meet over my shoulder, it nearly knocks the air out of my lungs.

His gaze is molten with lust, but beneath it... there's something else. Something softer. Care. So much care that it makes my chest tighten.

And God, I prefer this look on his face so much more than the one I saw when he stood in front of his dad earlier today. That look had been all sharp edges-pain and fury and a hollow ache that had made me want to scream for him. That man, his father-if there weren't consequences, I swear I would've wanted Theo to hit him. Hard.

I know it's not my place. I know I don't know everything. But damn it, that's his dad. And it killed me to see that pain in Theo's eyes.

I still don't know what happened to his mum. But I'll never forget the way he looked when he saw her from the car-panic-stricken and raw, like a wound had split open inside him.

I was just glad I'd been there. Because who knows what would've happened if she'd seen him? If Mr. Nick had let her into the building? If she'd found him alone?

That moment... that boy I saw? That wasn't Theo the hockey star. That wasn't the confident guy who made dirty jokes and kissed like a storm. That was a boy who had been broken, and who never got the chance to fully heal.

And all I've wanted since then... is for him to feel safe.

I wonder how many times he's faked a smile in his life. How many times he's swallowed the ache in his chest just to get through the day. How many times he's felt completely, utterly alone.

My throat tightens, and I whisper, "Kiss me, Theo."

It comes out soft. Not breathless from lust, but from something deeper. Because I know what I said earlier-about how sex might kill the craving, like Blair claimed.

I thought Blair was right when she said it would burn out the want. That once I had him, it would stop this ridiculous obsession.

But now?

Now I'm more lost than ever.

I have no fucking clue what this is.

Because the more he touches me, the more I want. And not just his body.

I want all of him. Even the broken pieces.

He kisses me, and I melt into it-his mouth gentle, his lips brushing mine like I'm something delicate. But at the same time, he fucks me harder, the rhythm making my toes curl and my whole body tremble. His hand leaves my throat, sliding down my arm, trailing like a promise until his fingers reach mine. He finds my hand and entwines our fingers tightly.

Connected.

Anchored.

"I... Theo," I breathe against his mouth, the words tumbling out like a prayer. "I want to cum."

His forehead presses to mine, breath ragged. "Me too."

And he doesn't stop. Doesn't falter. Just keeps moving, deeper, harder, his hand locked with mine and his other still cupping my breast like he knows exactly how to wreck me.

And oh God, he does.

His forehead stays pressed to mine, our breaths tangling, syncing-fast and shallow and frantic. My body feels like a livewire, every nerve exposed, every sensation sharper under his touch.

And then-

I shatter.

It hits me like a tidal wave, crashing through me with no warning, no mercy. My entire body clenches around him and my voice breaks into a moan so loud I know the walls will remember it. My eyes squeeze shut as pleasure tears through me, white-hot and endless, and I cry out his name like it's the only word I know.

"Theo!" My vision whites out. I scream his name-loud, raw, shameless.

He groans, low and deep, and slams into me one last time.

I feel him still, then pulse, as he follows me over the edge-his fingers squeezing mine tight, like he's holding on to something more than just the moment. His whole body shakes with the force of it, and he buries his face into my neck, breathing hard, voice raw against my skin.

"Fuck, Soph-fuck-" His voice cracks as he comes, hard and fast, like he's been holding it back for way too long. His arms tremble around me, grip bruising on my waist, keeping me locked down on him as wave after wave hits.

It's messy. Loud. So fucking good.

For a second, all I hear is the sound of our breathing-ragged, wild, like we just survived something.

He doesn't move right away. Neither do I.

His weight is heavy on me, but it's comforting. Grounding. Our fingers are still intertwined, and he presses a shaky kiss to my neck like he doesn't want to let go.

And honestly... I don't want him to either.

Eventually, he shifts slightly, sliding out of me with a soft hiss and muttering a breathless, "Shit," before pulling the condom off and tossing it into the bin beside the bed.

I flop onto my stomach, my entire body tingling and boneless, my cheek pressed into the pillow as I try to catch my breath.

He lies beside me a second later, close but not too close, like he's giving me space to come back to myself. "Are you okay?" he asks softly and I nod, feeling mind come back a little. Just a little.

"Thank goodness." He says, sound relieved. " Because I don't think I've ever... damn. I don't think I've ever fucked like that before."

