Page 97 of What We Don't Say: Part One

Theo’s lips part. Nothing comes out.

Garrett doesn’t wait for either of us to answer. He leaves the sheets on the counter and walks away, his footsteps calm down the hall. I listen until his footsteps fade. Then I reach back with one shaking hand and push the laundry-room door shut, not hard enough to slam, just enough to give Theo and me one thin piece of privacy before I look at him again. The dryer finishes its cycle a few seconds later, and the sudden absence of sound makes the room feel emptied out.

Theo stays frozen over me. His face is turned toward the door, his body still braced like he’s waiting for Garrett to come back and catch him breathing wrong. I touch his cheek, and he flinches before he catches himself, his eyes snapping to mine with immediate horror.

“Sorry,” he chokes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t.” I sit up slowly, keeping one hand on his waist so he doesn’t slide off my lap and vanish into the corner. “Theo, look at me.”

He does, but it takes effort. His eyes are wet and blown wide, the heat in them tangled with shame now, and when he kisses me again, it’s hard enough to hurt. He grabs my face with both hands and presses his mouth to mine like he can force us back into the minute before Garrett opened the door.

I let him kiss me once. Twice. Then I turn my head, breathing hard as his mouth lands against my cheek. “Theo, stop.”

He freezes immediately. “Green?” he asks, panicked and breathless. “Are you green? Did I—”

“I’m green.” I cup his jaw and make sure he can see my face. “But you’re scared, and I need you with me before we keep going.”

He trembles so hard I feel it through my thighs. “He made it ugly.”

“I know.”

“It wasn’t ugly before.” His voice cracks, and the first tiny vibration of a purr stutters in his chest, broken almost as soon as it starts. “It was good. I loved it. I love you touching me. I love kissing you. I’m not confused, Callie.”

My heart kicks hard enough to hurt. “I need to ask you something, and I need the real answer.”

“Okay.” His hands slide down to my shoulders, holding there instead of gripping. His eyes stay fixed on mine, terrified but present. “Ask me.”

“Do you want this because you want me?” I keep my voice steady, though my own hands are shaking now. “Not because Garrett made you feel like you have to prove him wrong. Not because you’re afraid I’ll believe him if you stop. You. Do you want me?”

Theo makes a sound that’s almost wounded. “Yes.” He leans in, but he stops before he kisses me, like he’s trying to show me the answer can hold without his mouth forcing it there. “I wanted you before he came in. I wanted you before the laundry room. I wanted you when you gave me the sweater and pretended it was old, even though it smelled like your throat. I want you because you make everything quiet enough for me to hear myself.”

The purr starts again, low and uneven under his words. It surprises both of us. His eyes widen, and one hand flies to his chest as if he can hold the sound in, but it only deepens when my thumb strokes along his jaw.

“Oh,” he whispers. His face flushes, embarrassed and amazed. “I didn’t know I could do that with you.”

Something inside me steadies. Not completely. Garrett’s voice is still in the room, pressed into the corners and hiding under the folded sheets, but Theo’s purr is stronger than the memory of it. I pull him closer until his forehead rests against mine.

“You can,” I tell him. “You can do that with me.”

Theo’s purr deepens at the words, a soft, uneven vibration that makes his whole chest tremble against mine. He stares at me like I’ve given him permission for something he never thought he’d be allowed to ask for, and then he kisses me again—slower this time, but no less certain. His hands slide from my jaw down to my shoulders, then lower, fumbling a little with the buttons of my shirt until I help him. The fabric falls open. The cool air of the laundry room touches my skin for only a second before his palms cover me, warm and careful and shaking.

“Color?” I ask, catching his wrists gently.

“Green.” He looks at my face, then at his own hands on me, and the wonder in his voice nearly undoes me. “I love this. Your skin. You’re so soft. I’ve thought about this—about touching you like this—and it’s better. It’s so much better.”

I guide his hands lower, letting him explore at his own pace. He traces the curve of my waist, the line of my hip, the soft give of my stomach, murmuring little broken pieces of praise the entire time. When his fingers reach the waistband of my pants he stops and looks up at me again.

“Yes,” I tell him before he can ask. “Still green. Still wanting you.”

He helps me push them down, clumsy with urgency and care at the same time. The tile is cold against my bare skin when I settle back, but Theo immediately covers me with his body, the oversized sweater still half on him, the heat of him chasing the chill away. He kisses my throat, my collarbone, the upper curve of my breast, and every place his mouth lands he whispers something soft and stunned.

“I love kissing you here. You smell so good. Callie—please—”

I slide my hands under the sweater and pull it off him. He lifts his arms to help, then settles between my thighs, bare now except for the thin pants that are already tented and damp. His cock presses against my hip through the fabric, hard and hot, and the contact makes him gasp.

“Color,” I say again, because his eyes are getting that wide, overwhelmed look.

“Green.” He rocks against me once, helpless. “I want you. Not to prove anything. Just you. I’ve wanted you for so long.”