Chapter 37

For the rest of that night, Emily endured the relentless passion of the tireless young man, who took her with such intensity that she lost all sense of herself. Theo would hold her in one position until she teetered on the edge of release, then switch to another, easing back in slowly to start the build all over again.

He kept changing things up like that, and she had no idea how many wild, incoherent things he coaxed out of her under the threat of withholding that peak. She had to say exactly what he wanted to hear before he’d let her tip over the edge.

She barely registered whether he finished inside her or not, just vaguely aware of being carried into the bathtub for a wash, where the scrubbing turned into more thrusting that sent waves sloshing over the sides, spilling most of the water onto the floor.

In the haze of her climax, she caught his whisper in her ear: “No wonder Uncle keeps you hidden away like a treasure, sis. You’re incredible to fuck. From now on, your little brother is going to take you every day until you’re carrying my kid.”

What had she gotten into? Ravaged by her sugar daddy’s nephew, a high school kid, in one absurd night.

Damn that boy and his perfect, curved cock, wielded with expert skill that left her blissed out and wrecked.

It was mortifying.

He wasn’t scared of thunder at all. Killing someone is just a nod to the ground, and fucking is just cock in pussy, but why freeload and then toy with her emotions on top of it?

He deserved to be struck by lightning.

The next day, the storm had cleared, and late morning sun filtered lazily through the curtains.

Emily, sore and limp from being worked over most of the night, stirred at the sound of music.

She poked her head up groggily and saw Theo, that little troublemaker, perched on the desk in a pool of sunlight. He was dressed neatly in a black sweater that screamed restraint, paired with loose black pants, one long leg bent casually and propped on the surface.

He cradled a guitar, focused on strumming the strings with the intensity of someone prepping for a poetry slam.

It was a far cry from the wild kid who’d pinned her down and pounded her while whispering filthy things the night before.