Page 12 of The Lies Of Omission (Without Limits #3)

THEO

I t had been five days since I’d felt his mouth on mine, tasted recklessness and relief, and walked away like it hadn’t set fire to my entire fucking world. I hadn’t slept. Not really.

Not when every time I closed my eyes, I saw him —breathing hard, swollen slick lips, eyes dark with want and devastation. I’d kissed him like I was starving. Like he was the only thing keeping me alive. And then I left.

Like a coward.

Like a man who knew that one more second in that car with him and I would’ve burned everything down just to touch him again.

Now, all I did was run.

I avoided the main floor of the club during his shifts.

Came in late. Left early. Reviewed schedules and bookings obsessively just to make sure we wouldn’t cross paths.

I kept my office door closed and the blinds drawn.

When he came within range, I left like a ghost, pretending I had meetings or calls.

But it didn’t matter.

Because he was always there .

Everywhere.

Lurking just behind every thought, like a song stuck in my head that I couldn’t turn off. I could feel him the moment he stepped into a room—even if I wasn’t looking. His presence tugged at me, a gravitational pull I could barely resist.

And he knew.

God, he knew.

He didn’t come at me directly. Sinclair was smarter than that. Smarter than me, maybe. Instead, he played a game I wasn’t equipped for—subtle, cutting, and relentless.

A lingering look across the bar.

A smirk when our eyes met through the crowd.

A whispered “Boss” at just the right pitch to make my skin prickle.

He never brought up the kiss. Not once. But every move he made screamed with unspoken challenge. Come on, Theo. Break again. I dare you.

And I was breaking. Piece by fucking piece.

My father wouldn’t stop calling. Relentless, as always.

The voicemails stacked up one after another, each one more furious than the last—his voice sharp, clipped, unraveling in barely-contained rage.

“ What the hell happened with Elias? Why was he removed? Do you understand what kind of attention this brings? Do you have any idea how this reflects on me? On us .”

Always us . The Astors. Always him, never me . I wasn’t a person to him. My thoughts and feelings weren’t important.

I stared blankly, not seeing anything as volatile thoughts swirled in my head. My chest ached, tight with guilt I couldn’t name—except I could. It wasn’t just the fallout. Not just the power plays and the whispered gossip that would trail me like smoke.

It was the fact that the only thing I could feel right now was soft lips. Stubble scraping my jaw. The crushing, breathless silence just after I kissed him like I’d die if I didn’t.

My phone vibrated again, buzzing against my thigh.

I ignored it. Buried myself in quotes from contractors—sensible, orderly tasks.

Corporate room upgrades. Private dining refurbishments.

Replacing caddy uniforms and equipment. Things I could control .

Things that didn’t feel like Sin pressed against my skin.

I didn’t hear him until I was already in his gravity. I collided with solid heat and muscle that was so familiar now, like a brand on my body. The scent of smoke and danger curled around me. I stepped back like I’d touched fire.

Sinclair was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, his smirk sharp as a blade. One ankle crossed over the other like he didn’t have anywhere else to be. Every inch of him looked like trouble I’d never outrun. Like a man who knew he was my breaking point.

I froze mid-step. My breath caught in the back of my throat. He didn’t move. He didn’t need to. He had me right where he wanted me.

“Been avoiding me?” His voice was too casual, like a match struck in silence.

I pulled my shoulders straight, like I was preparing for war. “I’ve been working.”

“Sure,” he nodded, pushing off the frame. “So busy you can’t even look at me now?”

I tried to sidestep him, pretend I was fine, pretend I was still me —but he moved with me, shoulder brushing mine like a dare.

“Move,” I said, sharper than I’d meant to.

“Why?” he murmured, tilting his head. “Afraid of what happens if we’re alone?”

My throat tightened. “I said move.”

“Or what?” He stepped in close. “You’ll slam me against the wall and kiss me like you’re drowning again?”

“I was out of line.” My lips barely formed the words. They came out fractured. Hollow.

He laughed softly, no real humor in it. “No, you weren’t. You were honest . That’s the difference. You just can’t stand that you were.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

Sinclair’s gaze didn’t waver. “I know you want me.”

My heart stumbled.

“I see it,” he continued, softer now. “Every time you catch yourself staring. Every time you walk away with your jaw tight, like it’s the only thing keeping your whole world from falling apart.”

“You’re wrong,” I whispered, but even I didn’t believe it.

