Between The Lines
Lauren Hawkeye
'I want you to warm me up. ' Jo Marchande writes about sexy adventures. Only Jo hasn't experienced anything remotely naughty. A moment of illicit voyeurism reunites her with Theo Laurence, the boy she once loved. Now their ‘unfinished business’ is her chance to experience the wickedness she so craves…
“You’re here because you want me.”
A sizzling tale of one wicked woman from New York Times bestselling author Lauren Hawkeye.
As “Jojo Kink,” writer Jo Marchande lives an exciting, sexy life filled with wicked adventures that she shares with her readers. The unsexy truth, however, is that Jo can’t remember the last time she experienced anything remotely naughty. Well, except for those hot, needy nights with Theo all those years ago...
Then—out of sight and flushed with aching heat—Jo witnesses an illicit encounter featuring none other than Theo Laurence. The same boy she once loved, only now a gorgeous, hard-bodied man filled with raw sensuality. But Jo isn’t quite as hidden as she thinks...
Now Theo is offering Jo the two things she wants most—a big break for her writing career and a chance to experience all the sexy, kinky things she’s merely written about. With every searing touch, Jo is beginning to realize exactly why only one man has ever been able to unlock her desire. Why only Theo can make her burn with need...
And that letting Theo in might give Jo the naughty experience she craves...at a cost she never imagined.
Sexy. Passionate. Bold. Discover Harlequin DARE, a new line of fun, edgy and sexually explicit romances for the fearless female.
New York Times bestselling author LAUREN HAWKEYE never imagined that she’d wind up telling stories for a living…though she’s the only one who’s surprised. She lives in the Rocky Mountains of Alberta, Canada, with her husband, two young sons, a pitbull and two idiot cats. In her non-existent spare time Lauren partakes in far too many hobbies! She loves to hear from her readers through e-mail, Facebook and Instagram! Sign up for Lauren’s newsletter here: eepurl.com/OeF7r (http://eepurl.com/OeF7r).
Between the Lines
Lauren Hawkeye
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08704-9
BETWEEN THE LINES
© 2019 Lauren Hawkeye
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Note to Readers (#ue768aac4-502c-574b-bf01-60c690405ef4)
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To Patience, for her patience
Contents
Cover (#ufb28965a-4d8d-5749-b3f9-7c004d5ea1a3)
Back Cover Text (#uceabbf4d-eaf5-5b77-a963-432ff0854d15)
About the Author (#ufa1fd5c4-2bf5-5926-bdd4-f84a0eec4a11)
Title Page (#u3cb84eb5-f81d-5e61-9aaf-c943a5efce53)
Copyright (#u438499ea-5baf-5ea1-a928-386501240ba6)
Note to Readers
Dedication (#ua0038278-4762-5139-915e-0ecf2238d256)
CHAPTER ONE (#u7b0a8e40-b00b-5de9-99f4-b799e88b8c25)
CHAPTER TWO (#u99c030b4-2281-5aa8-ab8c-90510d5cd994)
CHAPTER THREE (#u6d307b55-3244-5b20-821a-81089da6ced5)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u8862fce8-5a14-5f04-89ac-4a5f7152cb67)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u7296def2-295d-567c-8041-ce7a1f5be032)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ue768aac4-502c-574b-bf01-60c690405ef4)
Then
HE ALWAYS GOT what he wanted...except when it came to this woman.
Theo Lawrence groaned with something akin to pain as she arched her hips into him, her soft, heated flesh rubbing against his aching cock. He fisted his hands in the front of her thin, ribbed tank top, yanking the fabric up to expose her small breasts, the nipples rosy red from his fingers.
“Don’t stop.” Pressing her lips into the corded muscle of his neck, Jo Marchande dug her fingers into his shoulders until it hurt, sparking deeper need to life inside him. All the while, her hips rocked restlessly, teasing the rock-solid erection that was straining at the stiff denim of his jeans. “Please don’t stop.”
“You’re killing me.” He didn’t want to stop—oh fuck, how he didn’t want to stop. He’d never loved anyone in his life the way he loved her, and not being able to be inside her was exquisite agony.
The one decent thing he’d done in his life, however, was to keep his hands off his underage girlfriend. He loved her—loved her family—far too much than to disrespect them by taking her before she could possibly be ready.
It was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Especially when she was dead set on making him change his mind.
“You don’t have to hold back.” Hand sliding down between them, she rubbed her palm over his arousal. His erection jerked in response, angry at being confined to its denim prison. “You know you don’t. I want this. Want you.”
“Not while you’re still seventeen.” His words were strained. He tugged her shirt higher still, and she took the opportunity to rub her breasts against his chest, heating his skin to a feverish pitch. “It’s not right.”
“You’re only two years older than me.” Her voice was stubborn. This was nothing new—his girl was nothing if not determined. Single-minded. He admired it in every aspect of her life.
Except for this one.
“And two years won’t be a big deal when you’re eighteen,” Theo growled against the top of her head. He inhaled the scent of her shampoo, straight spicy mint, something he’d never be able to smell again in his life without being aroused. “Tomorrow. We can wait one more day.”
In Massachusetts, the age of consent was sixteen. It damn near killed him to do it, but he was making them wait until eighteen. It just seemed like the right thing to do.
“No.” That stubborn streak in her voice thickened, and she dipped a finger inside his waistband. She swiped over the swollen head of his cock, and he groaned when a droplet of liquid leaked out in response.
“Jo.” Drawing on every last ounce of strength that he had, he forced himself to take a deep breath, pulling back and putting a single precious inch of strength between them. It wasn’t much, but it allowed him to inhale without the smell of her skin sinking into the very cells of his being. “It’s not happening. You know me well enough to know that I don’t change my mind.”
“I’m not asking you to.” He looked down into her face, the one he’d known since they were kids. Mischief was sparkling in her storm-gray eyes, bubbling up through the thick haze of lust.
“You’re going to have to use smaller words.” Dipping his head, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, then trailed his lips down over her cheekbone. “All of my blood has flooded south of my brain. Far south.”
She laughed breathlessly, and he felt the exhalation, warm as it teased over his chest. “I’m not asking you to change your mind. But I am asking you to...to fuck me.”
