Page 59 of Seven Lost Summers (Broken Oasis #3)

My gaze stays locked on the photo, my eyes tracing every detail.

The way Theo’s arm is looped around me, holding me without thinking.

The way Bianca’s smile spills light into everything around her, bright enough to burn.

The way Nate’s hand rests on Theo’s shoulder, steady and sure, as if he’s anchoring him to the moment.

Something inside my chest pulls tight until it hurts.

I know Theo’s eyes are on me before I even look up. His gaze is steady, carrying a heat that pulls me in without a word.

He moves closer, until he’s standing beside me. I watch his eyes drop to the photo in my hands, the faint crease appearing between his brows. The grief in him is obvious, written in the way his mouth tightens for a moment.

“That was the day Bianca tried to teach Nate how to skateboard,” he says, a half-smirk tugging at his lips. “Didn’t even last thirty seconds before he ate shit.”

He looks back up at me, the smirk still there, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His gaze dips to my mouth, lingering there for a fraction too long before it flashes back up to meet mine.

“I’m sorry,” I say, setting the photo down gently, as if it might break.

“What for?”

“For bringing up the past. I know it hurts.”

Silence stretches between us. When I glance up, he’s already watching me.

“You never have to apologize for remembering her,” he says quietly. “Or for remembering us.”

He steps in, close enough that the faint heat from his body brushes against my skin.

My grip tightens around the edge of the dresser because I don’t know what to do with the weight of his stare. It pins me in place.

His hand lifts, his gaze never wavering. Fingers slide into my hair, brushing it back from my face. The touch lingers, enough to feel intentional, enough to make my pulse skip.

The pads of his fingers graze the curve of my jaw. It’s so faint it’s almost not there, yet the spark it sets off is immediate.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that it curls right into my chest, “back at those parties… the only reason I went was to talk to you.”

For a second, I blink, the words hitting harder than I’m ready for. “What?”

He leans back half a step, his hand falling away, rubbing at the back of his neck.

His eyes dart aside, like maybe he already regrets letting it slip.

“I didn’t give a shit about Nate disappearing to get his dick sucked, leaving me stuck with those idiots running their mouths.

I just… I went so I could sit and talk to you. ”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I don’t know how to say it—that the only reason I ever went was to sit and talk to him too.

If he hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have walked in.

No fucking way I’d step into a party to deal with guys trying to corner me, trying to get into my pants, running their mouths about how they’d fucked Quinn Thomas.

None of them knew back then that I was still a virgin, and I wasn’t about to give that to some cockhead who only wanted pussy and not the person attached to it.

When I don’t answer, he turns away and walks back to the bed, sitting down like he didn’t drop something I’ve been dying to hear for years. The fact that he shuts me out that easily makes my heart break.

I follow him. “Why the hell do you do that?”

His gaze stays on some point past me. “Do what?”

“This.” I motion between us. “Shut down right after you tell me something you’ve never said before.”

Silence.

His eyes finally meet mine. The expression makes it impossible to tell whether he’s about to kiss me or walk away.

“Theo,” I say, stepping closer. “Talk to me.”

I reach out, my fingers wrapping around his forearm. The muscle is solid and warm, heat rolling off him in steady waves. The moment my skin meets his, something in him shifts. His breath hitches, eyes closing for a beat like he’s holding himself back.

When they open again, he’s already closing the distance.

His hand lifts slow, giving me every chance to stop him. Fingers skim my cheek, the rough pads grazing skin that suddenly burns with sensitivity, before his palm curves around the side of my face. A breath later, his mouth crashes onto mine.

It starts soft, but fuck, the filth is in the way he moves—his lips coaxing mine open, tongue sliding in like he’s here to claim me.

He tastes me slowly, as if he wants every inch of me mapped on his tongue before he’s done.

It’s a kiss that lands like a warning, the kind a man gives when he plans to fuck you until no one else can touch you without finding his fingerprints.

My hands find his chest before I even register moving.

Hard muscle under my palms, his heartbeat pounding fast enough to match mine.

My thighs press together under the pull of it, heat sparking low and deep.

