Page 37 of Muse (The Forbidden Hearts #1)

THEO

I wake up early for a Sunday morning, my brain hard-wired to awaken with the sun rising.

Sophie is still curled up against me, one leg draped over mine, her head resting on my chest. Her beautiful brown curls twine around my arm, warm and soft, trapping me there with her like ivy clinging to a tree.

If I didn’t have to, I’d never leave her embrace.

I study her features, so beautiful and relaxed in sleep.

Her pouty, full lips are slightly parted, and her long, dark lashes fan across her cheeks.

She’s every man’s dream, but no one else gets to touch her.

No one else gets her sleepy smiles or whispered thoughts at night. Just me.

And most days, I still can’t believe it. Life has become surreal.

A beautiful mess of emotional highs and lows that I wouldn’t trade for anything. Sophie Wilson walked into my life and rewrote it completely, no matter how this ends. As much as I hope we’ll get our happily ever after, life has shown me time and time again that it doesn’t care about happy endings .

So for now, I hold on with everything I have. For now, I stay present. Because who knows what tomorrow will bring.

I can’t lie and say I’m not freaking the fuck out over her mom’s friend seeing us last night.

As much as Sophie seems to think it’ll be fine, I feel the weight of dread pressed hard on my chest. It’s like something has shifted.

I just know, deep in my gut, that everything is about to get harder.

I can’t say why or how, but that knowledge has rooted itself in my mind and refuses to budge.

We’re going to get caught.

The question now is, what am I going to do about it? The obvious choice? Leave. End it before the damage spreads. Pack up and disappear. Let Sophie go back to being a teenager with a normal life. She’s so young, with so much ahead of her. Eventually, she’d forget about me. Move on and be happy.

But the problem is… there’s no fucking way I’m doing that. She owns me now. Completely. I’m not going anywhere. Not without her.

I breathe her in, soaking up a few more seconds with her before forcing myself out of bed. I have to piss and can’t wait any longer. I move slowly, carefully, doing my best not to wake her. She looks so peaceful. I don’t want to disturb that, not yet.

I take care of business and splash some water on my face, then throw on a pair of soft black sweatpants, leaving my chest bare. I head downstairs, deciding to make her breakfast fit for a queen. Which she is, in every way that matters.

Winnie jumps from his bed the second I hit the bottom step, tail wagging like crazy.

I give him a few head scratches and let him out back to go potty, then fill his bowl with breakfast. The pup would devour the entire bag if I let him, but I’m watching his weight.

He gives me a full on side-eye when he comes back in and sees the portion size I’ve given him.

I brew some coffee, the strong kind. Technically espresso, but brewed in the drip maker.

Then, I crack a few eggs, dousing them with garlic powder, salt, and pepper before tossing them into a hot pan.

I pause to put on some music, setting the mood with its low and mellow beat, then get to scrambling.

Bacon into the air fryer, sausage into a skillet. I move from counter to counter, making sure nothing burns. Except the bacon. That’s intentional. If it’s not crisp to the edge of charred, it’s not right. I’ll die on that hill. Floppy bacon is a sin against breakfast.

I dig through the fridge until I find some shredded cheese, sprinkle it over the eggs, then plate everything up and slide the dishes into the oven to keep warm.

Finally, I sit down on a barstool and pull out my phone. I scroll through notifications first. Nothing alarming, no cryptic texts or missed calls. No exposés on local teachers dating their students.

I exhale slowly. Half of me expected to wake up to a digital witch hunt. Guess that’s what they call a guilty conscience.

I shake it off, glad to know I’ve survived another day. So far, at least. It’s still early.

Then I hear her footsteps upstairs and instinctively sit straighter. I want to run up and meet her halfway, but I wait, giving her space. A moment later, she appears, wearing another one of my T-shirts and not much else.

The sight of her dressed in nothing but my shirt is enough to make my cock harden.

She’s so damn beautiful it’s ridiculous.

My body aches for hers even when my brain screams not now.

I’m seconds from saying fuck breakfast and hauling her right back upstairs, but then she catches the smell of food and grins.

“Oh my god, that smells amazing. I’m starved.”

I stand and stalk toward her, my hands going to her waist, my mouth brushing against hers in a kiss that barely scratches the surface of what I want to do to her .

“All for you, my love.”

She blushes instantly, pink blooming across her cheeks. “Thank you, Sir,” she teases, winking. She’s going to be the death of me.

I spin her gently and give her ass a playful swat. She lets out a soft yelp.

“That’s for calling me sir,” I say with a smirk.

“Guess I should do it more often, then,” she shoots back, hips swaying as she walks to the kitchen like she’s on a runway. Always taunting me.

I follow, eyes locked on her ass the whole way. Can’t be helped. I pull our breakfast from the oven, place her plate in front of her on the island, and go to pour her a cup of coffee. I grab a mug at random and snort when I read the words on the front: slippery when wet. Fitting.

Her eyes narrow the second I hand it to her. “You picked this on purpose, didn’t you?”

I laugh. “No, Trouble. But I’m not mad about it. Pretty fitting, huh?” I wink, and her cheeks flush again. I live for these moments, watching her squirm underneath my gaze.

We eat in comfortable silence. Being here with her makes this house feel like home again. I steal glances at her between each bite, still not used to the sight of her sitting in my kitchen like she belongs here. Every second with her feels surreal, like I’m sleepwalking in the best possible way.

When coffee dribbles down her chin, missing her mouth entirely, I lean in and lick it from her skin without hesitation. Her eyes widen, startled at first, but then she smirks.

She knows what she does to me. She has to know.

When we’re finished eating and I’ve cleaned the kitchen, I pull Sophie into my arms one last time before she has to head home.

I hold her tightly, arms wrapped around her like I’m afraid she’ll vanish.

I breathe in the scent of her shampoo, that warm, soft floral that’s become uniquely hers, committing it to memory.

“We’ll be okay, right?” She asks, her voice soft and uncertain.

But I don’t answer. Not with words. Instead, I tilt her chin up and kiss her like it’s our last time.