His mouth went instantly dry, his cock surging forward, cheering at her words. Her dirty words, her innocent tone belying them, were rapidly bringing him to the absolute edge of no return.
“I’m not sure you know what it does to me, hearing that sweet little mouth of yours talking about such filthy things.” Releasing her tank top with one hand, he dragged it up, up until he could rub his thumb over her kiss-swollen lips. In response, she swiped her tongue over it, then sucked it into her mouth, showing what she wanted to do to another part of him.
What they both wanted her to do.
“I’m going to do more than talk about it,” she insisted. Slowly, slowly, she started to work at his belt, the sound of metal on metal one of the most erotic things he’d ever heard. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?”
“Jojo,” he exhaled, running the tip of his tongue over the seam of her lips. She parted them beneath him, and he licked inside. “No more teasing. What are you talking about?”
“I’m not seventeen anymore.” She grinned up at him triumphantly. Blood suffused her pale, creamy skin, camouflaging the golden freckles that he knew were there. “It’s after midnight, Theo. And I know exactly what I want for my birthday.”
Holy shit. Releasing her long enough to look at his watch, he watched as the numbers turned over from 12:02 to 12:03.
She was right. She was eighteen now. And with that knowledge, his noble intentions melted like sugar in a hot pan, becoming something even better.
He growled in response. He’d made it. And now there was nothing holding him back from sinking between those pale, pretty thighs that had taunted him for so incredibly long.
“Put your arms around my neck,” he demanded. She cried out when he palmed her ass, lifting her so that she could wrap her legs around his waist. Again, the heat of her sweet core taunted his cock, but it was different now.
Now it just spurred him on because finally, finally, he could touch her the way they’d both wanted him to for the last year—the longest year of his life.
“I can’t believe we’re finally doing this,” she gasped as he carried her to the foot of the bed. Sliding her down his body, he set her down on her feet, then again fisted his hands in the front of her thin cotton tank top.
“I can.” He grinned wickedly as he tugged. Jo exhaled harshly as her shirt ripped down the front. For a split second he felt bad—he’d ruined her shirt, and her family didn’t have a lot of money.
But when she looked up at him, there was no judgment in her eyes, just raw need.
He’d buy her a new shirt—he’d buy her anything she wanted, if she’d let him. Heaven knew he could afford it. Right now, though, the last thing he wanted was for her to start thinking about the differences between their lives—the one point of contention between them.
Right now he didn’t want her thinking of anything. He just wanted her to feel.
“Hold still.” He whispered the words into her ear, savored the resultant shiver. She was nervous, and he didn’t mind that.
By the time they were done, she’d be too lost in sensation to worry about anything.
He palmed her breasts, running his thumbs roughly over her distended nipples. She rarely wore a bra. She claimed that her breasts were too small to need the support. He didn’t care what size they were, because to him they were just perfect.
And the lack of bra gave him easier access to heaven. Who would complain about that?
Her breath hitched when his fingers worked at the button of her low-slung jeans. The denim was worn, the fastening giving way easily. Hooking his thumbs in the waistband, he worked the garment down her slim hips until it fell to the floor. She was left in nothing but a pair of flimsy blue cotton briefs, hardly a barrier to the sweet heat between her legs.
“Lie down on the bed.” She did as he told her, scooting back until her head was cushioned on the pillows of his bed. Her slim, pale figure stood out in stark contrast to the deep sapphire-blue of his linen duvet, and he knew that he’d never look at his bed the same way again.
He watched as she propped herself up on her elbows, her avid stare fixed on him. Her lips, swollen from his kisses, parted unconsciously as he undid the buttons on his expensive dress shirt, leaving it hanging open as he pulled his leather belt from his jeans. He was so hard that it was nearly painful, and yet he savored the bite of discomfort before popping the button and allowing the heavy length of his cock to breathe, his swollen length clearly outlined against his underwear.
“Oh.” On the bed, Jo’s entire body flushed. She ran her tongue over her lips, and he barely suppressed a groan as he imagined those lips swallowing him deep.
“You’ve felt me before.” He’d stuck to his rule, no sex until she was eighteen, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t touched. But this was the first time she’d seen him naked, and he felt a strange surge of pride at her hungry gaze.
He wasn’t a virgin, but nothing turned him on like knowing that she’d chosen him to introduce her to this kind of pleasure. It was a heavy responsibility, but he knew he was up to the task.
“I know,” she whispered, her words rasping against the still air of his room. “But I’ve never really thought about...you know...how it’s going to fit.”
Theo closed his eyes, his head falling back. What had he done in his life to deserve her?
He hadn’t done anything, but he wasn’t that noble.
“It’ll fit,” he promised, shoving his jeans down his hips. He stepped out when they fell to the floor, then rubbed a hand over his erection, which tented the front of his black briefs.
Jo groaned, shifting restlessly on the bed. The sight of her arousal dampening the tender skin of her inner thighs was nearly his undoing.
Quickly, he shed his shirt, then let his briefs fall to the floor. He stood before her naked, and though he wanted to pounce on her and bury his face between her thighs, he forced himself to hold still, letting her look her fill.
He knew what she saw when those inquisitive gray eyes looked him over. He was tall, a good half a foot taller than her five foot six. He was also more than a little vain, and he started every day in the gym on the third floor of the house he shared with his father. He may not have had the drive for school or business that his dad had hoped to see in his offspring, but he never missed a session with his weights.
Because of that, his body was chiseled and solid as a rock, and he’d shared that body with more than a few girls before he’d finally convinced Jo to date him. He knew that girls liked his abs, his cock, and even the fact that his skin was dark gold and his hair nearly black, his coloring thanks to the Brazilian mother who had died when he was a baby.
Yeah, he knew he was a good-looking guy. And that plus his family money meant that he’d never been hard up for someone to warm his bed.
But he’d never, ever wanted anything more than what he had right now—Jo Marchande in his bed, wanting him.
He had to make this good.
“Spread your legs.” He clasped her ankles in long fingers, rubbing his thumb over the tender skin at the inside of each. She shuddered, then gasped when he tugged, pulling her to the edge of the bed. Kneeling on the plush carpet that covered his bedroom floor, he hooked her legs over each of his shoulders, opening her wide. Exposing that part of her that he craved.