Same here.

He's literally my first if I throw away my first time because that wasn't sex.

This was.

Theo turns toward me, running a hand through his sweaty hair and gives me that smug, cocky grin that I'd usually roll my eyes at-but right now? It's kind of hot.

"Was that the kind of dominant you were thinking about?" he asks, brushing my damp hair out of my face, voice lower, a little hoarse. "Did I do good?"

I manage a snort, completely wrecked. "You broke my brain. And probably my back what do you think?"

He laughs again, deep and satisfied, then leans over and presses a kiss to my forehead.

My heart starts to race again.

For a while, we just lie there, tangled in the sheets, our sweat cooling between us. It should feel awkward. But it doesn't.

And then I feel his fingers again-tracing light, slow circles on my bare back. Soft. Tender. Sweet. It makes my chest ache.

My eyes are heavy, exhaustion pulling at me, but I don't want to close them. Not yet. I want to keep looking at him, like I'm trying to make sense of all of this-the way he touched me, the way he looked at me, the way it didn't feel like just sex.

"Sleep," he whispers, brushing my hair out of my face. I feel him move, like he's about to get up, and my eyes snap open despite the weight dragging them down. Panic flutters in my chest before I even understand why.

"Where are you going?" I reach out, my hand pressing flat against his chest.

He pauses, surprised. Then a smile tugs at the corner of his lips, soft and a little shy. "I need to clean you up, don't I?"

"Oh." I relax, a little embarrassed, and let my head drop back onto the pillow. "Right."

I try to let myself drift, eyes fluttering shut again.

But then he says, quiet and rough, "Then... I'll leave. Before you wake up."

That pulls me back. My throat tightens, but I keep my eyes shut, even though everything in me wants to ask why.

"Why would you say that?" I murmur. It's barely a whisper, but I know he hears it.

There's a pause, a long one. Then, he exhales like he's been holding it in all this time.

"You're going to freak out tomorrow. I know you. And I really don't want to hear you say we should forget this ever happened because... I don't think I can."

My heart twists. I want to respond, but I don't have the strength for a full conversation right now. Every inch of my body feels like melted wax-used, spent, warm in the best way.

God, I hate that he knows me this well.

But what I hate even more is the idea that he thinks I didn't just completely lose my damn mind over him tonight. Like I didn't love every second, every touch. Like I'm not already hoping it happens again.

I use whatever strength I have left to open my eyes-and I instantly regret it. Because I don't like the way he's looking at me. It's too sad. Like he's already letting me go in his head.

I want that look gone. I want him smiling again.

"Come here," I whisper, patting the empty space on my pillow.

He hesitates for a heartbeat. But then he moves, quiet and careful, until his body is pressed beside mine. I shift, resting my head on his chest, and his arm slides around my waist like it was always meant to be there.

"I won't tell you to forget," I say softly, letting the truth fall from my lips before fear can swallow it up. "I won't."

His fingers find my hair again, slow and gentle.

He takes a long, shaky breath before replying, his voice so quiet I almost miss it. "Promise?"

I nod, already slipping into the fog of sleep.

"I promise."

◇◇◇

"I'm dead. I'm so fucking dead."

I mutter to myself as I lean toward the mirror, patting on concealer like it's holy water and I'm trying to exorcise the literal demon mark under my ear.

Seriously, why can't he bite like a normal person?

I expected a few hickeys. A tasteful one or two. Maybe one on my collarbone I could pass off as a mosquito bite if anyone asked.

But this? This is a whole crime scene.

I tilt my head and groan, dabbing harder. "Why do you have a vendetta against my skin, Theo?"

My phone buzzes on the table and I know it's probably Blair or Alex, wondering why I didn't text them or tell them how the party went.

But how do I tell them I didn't even stay five minutes at the party before Theo and I fucked?

A tingle runs through my body and I can't believe I'm still feeling something right now, because last night... I had no idea what came over us. We went nuts.

Like we were starving for each other kind of nuts.

I don't even want to remember how I managed to wake up. I was drained to my core and I still feel sore here and there-but weirdly, I like it.

Great. Theo has turned me into a masochist with just one sex.

Fucking great.

A notification pops up on my phone and I feel guilty, knowing the girls are trying to reach me. But what am I supposed to tell them?