He moved in, and I felt him everywhere all at once. His body heat against my chest, his breath gliding along my jaw, his voice like silk and sin curling into my ear.

“Then why are you shaking?”

I looked down and realized I was. My fists were clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms. I was trembling— from want , from fear , from the weight of everything I couldn’t name but felt like it might crush me.

“Stop,” I rasped. “Please.”

But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

He leaned in, lips hovering near mine, not quite touching, but close enough to burn me. “Tell me you don’t think about it,” he whispered. “About touching me again. Kissing me. Having me.”

“I can’t want you.”

“But you do.” His lips brushed my cheek, featherlight. “So badly it’s tearing you apart.”

And I was torn. Shredded by it. The memory of him. His phantom touch. This impossible gravity between us—this need that felt like betrayal, like deliverance.

I knew I should walk away. But I was weak. Too far gone to rein myself back in. Instead, I turned. My lips were drawn to him by a magnetic force.

The kiss exploded out of me, violent and consuming, like it had been clawing under my skin for months. Years. Our mouths crashed together, and everything else fell away—guilt, duty, consequence.

He kissed me like he’d waited for this moment forever. I kissed him like I was dying.

His hands were in my hair, my shirt, everywhere at once, dragging me closer until there was no air left between us. I gripped his waist, his jaw, like if I let go for even a second I’d shatter and never be pieced back together.

“Fuck,” I gasped as he bit my lip and soothed it with his tongue. I slammed him back against the wall, devouring him, lost in the frantic heat of his mouth.

“You drive me insane,” I growled into his throat, kissing a path up to the sharp angle of his jaw.

He tilted his head for me, that wicked grin twisting again. “Then stop pretending you don’t love it.”

I did.

God help me, I did .

I kissed him like I wanted to erase the parts of me that still said I shouldn’t—the part that blared like a tornado siren. I kissed him like I wanted to carve this moment into my memory so deeply, it could never be taken back.

But reality hit me like ice-cold water. My father’s voice crashed into the walls of my head. “ What have you done? How could you embarrass me like this?”

Shame and fear engulfed me. I broke the kiss, panting, my hands still buried in his shirt like I didn’t know how to let go.

“This can’t happen,” I choked out. “Not again.”

He stared at me, chest heaving, lips red and kiss-bruised, pupils blown wide. I saw something flicker in him— hurt , real and vulnerable—but it vanished behind the cocky little smirk I hated almost as much as I craved.

“Too late,” he murmured.

And it was. I wasn’t the man I’d spent my whole life pretending to be anymore. I didn’t know how to go back but I had to force myself into that box again.

By Thursday night, I was a wreck. Short-tempered. Exhausted. My body was moving through the motions of responsibility, but my mind—my mind was a shattered loop of moments I couldn’t escape. Guilt curled in my gut like razor wire, coiled so tight I couldn’t breathe without feeling it cut.

I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t think. I jumped at shadows and flinched at every voice that wasn’t his.

And when I was alone, I chased memories like they were the only real thing left in my life.

His mouth. His hands. The way he looked at me, like he saw everything —the lies, the hunger, the fear—and didn’t flinch.

I’d built my world on discipline. On order. On control. A fortress of polished manners and curated distance. The perfect son. The obedient heir. A man no one could reach.

But one kiss had cracked the foundation.

The second? Shattered it.

Now I was clinging to the edge of a cliff with bleeding fingertips, slipping inch by inch toward the fall I’d sworn I’d never let happen.

Friday night, I walked into the club’s main salon just before it was due to close. I told myself I was checking on the staff and maintaining relationships with our members. That the renovations and budget reviews for the summer gala had kept me too distracted lately.

That was a lie.

I just wanted to see him. Needed to—to prove he was real and not some fever dream my guilt and longing had conjured.

He was behind the bar, polishing glasses, sleeves rolled up, those damn curls falling into his eyes. He laughed at something Thalia said—an easy, full-bodied sound that belonged to someone free .

Someone unruined. He didn’t look like he’d been kissed until he broke. He didn’t look haunted. He looked alive and healthy, the complete opposite of me. Clearly, I was the only one still drowning.

Our eyes met. Just for a second. But his smile faltered, and something deep in my chest wrenched. His gaze held mine, unmoving and heavy. As if he felt everything I was trying not to feel. He didn’t smile again, just watched me—quiet, and still—like a flame waiting for breath.