“Theo... I’ve never...” Jo squirmed, her heels digging into his back. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“You don’t have to do anything except take what I give you.” Beneath his avid stare, the thin cotton of those panties grew wet. He traced it with a finger, circling the hard bud of her clit, and she shuddered in response.
He pressed his lips to the supple skin on the inside of her thigh, just above the curve of her knee. Her quick exhale told him that she was trying desperately to hold her breath. That she was nervous.
Knowing that the nerves would only help to heighten her pleasure, he slid his lips up only the barest inch, determined to draw out the sensations for her. She shifted, and he could feel her heat, smell her arousal.
Trailing his lips farther up her thigh, he teased them both by trailing his tongue over the crease that divided her leg from her abdomen. She jerked beneath his mouth with a breathless laugh.
“Liked that, did you?” He repeated the motion, and she groaned. He slid his mouth up even more, closer to his goal, savoring the salt on her skin.
“Theo,” she breathed as he brushed his lips over the soaked fabric of her panties. “Oh God. I can’t—”
“Oh yes, you can.” He flicked his tongue over the cotton, and her hips lifted off the bed.
“I’ve waited so long for this.” Nuzzling his nose against her heat, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her simple underwear. Not wanting to take the time to pull them all the way off, he pulled hard and grinned when they ripped, allowing him to toss them aside.
She didn’t give him hell for destroying a second item of her clothing, just rocked from side to side on the cool sheets of his bed. He took a moment to simply look at the glistening pink of her center, hot and wet and all for him.
Jo groaned. This was the only time she got quiet, his girl—when she was aroused. It made him want to drive her so crazy that she got loud again.
It made him want to make her scream his name.
Inhaling her scent, which reminded him of some kind of exotic cinnamon, he leaned forward and swiped his tongue through her folds.
“Oh my God,” she breathed, arching up off the bed. He licked again, and she tried to close her legs against the onslaught of sensation, but he was there, the width of his shoulders holding her wide-open.
With long, slow swipes of his tongue, he licked her from bottom to top, brushing the flat of his tongue over the hard nub of her clit every time. She tasted so sweet, and he wanted more.
Using his thumbs, he parted her lips, focusing his attention on the swollen bud. Her heels began to drum into his back, her breath coming in gasps.
“Theo. I can’t. It’s too much.” He could tell that her arousal was spiking hard and high. She didn’t have much experience—hell, any experience—and he knew that it wouldn’t take much to send her over.
That was good. He was going to make her come now, and then again. He was going to make sure that she was so ready for him that when it came to the part that might hurt, she would simply melt around him like ice cream left in the hot, hot sun.
CHAPTER TWO (#ue768aac4-502c-574b-bf01-60c690405ef4)
“THAT’S IT, BABY GIRL.” Using one finger, he traced around her slick opening, barely dipping inside. She groaned, arching her back, pressing herself against his mouth greedily. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
“Theo!” She bucked against his mouth as he increased the flicks of his tongue against her clit. Her thighs started to shake, and then her entire body tightened as her pleasure overtook her.
He buried his face between her legs as she came, kissing her now with broad swipes of his tongue. Her words were unintelligible, and when he looked up the slim column of her body, he saw her face flushed the prettiest shade of pink, her eyes closed, her mouth parted for the breathy little pants she didn’t seem able to help.
Before the waves stopped battering at her, he pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, then gently moved her legs from where they were clenched around his ears. She lay panting on the bed as he crawled up beside her, placing one hand on the dip of her impossibly slender waist.
He watched as she opened her eyes, fascinated by the glints of auburn in the mink-colored lengths of her lashes. Beneath them, those stormy gray eyes were glittering with need, and he knew, he just knew, that his dirty girl already wanted more.
“Did you like that?” He brushed his lips over the shell of her ear, nipping at the lobe. She nodded frantically but remained silent.
Squeezing her hip, he splayed his palm over the flat, quivering plane of her belly.
“What was that?” Chuckling as she garbled something in response, he slid his hand down, dipping between her legs. “I didn’t understand. I guess I’ll just have to check for myself.”
Her hands fisted in the quilt as he used his fingers to do what his tongue just had. Pinching her clit lightly, quickly, he waited until she moaned, then slid a finger into her waiting heat.
She was wet, and tight, and if she felt like fucking heaven on his finger, then what would she feel like around his cock?
“More,” Jo whispered, and he realized that she’d gone still. She was waiting, he realized, for it to hurt.
He didn’t want it to hurt.
“Are you sure?” She nodded, so he worked his finger out slowly, then in and then out.
She hissed when he added a second, scissoring them the slightest bit to stretch her. He kept his gaze on her face, searching for any sign of discomfort. Instead, he saw raw, unadulterated need.
He would make this good for her.
Returning his attention to her clit, he caught it between his fingers and rubbed. Wetness slicked her folds, and within moments another keening cry slipped from between those pretty lips. He let her ride the wave of her second orgasm before reaching over her to his mahogany bedside table, removing a small foil packet from the drawer.
Her eyes widened a bit when she saw what he’d retrieved, and he watched the slim column of her throat as she swallowed thickly.
“Are you sure about this?” It just might kill him to stop right now, with her taste on his lips and her slickness on his fingers, but he would. He’d do pretty much anything for her.
“Don’t you dare stop!” Rising up on her elbows, Jo caught his chin in her fingers and pulled him down for a kiss. She sucked in a surprised breath, and he knew that she was tasting herself on his lips.
The greedy noise that slipped from her mouth was the hottest fucking thing he’d ever heard.
With hands that were far less steady than any other time he’d done this, he tore open the foil packet. Her curious eyes watched avidly as he removed the ring of latex, smoothing the sheath down over the length of his erection.
He hissed when she reached down and danced her fingers over his cock. God, he’d dreamed of this, of her hand on him, stroking him just like this.
Pleasure began to gather all the way down in the soles of his feet, and he jerked back with a rueful laugh.
“Did I do something wrong?” She sat up, eyebrows raised in alarm.
“Not at all.” Catching her hand in his—the one that had just been stroking him—he pressed his lips to it in a kiss. “It was a little too good, actually.”