I haven't even told them we kissed back at home, and now I'm supposed to tell them we fucked?

It's better if I tell them in person.

Yes, once we get back home, I'll visit them and tell them everything.

I'm sure Blair will love it.

I start patting concealer on my shoulder and freeze when I see the faint, purplish trail just near to my collarbone.

Another one?

"You've got to be kidding me," I groan, dabbing at it with more frustration than technique. "I swear, if I see Theo, I will-"

"Soph?"

I jump at the sound of his voice and whirl around to see him standing there, freshly out of the bathroom. A towel slung low on his hips, water dripping from his hair and trailing down his shoulders... chest... abs...

I follow one particular droplet as it slides all the way down and I momentarily forget how to breathe-let alone finish that very aggressive sentence I was just forming.

"H-hey." I stammer, completely derailed, brain short-circuiting at the sight of his bare, wet body.

"You're here," he says, sounding genuinely surprised.

I tilt my head, confused. "Of course I'm here. Didn't you see me when you woke up?"

I remember waking up earlier, struggling to even sit up because holy shit, my body had been wrecked in the best and worst way possible.

Theo was still asleep when I came out of the bathroom, which was rare since he usually wakes up first. I stood there for a minute, just watching him, replaying everything that happened between us last night. Then I got up and discovered the true definition of being sore after really good sex.

By the time I came out of the bathroom, he was awake and immediately started tidying up-fixing the sheets and throwing out all the used condoms while I got dressed. We hadn't said anything then.

I thought maybe he didn't want to talk, so I stayed quiet and just picked a light pink floral dress with short sleeves from the little stack he'd gotten me last night. I hadn't realized how many different types he picked-sexy, casual, cute-and just chose the most comfortable one I could slide over my sore body.

"No, it's just..." He reaches back to scratch his neck, looking strangely shy. "I thought..."

"Thought what?" I ask, brow furrowing.

He exhales, eyes flicking away from mine for a second. "That you'd leave."

I narrow my eyes. "Why would I?" I say, the annoyance slipping into my tone. "I promised you I wouldn't leave, didn't I? Or did you not believe me?"

My voice sounds a little hurt, and I don't know why. I mean... he's right. I would have left.

But I promised. And I'm going to keep it.

"It's not that I don't believe you..." he mutters, sighing as he closes his eyes and clasps his hands together for a second before letting them fall to his sides. "Don't worry about it. Forget what I said."

"No," I say firmly, and he raises his brows.

"Seriously. It's just me overthinking this-"

"If it makes you think, then it's something that troubles you, right?"

He doesn't answer immediately, but after a moment, he gives a slow nod.

"Don't think too much about it, Theo," I say softly. "I'm not going anywhere. Remember, I'm literally in a place I don't know anything about. And the one person I do know right now... is you."

His expression shifts-barely, but I catch it. The tension in his shoulders softens, and his fingers, which had been curled into fists by his side, slowly unclench.

"You're the only thing familiar to me right now," I continue, voice quieter this time. "So no, I'm not just going to run because I'm scared or confused or sore as hell-"

That earns the smallest twitch of a smile from him.

"-I'm staying because I want to."

He runs a hand through his damp hair, glancing at me like he's trying to figure out if I'm real or saying what he wants to hear. "You're seriously making this hard for me, you know?"

I frown. "Making what hard?"

He exhales, shaking his head. "Nothing. Never mind. What are you doing?"

I raise a brow, knowing he's just trying to change the subject. But I'm not done yet-I need him to understand what I'm saying.

"I'm not leaving."

"You've said that." He chuckles, but his eyes don't match the sound. They're distant, guarded. And for a second, I wonder how many people have promised him things they never meant.

Maybe my words don't matter anymore.

So I let it go.

"Lovely dress," he says, walking toward me. I nearly flinch when his cold fingers brush the side of my neck, gliding beneath my ear, dragging down slowly. He smirks as his touch traces the exact spot I'd tried so hard to cover up.

"You hid them."

"Of course I did." I try to breathe evenly, but it's hard when his fingers teases the exact same spots he bit and sucked last night, and I can feel the heat building in my core.

"You looked pretty in them," he says, voice lower now, and I scoff-pulling his hand off me as heat coils in my stomach.

No. No way am I getting horny again from just a touch.

"Pretty?" I snort. "Your eyes need to be checked, because what I saw was anything but."