My nipples tighten under the thin fabric of my shirt, aching, while every slow grind of his mouth over mine turns the air between us molten.

Every pass of his tongue says I want to fuck you, but every careful tilt of his mouth says I’m not letting you go.

When he finally pulls back, his breath drags hot over my lips, his forehead resting close enough that I can feel the faint tremor in him.

Theo’s arms come around me, drawing me in.

He turns us toward the bed and lowers me down, the mattress dipping beneath our weight.

He stays there, close enough for his breath to ghost my mouth, but he doesn’t close the gap.

Not yet. He looks at me… really looks, his gaze roaming over my face as if he’s committing every detail to memory before he lets himself take more.

His hands slide to the hem of my shirt. The fabric gathers in his fingers, rising slow over my stomach, ribs, and breasts. He sits me up only long enough to peel it over my head, tossing it aside before laying me back down.

The clasp of my bra snaps open beneath his fingers.

The straps slide from my shoulders, and his head dips, his mouth brushing the newly bared skin in slow, claiming kisses.

His tongue traces the curve beneath my breast, and his lips close over the tight peak.

The pull of his mouth sends a sharp rush of heat straight between my legs, causing my back to arch into him.

He doesn’t rush. He takes his fucking time. He moves from one breast to the other, leaving my skin damp from his mouth, lips dragging lazy and wet, sucking and teasing until my breath becomes uneven.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs against me.

He tips his head, meets my eyes, and doesn’t look away.

There’s a softness that rattles something deep in me, something I’m not ready to name. He isn’t performing. He isn’t hiding behind some flirty grin or careless lines. He’s right here, anchored in this moment with me, and he wants me to see it.

His mouth moves lower, lips brushing my stomach in slow, open-mouthed kisses, each one landing further south than the last. His breath skims my skin, warm enough to make me shiver.

His fingers find the button on my jeans.

The metal pops under his touch. He draws the zipper down in a steady pull, the sound of it dragging over my nerves, making my pulse slam.

He grips the waistband and eases them down my hips. The denim drags against my skin, slow enough that I feel every inch of it leaving me. My panties go with them, the lace catching for a heartbeat before he works them past my knees, down my calves, until I’m bare in front of him.

Theo straightens, standing at the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed between my thighs. His throat works as he swallows, his jaw flexing once. There’s hunger in his eyes, but also something patient—as if he’s taking his time because he knows he’ll never forget the sight of me spread out for him.

The weight of that stare shoots straight through me.

My clit pulses, an ache blooming until I’m squirming under it, needing him to close the distance.

“Spread for me,” he says, voice threaded with that filthy command I’ve always been powerless against. “I want to see everything I get to touch.”

I let my knees fall open, and watch the way his gaze drags down to where I’m already wet for him. His breath leaves him in a slow exhale.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “You’re perfect.”

He drops to his knees between my thighs, and the sight alone sends a rush through my veins. His hands drag up my legs in a slow, claiming sweep, the heat of his palms branding me as his.

He’s so fucking close I can sense the heat of his mouth, but he doesn’t touch where I need him most. Not yet. He holds me open, forcing me to take the weight of his control, making it clear this isn’t about me telling him what I want—this is about him giving it when he’s ready.

His breath hits the crease of my thigh, hot and teasing, and then his mouth is on me, pressing a slow kiss into my skin.

My nails dig into the sheets. He moves to the other side, doing it again, sucking hard enough to leave heat behind.

By the time his mouth drags higher, my hips are arching without my permission, chasing him like I’m already addicted.

And fuck, his tongue is between my folds, tracing me in one long, wet stroke from my entrance to my clit.

I twitch under him, a soft moan catching in my throat.

He stays low, circling my entrance with slow, lazy swirls before pushing his tongue inside.

The wet slide of it makes my pussy squeeze around him, desperate for more, and he groans like he fucking feels it.

When he pulls out, I’m seconds from begging, but he moves higher, finally finding my clit. He flattens his tongue over it, dragging slow, heavy strokes that make my back arch. Every pass is deliberate, controlled—enough to get me shaking, nowhere near enough to let me come.