“Oh.” She drew out the word, understanding dawning. “Duly noted.”
She smirked. What choice did he have but to kiss her?
They fell back down to the bed, the covers tangling around them. Rolling on top of her, he braced his weight on his arms on either side of her head, looking down into that face that he knew like he knew his own.
Jo Marchande wasn’t classically pretty. Her face was a bit too square, her features too angular. Her milky-white skin stayed pale year-round, except for the times she got so absorbed in a book she was reading out in the sun that she didn’t realize she was burning. The smattering of golden freckles stayed year-round, too, and he took a moment now to brush a kiss over them on each cheek.
It was her eyes that made people look at her twice. They were huge, a stunning gray that shifted with her mood, surrounded by lashes that she never bothered to tint with mascara. She never bothered with makeup at all, something he loved because it was so different from all of the other women he knew.
Her hair spread out around her head on the pillow as she returned his gaze steadily, the chestnut color adding warmth to that pale skin. No, she wasn’t classically beautiful, but he wouldn’t have changed a damn thing.
She was his.
“I love you.” The words slipped from his lips before he could even think about what he was saying. Her mouth parted in surprise, but then he was burying his face in that long mane of hair, tucking his hand between her legs. She rocked up against him as he tested one more time that she was ready.
His fingers came away soaked.
“Theo, I—” The words got caught in her throat as he reached between them and lined the head of his cock up with the sweet, sweet heat of her center.
She gasped as he slid just the head of his erection into her slickness. He sank his teeth into his lower lip as nerves fired to life. It was everything he could do to hold still, letting her adjust to the feeling of him inside her.
He wasn’t expecting her to grab onto his hips and rock herself up.
“Fuck,” he cursed as he slid deeper into her soaking-wet channel. He wanted so badly to be in deep, to claim her from the inside out, but when the head of his cock met resistance, he had to force himself to still.
His limbs shaking with the exertion of holding back, he pressed his damp forehead against hers, looking right into her eyes. Their breath mingled, fanning out over their faces, and he kissed her again, their first kiss with him inside her.
“Are you ready?” He rocked back and forth the slightest bit, testing. She whimpered, but it was a sound of pleasure, not of pain.
“Hurry up.” Her voice was greedy, her fingers eager as they dug into his ass. She pulled him closer, and he resisted for just one more minute before he pressed forward, the cock that was swollen past the point of pain pushing deeper.
Beneath him she winced, sinking her teeth into her lower lip. He automatically stilled, but she urged him on with an impatient hiss.
Her body resisted him, clenching tightly until finally something gave way, allowing him to slide home. He grunted as he sheathed himself fully inside her, the sensation causing his eyes to roll back in his head.
“Holy shit,” Jo whispered beneath him, looking up at him with eyes that were bright.
“It will only hurt for a minute. I promise.” Theo rocked inside her, just a bit to test, and she moaned.
“It hurts, but not the kind you mean.” Her hands moved from his ass to his hips, and she shifted impatiently beneath him. “It hurts because I don’t even know what this is, but I want it so bad. Please, Theo. Please. Move.”
The last strings of his self-control snapped. With small rocking motions, he pulled back, then worked his way back in. He’d never had anything so tight, so hot around his cock, and if he wasn’t careful, he was going to lose it before he could make her feel good again.
She wouldn’t let him be careful. She rocked beneath him, urging him to go faster and faster. Her tight sheath was swollen, pulling him back in again and again. The pleasure rose hot and fast, and sweat beaded on his forehead as he strained to hold back.
Slipping one hand between their bodies, he located her clit and focused his attention on it. At the same time, he dipped his head and sucked one of her puckered nipples into his mouth.
Beneath him she went taut as a bow. Her cleft tightened as her eyes went wild with pleasure yet again, and he felt his own release start, fire licking along every inch of his skin. Closing his eyes, he finally allowed himself to let go, to let himself revel in the fact that Jo Marchande, the strong, proud girl that he’d loved since the day they met, had given herself to him.
After, he pressed a kiss to her brow. Pulling out, he disposed of the condom, then slid back into the bed, tucking them both under his soft, expensive sheets. She was already drowsy when he tugged her against him, fitting his chest to her back.
“You okay?” He tucked a ribbon of hair behind her ear. She sighed, a small murmur of contentment that made his stomach do a small flip.
How was it possible that she was his? He’d never done anything to deserve having someone so wonderful in his life.
According to his father, he was lazy. He had no drive, no direction, no purpose in life. He was squandering the opportunities that he had. This, of course, was in direct contrast to Theodore Lawrence Sr., who owned a huge import-export company. His mother, famous in her native Brazil before her death, had been a world-renowned concert pianist.
He’d never live up to either of them, so he didn’t bother to try. He knew what he was worth, and it wasn’t much. So the fact that Jo Marchande, the woman who had imprinted herself into his very DNA, had deemed him worthy?
It wasn’t something that he would ever take for granted.
“I’ve never been better.” Casting a sleepy smile over her shoulder at him, she snuggled back into his arms. “Can I stay?”
His heart skipped a beat, sending his pulse skittering to catch up.
“You can stay.” If he had his way, she’d stay forever.
* * *
“You just couldn’t control yourself, could you?”
Theo stiffened, a steel rod snapping into place in his spine. Slowly, he turned, doing his best to look nonchalant as he leaned back against the endless expanse of marble countertop in the rarely used kitchen of the house he shared with his father.
“What am I lacking control in this time, exactly?” His voice was cold when he spoke, every trace of the warmth he’d had for Jo frozen into daggers of ice, meant to maim or at the very least protect. “You have such a long list, you’ll forgive me for not immediately understanding what it is that you’re referring to, this time.”
“You know exactly.” His father stepped out of the shadows and into the dim kitchen, leaning against the breakfast bar, his stance mirroring Theo’s own. He lifted his heavy crystal snifter of expensive scotch for a small sip. His gaze slid over the matching one in his son’s hand, but as per usual, he said nothing about the fact that Theo was drinking, even though he wasn’t yet twenty-one.
Theo knew that, at the end of the day, Theodore Sr. just didn’t care.