I turn back to the mirror, adjusting myself in the seat, and reach for my hairdryer. My hair's still damp and I need to finish drying it.

But just as I'm about to turn it on, he slides his hand over mine, gently takes the dryer, and flicks it on.

"Let me."

"You know how to use it?"

He scoffs, smiling. "Of course. I used to watch you play with it when I'd come over. You'd soak your hair for no reason and just sit there drying it like it was a full-time job. You were always bored out of your mind back then."

He lifts sections of my hair and starts drying it like he's done this a hundred times, his hand carefully ruffling through the strands, the warm air hitting just the right spot on my neck.

"You used to watch me?" I ask, tilting my head slightly toward him.

He shrugs. "Ryan was always in his room reading. It got boring."

"So watching me dry my hair wasn't?"

"Nope."

This feels... nice.

Too nice.

It shouldn't feel this nice-him drying my hair like it's the most natural thing in the world-but it does. God, it really does.

We fall into a comfortable silence, the only sound being the soft hum of the dryer. I find myself watching him through the mirror. The way his brows draw together in concentration like this is some delicate operation, not just my hair.

He's always like this. Too focused. Too intense.

Especially on the rink. It's like life or death every time he touches the puck, like he's carrying the weight of the whole damn team on his back. And maybe he is. That's just who seems to be, I guess.

"Stop staring," he says without looking away from my hair.

"Wear a shirt and I will."

He chuckles lowly, the sound warming something deep in my chest.

"If I do, will you stop staring?"

No. "Maybe."

He hums, and I catch the amused curve of his lips in the mirror. "I see."

A few moments later, he turns off the dryer and runs his fingers through my now-fluffy hair. "You want to tie it up, or should I leave it like this?"

"Tie it, please. The weather in this place is freaking hot."

He nods, and I watch through the mirror as he slides the hair tie he took from me last night off his wrist.

"You still have that?"

"I didn't remove it," he says as he starts gathering my hair in his hands, "How do you want to tie it? I don't really know much about girls' hair."

"Just a normal pony tail," I say, a soft smile tugging at my lips. Then his words replay in my head.

"You didn't remove it?"

He nods again. "Never removed it," he repeats, his fingers brushing against the back of my neck as he slides the hair tie down from his wrist.

"But I didn't notice," I say quietly, more to myself than to him.

That earns me a slow, knowing smirk. One that makes my stomach flutter and my throat dry up.

"I don't think you noticed a lot of things from last night, Soph."

I swallow and try not to glance at the bed.

But I do.

Just a glance.

And instantly, flashes of last night hit me-his lips on my neck, his hands on my hips, me gripping the sheets as I begged him to go harder.

The sounds.

The feeling.

His name, again and again from my mouth like a prayer. The cries, screams and moans all come hitting my mind.

"All done," he says, his voice pulling me back as he looks at me through the mirror, eyes locked on mine. "Stop thinking about it."

I clear my throat, cheeks already warming. "Thank you. And-I'm not."

Is it getting hot in here?

It's definitely getting hot.

He chuckles like he can read every thought spinning in my head, then slides his hand to the side of my neck, fingers wrapping gently but firmly. He tilts my head up, forcing my gaze from the mirror to meet his.

"You're such a fucking liar," he mutters, and before I can reply, his lips are on mine. I close my eyes and melt into it, letting myself get pulled under again.

Fuck. He knows how to kiss.

The kiss is slow, yet it aches.

Not because it hurts-no, not like that.

It aches because I want more. Because the second I start to lean in, needing to fall deeper, he pulls back. I open my eyes, breath catching, and find him already looking at me.

Smiling.

That quiet, warm smile he rarely gives anyone. His eyes are softer now, like for once, all the weight he carries has eased just a little.

"Thank you," he murmurs.

I blink. "For?"

"Keeping your promise," he says, voice low but full of something that hits deep in my chest. "You stayed... so, thank you."

I don't say anything. Not because I don't have words, but because none of them feel right-not for this moment.

And maybe silence is better, because he leans in again, kissing me gently. And this time, I kiss him back with everything I can't say.

You're welcome.

If one promise-just one-could make him look at me like that, could make him smile like that, then I'd do it again.

And again.

As long as he's happy, I'm happy.

So, Theo Gray...

Keep kissing me until you are.