Theo carries me through the doorway like he’s done it a hundred times before, his steps slow and deliberate. There’s an ease to the way he holds me, like I belong here like he has every right to touch me like this.

My breath comes fast, my heart hammering in my chest as I grip his shoulders, unsure whether I want to fight my way free or stay right where I am. The warmth of his skin, the firm press of his fingers against my thighs—it’s dizzying, intoxicating.

The front door clicks shut behind us, sealing us inside. The space feels smaller, the air heavier, thick with an emotion I can’t name.

I should say something. Break the moment. Remind him—and myself—that this is just Theo being Theo.

But words fail me.

Instead, I’m hyper-aware of everything. The steady rise and fall of his breath beneath my fingertips. The way his grip tightens just slightly when I shift. The heat radiating from his skin, searing through the thin fabric of my clothes.

He’s moving deeper into the house now, the warmth of the entryway light casting golden shadows over his sharp jawline and his mussed hair. I don’t know if I’m holding my breath or if I just can’t breathe at all.

Then we cross the threshold into the living room, he suddenly comes to a halt.

A throat clears.

Standing in the middle of the room, wine glass poised at her lips, Celeste stares at us like she’s walked into a live performance of some scandalous drama.

She freezes mid-sip, eyes flicking from me—still slung over Theo’s shoulder—to Theo himself.

Slowly, deliberately, she lowers her glass.

“Well,” she says, her lips curving into a slow, knowing smirk. “Don’t let me stop you, I was going to stay in and watch a movie, but, um—” she gestures vaguely between us, “—clearly, that would be a mistake.”

I groan, covering my face. “Celeste.”

She smirks, already grabbing her jacket. “No, no. Don’t mind me. I was just leaving.” She heads for the door, pausing at the threshold. Then, over her shoulder—“Have fun, kids.”

The door clicks shut behind her.

Silence.

Then Theo lets out a low chuckle. “I like your sister.”

“Don’t encourage her,” I groan, squirming. “Put me down.”

“Not a chance.” He tightens his grip. “Not until I get you exactly where I want you.”

Desire spikes hot in my veins.

He takes the stairs two at a time, his grip steady, his breath even. The control of him, the sheer determination in every step, sends a thrill through me.

By the time he reaches my bedroom, I’m burning up.

He sets me down gently, his hands sliding to my waist, but doesn’t step back. Instead, he leans in, his lips brushing my ear.