“I assume you’re referring to Jo.” The words were sour in his mouth. He hated even saying her name right now, not wanting to cast shadows on something that, to him, was so perfect. So theirs.
“Of course I’m referring to Jo.” His father’s voice was layered heavily with impatience. “They are family friends. They are our neighbors. They are good people.”
Theo said nothing. What was there to say?
“You have nothing to offer any of them,” his father continued. The utter contempt in his voice was clear. “You’ve disappointed me time and again, Theodore, but I thought that you at least had the morals to stay away from those girls. Shame on you.”
It shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. Theo took a hefty swallow of his drink, focusing on the fire that it left as it traveled down to his gut. Taking a moment to study his father—the man he’d come from—he wondered how a person could seem to detest someone who had come from them so very much.
Ha. Why was he even questioning that? He knew exactly what his father saw—he saw his lost wife. Theo had inherited his golden skin, his exotic features, his glossy black hair, even the charm that he used regularly, from his mother.
Theo knew that, if given a choice, his father would rather have his mother here in his place.
“Did you hear what I said, boy?” Theodore Sr. set his glass down on the polished countertop with a sharp crack. The hand not holding Theo’s own glass fisted in the thick velvet of his robe, kneading at it like a stress ball.
“Jo and I have been dating for over a year.” Theo tried to rein in his temper. “It’s not like I plan on sleeping with her and leaving the next day.”
“You shouldn’t be sleeping with her at all,” his father snorted with derision, shaking his head. “What if you got her pregnant? You really think you could make a go of it? You’d run right out the door, and then where would she be?”
Theo expected nothing less from his dad, but hearing the harsh words was still a lash from a whip. He knew he’d do no such thing, but hearing out loud what his own flesh and blood really thought of him reminded him of the worst hangover he’d ever had. Try as he might, he just couldn’t ever outrun the nagging pain.
“Have a nice night, Dad.” Draining the last of his scotch in one giant swallow, he left the kitchen through the servants’ door, preferring the longer route back to his room to going anywhere near his father.
The conversation they’d just had was nothing new. Often he was able to completely deflect the criticism, keeping the barbs from landing and piercing his skin.
Tonight, though? Some of those words had landed.
He loved Jo more than anything. But what if his father was right?
CHAPTER THREE (#ue768aac4-502c-574b-bf01-60c690405ef4)
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAR JOOOO, happy birthday to you.”
“Cake! Gimme.” Standing up in her seat, Jo reached for the tower of cupcakes that Mamesie had so painstakingly arranged on the antique silver platter. Grabbing the one with the most frosting, she sank her teeth into the decadent chocolate cake, shuddering with pleasure when the sweetness of the icing hit her tongue.
“I’m hurt.” Warm breath misted over her ear, and she made a sound low in her throat. “I thought I was the only one who could pull that sound out of you. Yet here you are, cheating on me with a cupcake.”
“Sorry, babe.” Turning in his arms, she tuned out the chatter of her mother and three sisters as she focused in on Theo. Thinking about what they’d done last night had a fizzy feeling bubbling up inside her, making her feel like she’d drunk a giant glass of champagne too fast. “The cupcake offers instant gratification. Unlike someone I can think of, who made me wait an entire year.”
“It was worth waiting for, though, wasn’t it?” His voice was a low rumble against her ear. And even though she was still sore, she felt molten heat gather between her thighs. “At least, you seemed to think so this morning when you were moaning my name.”
She uttered another small moan at that. Putting space between them before she shoved the cupcakes off the table and pulled him down for another round, she tucked another bite of cupcake in her mouth as a distraction.
“I know you’re trying to change the topic, but I don’t think it’s working the way you hoped.” Jo sucked in a sharp breath as Theo’s stare tracked the way her tongue was licking sprinkles off the top of the cupcake. “I can think of a lot of places that would look awfully pretty with a bit of white icing on them.”
“Stop it!” Elbowing him, Jo took another deliberate step away, conscious of the fact that her family was right there. But when she looked around, Mamesie had gone into the kitchen for plates, and her sisters Beth and Amy were fully occupied by their own pieces of cake, still being young enough to have their attention fully commanded by the promise of sugar.
Her older sister, Meg, though, cast her a wink before handing her a napkin. Even if she hadn’t heard what was said, it was obvious that she knew that something had changed with her little sister. In response, Jo felt her cheeks heat.
“I need to use the bathroom.” Giving Theo’s hand a little squeeze, she swallowed the last bite of her cupcake and excused herself. She headed upstairs to the bathroom she shared with Amy rather than the small powder room on the main floor.
She splashed icy-cold water on her face, which felt good but did nothing to fade the flush on her cheeks. How was it possible that she wanted Theo again already? Did that wanting ever stop?
Wanting to give her telltale blush time to fade before she returned downstairs—Mamesie was no idiot, but Jo still wasn’t keen on the idea of flaunting her newfound sexuality in front of her mother—Jo wandered down the hall to her bedroom. Her laptop sat open on the slab of plywood and two sawhorses she used as a desk, flashing a retro screen saver of different shapes made of neon lines, undulating around the screen. Yellow legal pads clumped in haphazard piles around the computer, most covered in her messy scrawl.
The keyboard beckoned. She still had a thousand words to go on her latest story. It was just a little article for the local paper, something she submitted every couple of weeks, but for every article that they published, she received a check for a hundred dollars. It wasn’t much, but she loved the process of sealing that check in the crisp white envelope, of feeding it into the bank machine to deposit it into her account.
Mamesie had raised her, Meg, Beth and Amy by herself, and while they certainly no longer had access to some of the finer things that they’d had when her dad had been alive, she knew that Mamesie would never accept money from her girls—not unless the situation were truly dire. So Jo tucked away what she could. She didn’t dare to dream too big, but maybe one day she could take some journalism courses. Learn a way to apply her writing to a career, when she’d saved enough.
She reread what she’d written earlier while she waited for her body to calm the hell down. Pulling out the creaky desk chair that she was pretty sure bore a permanent imprint of her butt, she rolled up to her laptop and started clicking through.
“What are you doing up here?” She had no idea how long it had been when Theo spoke from the doorway, scaring the shit out of her. She jolted, her elbow sliding over the keys of her keyboard. Swearing, she hurriedly pressed the back arrows to restore her work.
