Page 45 of The Lies Of Omission (Without Limits #3)

He looked up at me, eyes darker now, more sure, hunger replacing awe. His hand curled around the back of my head and pulled me into him, mouth claiming mine with purpose. His tongue licked past my lips, stealing what was left, swallowing it like a secret between us.

“We taste good together,” he whispered, and the way he said it made it sound like a vow.

We finished redressing quickly, breath still ragged, muscles sore, the rush beginning to fade into something quieter. Theo held out his hand to me, fingers open, waiting.

“Come home with me?”

I hesitated—not because I didn’t want to, but because I was too tired to lie and too raw to pretend that this didn’t mean everything. The flicker of hope in his eyes cracked like porcelain when I didn’t answer right away.

Fuck.

“Or I can drive you home if you’d prefer space?” he said, voice careful now, shielding himself before I could even speak.

“What? No.” I licked my lips, trying to swallow down the nerves that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with how close he suddenly felt. “I was just… trying to figure out what happened to my keys.”

He laughed but tried to hide it behind a cough. It didn’t work. God, he was beautiful when he let go.

“Well, the choice is yours,” he said, holding his hand out again—no pressure, just there, steady, like he’d always be there if I wanted.

I didn’t think. I just slid my fingers between his and felt the weight of him settle into me. Solid. Warm. Real.

“You’re blushing,” I teased, tapping my chin. “You know where they are, don’t you?”

“That I might,” he said, brushing a kiss against my temple. And I melted. Just a little.

“Is that all I get?” I asked, nudging him with my shoulder.

He squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back.

We walked across the dew-slicked grass, aching, wrecked, not speaking.

Not because we didn’t have things to say—fuck knows, there were so many things to say—but because the silence didn’t feel empty.

It felt… earned. Comfortable, like we could take a moment and just be. Just breathe.

The fireworks were gone now, the sky quiet and heavy with smoke. The only sound was the soft crunch of earth beneath our feet, and the rhythmic thump of my heart relearning how to beat beside him.

Theo’s house loomed ahead—a towering, cold thing of glass and steel, all sharp lines and money. It didn’t suit him. Not really.

But inside, past the perfect furniture and lifeless art, we were met by Winston, his cat, perched on the armrest of the gray couch like a tiny tyrant surveying his kingdom. He meowed once—disdainful, judgmental—before hopping down and winding around our legs.

Theo smiled and disappeared into the kitchen, returning with two glasses of water and something stronger tucked into his elbow.

“Come on,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Let’s clean up.”

He led me upstairs to his room—too pristine, too unlived-in—and into the bathroom, where the warm light felt almost intimate in its quiet glow. He undressed me slowly like I was a prize, dropping kisses on every bit of skin he revealed.

White marble covered every surface, the soft gray marbling the only pop of color beside the chrome fixtures. My eyes dropped to his ass as he leaned into a glass cubicle big enough to fit four and started the shower.

Damp hands cupped my face, and he placed a lingering kiss on my lips. “Thank you.”

“For what?” I asked, wrapping my arms around his neck, sighing when I was draped over him. Skin to skin.

“For coming home with me.”

Five words that left me dumbfounded. It was such a simple sentence, but it meant so much more than I could put into words. Theo read me like a book, and instead of pushing for an answer, took my hand and led me into the shower.

The moment we stepped in the cubicle, the mood shifted again. Everything slowed. The raging fire that had consumed us was now a glowing ember of warmth.

Water poured over us, hot and soothing. Theo reached for the soap, lathering his hands and running them over my shoulders, down my chest, careful with every bruise and scrape. My fingers mirrored his, gliding over skin, not just washing but touching—remembering. Reassuring.

It wasn’t sexual. It was something else entirely. Devotion in its purest form. It was something I’d never felt before, and it made the backs of my eyes burn. His tenderness undid me.

He tilted his head forward as I washed his hair, eyes closed, lips parted. Vulnerable in a way I don’t think he’d ever shown anyone before. I held on to that. Carefully. Gently. Locked it away in my heart.

Theo spun me around, the hot water cascading down over my head.

He tipped my chin back with one finger, gentle but commanding.

My eyes fluttered closed as his hands sank into my hair, fingers threading through the tangles like he was trying to unravel something deeper.

He worked shampoo into my scalp, massaging it with a kind of reverence that made my chest ache.

He pressed a soft kiss to the bridge of my nose. A simple thing. A devastating thing.

I smiled. A real one. Not the kind I wore like armor.

Water sluiced down my spine as the suds washed away. I slipped my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek to the crook of his neck, his slick skin sliding against mine in a way that felt too intimate, too necessary.

“Thank you, baby,” I murmured, my voice breaking against his skin.

His arms came around me. Tight. Grounding.

“What for?” he asked, his voice soft, but his eyes told a different story—troubled, searching, afraid of the answer.

“For taking care of me,” I croaked, the words falling from my lips like something jagged. “No one’s ever done that before… not like you just did.”

He stared at me, something flickering behind his gaze—pain or rage or helpless love, I couldn’t tell. But he didn’t press, didn’t make me repeat it or explain. He just took my hand and led me out of the shower like I was something fragile and holy.

“Come on.”

We dried off in silence, letting the space between us speak louder than words. Bodies brushing, towels exchanged, fingers trailing down damp skin. Every touch was a question. Every smile, an answer.

When we finally crawled into his bed—our skin still warm from the shower, hair damp on the pillows—I curled against him like I belonged there. My hand found his chest, fingers splayed over his heart.

It was still racing.

So was mine.

His fingers found mine beneath the covers, weaving together in a rhythm that was becoming too familiar, too needed.

“So…” he whispered, barely audible. “What happens now?”

I looked at him. Open. Unarmored. Honest. Something in me stilled at the sight of him like this—not perfect, not whole, but trying. Not safe. But real.

“Now?” I echoed, brushing my lips over his knuckles. “Now we find out what it means to survive each other.”

His breath hitched, the air caught in his throat like he wasn’t sure if he was about to laugh or cry. Then he nodded. Pulling me closer until our foreheads touched, breaths mingling in the narrow space between. His heart beat against my palm like a drum in the dark.

In that fragile, dangerous calm—we let ourselves fall.

Sleep took me quickly. The last thing I heard was the steady rhythm beneath my hand, that wild, desperate metronome that meant: I’m still here.