“I came up to cool off a bit after you got me all hot and bothered,” she replied, her gaze veering back to her screen. She was almost at the end. She was pretty sure she only needed a couple more sentences, and they were right there, fresh in her head...
“It’s your birthday party.” Theo frowned at her computer as he entered her room, closing the door behind him with the heel of his shoe—his fancy, hand-tooled, Italian leather shoe. Jo didn’t pay any attention to fashion, none at all, but her sister Meg did, and she was forever sighing over the gorgeous things that the Lawrences had.
Things the Lawrences had. Things the Marchandes did not. Neither family talked about it, but the difference in their positions in life was always there, the elephant in any room in which members of both families had gathered.
At least, it was always there for Jo. It hadn’t been, not always—back when her dad had been alive, they’d enjoyed a lot of the same privileges that the Lawrences had. She knew that Theo and his dad couldn’t have cared less that there was now a class difference between their families, but it also meant that when it came to certain things, like money, Theo especially just didn’t understand.
“Are you working?” Hastily Jo tried to close out of her document, but when she looked up and saw the puzzled expression on his face, she knew that he’d seen. “Why are you hiding up here working when everyone is downstairs waiting for you?”
“I told you. I came up here to cool off a bit.” She could hear the defensiveness in her voice and pulled in a deep breath. “I read a few lines of my article and got sucked in.”
“Well, come back down.” He reached for her hand. “It’s present time. Amy’s about to pee herself, she’s so excited.”
Jo started to rise, but something about the way he was being so insistent had her hackles rising. Lowering herself back to her chair, she crossed her arms over her chest, the movement stiff. “Tell them I’ll be down in ten minutes. I just have a few more lines to finish.”
“Forget the lines, babe.” Theo’s smile was charming, deadly when he aimed it at you, but Jo had known him long enough that she could steel herself against it—well, sometimes. “It’s your birthday. Finish them another time.”
“I can’t.” Her eyes narrowed—why was he pushing? “My deadline is tonight. I should have handed the piece in already.”
“Does it really matter?” Clearly confused, Theo waved a sure hand through the air—the lord in his manor. “Blow off the deadline. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“The big deal is that they’re counting on me to hand the piece in. If I don’t, they have to scramble to find something else for that spot.” Jo’s voice was incredulous—why was this so hard for Theo to understand? “And also, if I don’t hand the article in, I don’t get paid.”
“They pay you peanuts. What’s the point?” Theo reached for her hands again, and this time instead of just avoiding him, she swatted them away. Rising from her chair, she stood to face him, clenched fists growing sweaty at her sides.
“A hundred dollars is not peanuts.” Her voice was shaking. Damn it, Theo knew—he knew—that this job was important to her. “I’m saving it for school, and you know it.”
“Well, a hundred dollars isn’t anything to me.” He shrugged dismissively, and Jo felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. “Just...please. Just forget about the article. I’ll give you the hundred dollars, okay? Just please come back downstairs so that I can give you your birthday present.”
For a long moment she was speechless. She actually kind of felt like throwing up.
She and Theo had their differences, but she loved him. She’d given him her body. Her heart.
And here he was pushing her to forget something that meant the world to her, just so he could get his way right now.
“You think I’m going to take money from you?” Horrified, Jo rubbed her hands over the hips of her jeans, trying to ease the clamminess. “After what we just did last night, how do you think that makes me feel?”
Understanding dawned on his face—at least, the tiniest inkling of it. “No, no. Jo, Jojo, that’s not what the money is for. Please—”
“No, of course it’s not.” Damn it, she was shouting. This was nothing new for her, not with her temper, but she couldn’t ever remember feeling exactly like this, sickness mixed in with the growing rage. “The money is so that I will ignore what I have repeatedly told you that I want right now, on my own damn birthday, and so that I will go do what you want. Lord Lawrence gets his way yet again.”
“Don’t call me that.” A dangerous spark flickered through Theo’s eyes. Lord Lawrence was what they’d all called him when he’d been younger and acting like a bit of a brat. “You know I fucking hate that.”
“Sucks, doesn’t it,” Jo taunted, finding a sick pleasure in getting some kind of reaction out of him. “When someone ignores what you’ve repeatedly said you want so that they can do what they want instead.”
“Wait a minute.” Theo suddenly stood up ramrod straight. He scrubbed his hands over his face before looking back at Jo. “You’re not talking about last night. Please tell me you’re not talking about last night.”
“Jesus Christ, Theo.” An inarticulate scream burst from her throat. “No, I’m not fucking talking about last night. If I hadn’t wanted your hands on me, you would have bloody well known it.”
“Right. I know,” he replied hastily, his restless hands now moving to rake through his hair. “You’re just so mad. And if we’re just talking about the article...”
If we’re just talking about the article, then I don’t know what the hell you’re so worked up about.
Her mouth, the mouth she’d used all over his body not twenty-four hours earlier, fell open with disbelief. Theo’s indifference to the gifts he’d been given had been a bone of contention between them before, but it had been...a small bone. A fish bone. Something that a sweet smile from him could help send into the garbage disposal.
This? This was a dinosaur drumstick, too big to be ground down in the kitchen sink.
“Look, I shouldn’t have done that.” Theo spoke hastily, trying to smooth over what he’d said. “That was wrong. Let’s not fight on your birthday.”
“Are you saying that because you’re actually sorry?” Resentment was bitter on her tongue. “Or are you saying it so that you get your way?”
She watched, almost as if she’d stepped outside herself, as temper flared in those caramel-colored eyes. Copper fire—that was what it looked like.
“Why are you acting this way?” He bit his words out the way he always did when he was angry, as though it took more effort to form them. “I just wanted to spend your birthday with you.”
“That’s not an answer.” He growled in response, actually fucking growled, and took a step toward her. She held up both hands and thought she might even have hissed. They’d been reduced to animals in their fury, and she was really fucking tempted to bite him.
And not in a fun way.
“Get out of my room.” Her voice was shaking. As she pointed at the door, she noticed that her hand was, too.
“What?” Incredulity lent an almost comical cast to his face. “Are you fucking serious right now?”
“I said get out!” she screamed, her voice echoing off the small confines of her room. Theo reeled back as if she’d slapped him, and her palm itched to do just that. He must have read the desire in her eyes, on her face, because his face reddened, the effect of his own temper, but he took a step back. With one last look, he spun on the heel of his ridiculously expensive shoes and stormed out of her room, slamming the door behind him. Minutes later, Jo felt the frame of the house shake as he slammed the front door as well. Crossing to her window, she hugged her arms to her chest and watched as Theo’s tall, lanky figure strode across the lawn, climbing over the short fence that separated their properties, his movements jerky.
He would drink now, she knew that absolutely. He’d pull one of his dad’s priceless bottles of scotch from the ornate liquor cabinet and numb everything he felt with the gilded liquid. He would retreat into a sullen cocoon, erecting the barriers that were his first line of defense.
He’d never erected those same barriers against her, but she knew him inside and out. And knowing him as she did, she saw with sudden, startling clarity that he truly wouldn’t understand why she’d responded the way she had. Why she hadn’t been able to just jump onboard Theo’s Fun Train...because to him, responsibility didn’t exist.
Knowing him the way she did, she wondered why she only now understood that this particular quirk of his meant that they were never, ever going to be able to work.
Acid churned in her belly as she sank down to the floor. It rose to her throat when Beth, the sister she was closest to, cracked open the door and stuck her head in, and she couldn’t reply.
“We heard you guys yelling.” Her sister’s bright blue eyes were wide, meaning that she was as shocked by the argument as Jo was. “Are you okay?”
Jo looked up at her younger sister, the one she most often confided in, and felt the first small crack reverberate through her heart. Wordlessly, she held Beth’s gaze and shook her head, just the smallest bit.
And when Beth crossed the room, sank to the floor beside her and wrapped Jo in her skinny tween arms, Jo burst into tears.
And that pissed her off, too.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ue768aac4-502c-574b-bf01-60c690405ef4)
Then
THEO LAY SPRAWLED in the massive leather chaise that occupied the corner of his bedroom at one...or was it two in the morning? He lifted the bottle of scotch that he’d brazenly lifted from his dad’s supply, squinting as he tried to discern just how much he’d had to drink.
He was pretty sure that the bottle had been full—a brand-new one, in fact. After the first couple of shots from a heavy crystal tumbler, though, he’d decided to forgo the glass and swig straight from the bottle. And then he’d spilled some on the floor in the hallway, leaving a sticky lake of amber liquid for the cleaners to find in the morning.
So basically...he had no idea. He knew he’d drunk a lot, but it wasn’t having the effect he’d hoped for. The buzz he was chasing kept dancing just out of reach, and instead the alcohol was filling him with lead, weighing him down until he thought he might never move again.
“Why do you do this to yourself?”
He didn’t have to move to know that Jo was standing in the doorway of his room. He caught a whiff of spicy cinnamon, heard her quiet sigh as she entered, closing the door behind her.
He remained motionless, listening as she moved around his room. She straightened his sheets, probably pulling down his covers for him. He tracked her footsteps to his bathroom, heard the tap and knew that she was getting him water and aspirin. Finally she closed the space between them, reaching out for the bottle he still held.
Because he was in the mood to be a dick, he held tight. He heard a grim hum from her lips, and then she smacked the bottom of the bottle, twisting it over in his grip and upending the contents onto his lap.
“Fucking hell, Jo!” Shocked into motion, he scrambled upright. A tight smirk of satisfaction was on that fascinating face of hers, and she simply stood back, arms crossed over her chest as he reached for the closest thing he could find, a sweatshirt, to mop up the liquid on his lap.
“I’m going to bed,” he informed her. She didn’t move. He wasn’t surprised. Damn it, what the hell was going on with her? All he’d wanted to do was make sure that she enjoyed her birthday. She didn’t have to write those freaking articles. She’d just turned eighteen today—no one expected her to contribute. And if she was worried about money, he had plenty, and he was happy to share. So what the fuck was the problem?
“Theo.” Her voice was a sigh again. He glared up at her as she pulled his footstool closer to his chair, lowering her small frame to a perch. “We need to talk.”
He was just drunk enough that talking seemed like a horrible idea. As he looked at her sitting there, her pert, perfect breasts clearly outlined in the flimsy blouse that he knew Meg had made her wear for her party, he thought of something that sounded like a lot more fun than talking.
“C’mere.” He gestured, overshooting and making his arm swing wildly. “I still need to give you your birthday kiss.”
She closed her eyes, muttered something beneath her breath and then pinned him with thunder in those storm-gray eyes. “It’s not sexy time, Theo. Sexy time is not on the menu anytime in the near future. Just sit up and answer something for me.”
Theo rather thought that he could convince her on the sexy-time front if she gave it a fair shot, but the clipped quality of her voice finally sank through the scotch-soaked folds of his brain. Warily, he scooted to the edge of his seat, bracing his elbows on his knees and trying to look like he was sober.
From the grimace she made when she caught a whiff of his breath, he knew he wasn’t fooling her. Sighing, he scrubbed a hand over his face, then gave her his full attention. “What do you need to say, Jojo?”
Her question was like a punch in the kidneys. “What are your plans, Theo?” He waited for her to elaborate, but she just waited for his response, her entire frame unnaturally still.
“You mean like...my plans for you?” Anxiety pitched his words higher than usual. He loved her, but wasn’t it a little...soon...to have that talk?
“You are such a jackass,” she muttered. He scowled, opening his mouth to reply, but she forged on. “No. Not your plans for us. Which, incidentally, would be our plans, but whatever.”
His brain wasn’t moving quite fast enough to keep up with that train, but he put all his energy into focusing so that he could catch her next sentence.
“I’m talking about you. Your plans for your own life. What are you doing with it? What do you even want?”
“I—” He paused, unable to verbalize the tangle in his head. “I don’t—what do you mean?”
She studied him, the sharpening of her features making her appear faintly birdlike. Not like a sweet bird, though, he thought grumpily, like a canary or something. No, she was putting him more in mind of a raven, or a crow, maybe a hawk—something gorgeous and wild and more than a little bit dangerous.
“What I mean, Theo, is that you have so many opportunities. So many. More than anyone I know.” When he didn’t respond, she threw up her hands. “What I mean is...do you see yourself going into business with your father? You could, you know. He’d love that.”
“Not bloody likely,” Theo muttered, thinking of the nasty little altercation he’d had with Theodore Sr. last night.
Jo ignored him, plowing on. “What about school, then? You can afford to go anywhere. Anywhere. Doesn’t that excite you, even a little bit?”
“Don’t be stupid. There isn’t a school in the world that would take me with my SAT scores.” Theo snorted with disgust, making sure Jo didn’t know that disgust was actually with himself. “College isn’t an option.”
“That’s ridiculous.” The glare she shot him was like a laser beam, slicing right through to his core. “You can retake those any time you want.”
“I can retake them, but I won’t be any smarter.” Shrugging as if he didn’t care, he took another large swig from the scotch bottle. When he swallowed, the alcohol felt like acid in his gut, eating away at him from the inside out.
Jo threw her hands up in frustration. “You won’t get any smarter if you won’t freaking try, Theo. It’s called studying. The people who get good SAT scores do it.”
“Why are you on my case like this?” He couldn’t handle even one more of her biting observations, because each one was like the lash of a whip, slicing away another sliver of his defenses. Soon he’d be left open, raw and bleeding, all of his insecurities out for her to see.
No one was allowed that close. Not even Jo.
“I’m on your case because I don’t understand what’s going through your thick skull.” Her temper was up now, and so was her voice. “You have opportunities that some people only dream of, and you’re throwing them all away because...what? You’re just going to lounge around and drive your dad crazy forever?”
Theo stilled. “My dad treats me like shit. Since my mom died, he can’t even look at me. You know that.”
“You don’t treat him any better!” Jo’s harsh words reverberated off the walls of the room. “You might not get along, but he’s still trying to help you make something of your life, and you thwart him at every turn!”
Theo had known that Jo had a temper since the second day of their acquaintance, when they’d gotten into a fight during an impromptu softball game and she’d accidentally beaned him with the bat when she’d thrown it in a rage. His anger management wasn’t much better, though, and she’d just stuck a crowbar into his most tender parts and cranked it.
He fisted his hands at his sides, blood rushing to his head so fast that he felt dizzy.
“Thwart? Who actually says that in conversation?” he sneered, his words aimed to pierce her delicate skin. “I get it now. It’s not that you care, that you’re worried about me. It’s that I have chances you don’t, and it’s driving you crazy!”
Jo’s mouth fell open in disbelief, and her eyes were wild. “I’ve known you were a lazy prick with entitlement issues since the day we met, but stupid me, I thought you’d grown up a bit. But you never will, will you? You’ll never figure out what you’re going to do with your life, because you don’t want to do anything!”
She sucked in a big breath before continuing. “Your mom is the one who died, Theo! Not you! So why the fuck do you keep acting like you went with her?”
Theo couldn’t think past the roaring in his ears. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he fought the urge to give her a shake. He’d never hit a woman in his life, and he didn’t intend to start, but Josephine Marchande sorely tempted him to.
He growled, an unintelligible sound low in his throat. He had so much to say, to try to make her understand, but the words were stuck in his suddenly dry throat, choking him. He needed an outlet for the rage, the confusion, even the hurt that was storming through him, and Jo was safe. She’d always been safe.
Instead of shaking her stupid, he tugged her against him, crushing her lips against his. She shoved at his shoulder seconds before he felt a hint of the tension leave her body, her lips softening beneath his.
And then a stabbing pain as she sank those razor-sharp little teeth of hers into his lower lip.
“Motherfuck—” He reared back, clapping a hand to his injured lip. It came away bloody, but before he could utter another word, Jo followed the bite with a straight shot to his solar plexus.
His breath escaped his body in one giant cloud. Wheezing, he doubled over, sinking back into his chair, one arm around his stomach, the other pressed to his lip.
“What the actual fuck, Jo?” If she’d wanted to stop him in his tracks, she’d done it—he couldn’t believe she’d hit him. He’d have been proud of her right hook if he didn’t think there was a distinct possibility that he was going to vomit all over her bare feet. “What was that for?”
“Are you serious right now?” She laughed, but the sound was dry and harsh. “I can barely look at you right now, so you sure as fuck don’t get to touch me.”
“What?” He tried to focus on her face, but his head was spinning. “Jo. What?”
She sucked a breath in through her nose before jamming a finger right in front of his face. “You don’t touch me unless I want to be touched. And you sure as hell don’t try to kiss me when you’re breaking my heart.”
He watched, at a complete loss for words as she stepped back, putting some much-needed space between them. Crossing her arms over her chest, she started to shake, and when she looked back at him, her eyes were shiny and red, though not a single tear actually spilled.
Without another word, she turned and made her way to the door. She didn’t slam it, didn’t even close it—just left it hanging partway open like a wound that needed stitches but couldn’t be closed.
He should call out. Go after her.
He couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
She’d cut him open, flayed his flesh, and he didn’t know how to fix it. Didn’t know if he could.
Instead, he sat motionless in his chair until the sun came up, warring with himself. He was furious with Jo, with his dad, with his dead mom, with himself. He was absolutely, utterly incapable of dealing with any of it.
When pale golden light began to filter through the paned glass of his window, he stood. Strode to his closet. Opened the small safe inside it, retrieving his passport, birth certificate and the stacks of cash that he kept just for the hell of it. Pulling a supple, chocolate-brown leather trench coat from his closet, he stuffed the retrieved items into the pockets and threw the coat over his shoulders.
By the time the sun was fully up, shining fat and high in the sky, Theo was gone.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ue768aac4-502c-574b-bf01-60c690405ef4)
Now
THE NUMBER ONE question in my in-box? The biggest thing that readers want to know? It’s how much of what I report on is something that I actually do. Yes, you filthy-minded little freaks want to know all the dirty details, and I know why...because if I’ve tried it, then you’re not so weird if you do, too.
If you’re waiting with bated breath for me to answer, you’re going to have to keep on waiting. Why? Because I think that if you want to let your freak flag fly, you should find the guts to hoist it yourself. Color it with your own kinks, and don’t be afraid to invite a partner...or three.
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