Page 20 of Writhe (Wellard Asylum)

His lips are soft, lingering against mine like he’s memorizing the shape of me. I feel his breath, the slight tremble in his body as he presses closer. He’s always wanted me, but not like this. I cup his face, my thumbs tracing the dark smudges beneath his eyes.

“Let me love you,” I whisper.

He freezes, his breath hitching. I can feel the war inside him, the hesitation, the fear. Theo doesn’t know what love is—not the kind that doesn’t hurt, the kind that doesn’t demand submission as proof.

But after a moment, he nods. I guide him down, my hands soft against his skin, my touch slow and unhurried. I press my lips to his forehead, to the sharp cut of his cheekbone, down the length of his throat. His pulse thrums beneath my mouth, wild and uneven.

He shudders. I know I should be afraid—I should think about what the Doctor would do if he found out. What he would say if he saw us like this, wrapped around each other, without him.

But I don’t care. I love Theo. I press my lips to his forehead, then lower, kissing the bridge of his nose, the sharp edge of his cheekbone. “You don’t have to be strong right now,” I murmur against his skin. “Not with me.”

Theo exhales sharply, like I’ve just stolen the breath from his lungs.

His grip tightens, fingers curling into my hips, but he doesn’t resist—doesn’t push, doesn’t take.

I tilt his chin up, making him look at me.

His pupils are blown wide, his lips parted, his expression raw and unguarded.

He looks wrecked. And I love him broken.

I kiss him slowly, coaxing him into it, letting him feel every ounce of warmth I pour into the connection. His lips are dry and chapped from biting them too hard—from swallowing down things he’ll never say—but I taste them all now. His grief. His longing. His unspoken promises.

I push the fabric of his shirt up his torso, exposing skin that’s littered with bruises, some fresh, some faded into dull yellow stains.

I trace them with my fingers, then press my lips to each one, dragging my mouth over the sharp ridges of his ribs, the delicate planes of his abdomen.

His hands flex at his sides, like he doesn’t know what to do with them, like he’s waiting for permission.

“You can touch me,” I murmur against his stomach, my lips brushing just above his navel.

Theo groans softly, his hands lifting, sliding into my hair as I work my way lower. My tongue flicks over the hollow of his hip, my nails scraping lightly down his sides, and he trembles.

“Eliza . . .”

I lift my head, meeting his gaze. His chest rises and falls in rapid succession, his entire body tight with restraint. “Relax,” I whisper, kissing just below his ribs. “I’ve got you.”

He lets out a shaky breath. “I don’t know how.”

I climb back up his body, leaning up to straddle his hips before I gently pull down his sweatpants to reveal his cock.

It’s a beautiful thing, with strong veins on either side.

When he fucks me with it, I can feel them.

I drag my hands down his chest, feeling the way his stomach tightens under my touch, the way he’s holding himself together by a thread. “Let go,” I whisper.

Theo moans when I push him back into the pillows, then I take his cock into both of my hands and begin to stroke him slowly.

I gather as much spit in my mouth as I can, and slowly let it dribble out of my mouth onto the head of his cock, watching the way his lip’s part, the way his brows draw together in something that looks almost like pain.

But it’s not pain, it’s surrender.

His fingers tangle in the sheets, his breathing ragged, his body tense as I lower myself to press soft, open-mouthed kisses to his hip bones, teasing, tasting. His moans are quiet, choked-off sounds, like he’s trying to hold himself back, keep himself contained.

I don’t want him to. I want him wild. When I finally take him into my mouth, he jerks, his hands flying to my hair, his fingers tightening reflexively. A strangled sound rips from his throat, his body arching beneath me. “Eliza—fuck.”

I hum against him, savoring the way he comes apart. His thighs tremble beneath my hands, his breath shattering as I drag my tongue along the sensitive underside of him. He’s so beautiful like this—so undone, so desperate.

His control is slipping. I can feel it in the way his fingers tighten, the way his hips rock up despite himself. “Stop,” he gasps, tugging me up.

I blink at him, my lips slick, my breath unsteady. “Did I hurt you? ”

He shakes his head frantically, eyes dark and wild. “No—fuck—just . . .” He pulls me into his lap, his fingers framing my jaw. “I need you.”

There’s a question in his gaze, uncertainty wrapped in hunger. He wants to take it, but he doesn’t know how to ask.

I answer by climbing on top of him again, lifting up my nightgown where my soaked pussy is waiting for him.

Slowly, I sink down onto him, gasping at the stretch, at the way he fills me, the way he belongs inside me.

Theo groans, his head falling back against the pillows, his fingers bruising against my hips.

I brace my hands against his chest, rolling my hips.

“Look at me,” I whisper. His lashes flutter, and when his gaze locks onto mine, I see everything he doesn’t say.

Love.

It’s in the way he clutches me, like I’m the only thing tethering him to the earth.

In the way he traces my lips with his fingers.

In the way, he gives himself to me. Our rhythm is slow, deep, every roll of my hips met with a strangled moan, every whispered name met with hands that worship—plead.

My pleasure builds in waves, cresting higher and higher with every sharp thrust, every breathless whisper.

My nails sink into his shoulders, and Theo growls, his hands gripping me tighter, his body snapping up into mine.

“Messy, desperate, perfect. Just how I want you. Fuck, Eliza.”

I swallow his cries with my lips, dragging him deeper, letting him consume me, letting him lose himself inside me.

But when the pleasure peaks, when I shatter, Theo breaks alongside me.

His moan is raw, his arms wrapping around me, crushing me against him as he spills inside me, his entire body shuddering beneath mine.

I follow him over the edge, my vision going white, my breath stolen, my body wracked with pleasure so intense it’s almost painful.

For long moments, neither of us speak. We just breathe. Theo’s arms stay locked around me, his body still trembling. I press my lips to his temple, smoothing damp hair from his forehead. “I love you,” I whisper.

His fingers curl into my skin, his voice so quiet I almost don’t hear it. “I love you, too.”

A shudder rolls through me because I know that love isn’t enough to save us. But right now, at this moment, I let myself pretend that it is.

Afterward, Theo holds me. His body is warm against mine, his arms locked around me like he’s afraid I’ll slip through his fingers if he lets go. His heartbeat is erratic beneath my cheek, his skin damp, his breath still uneven.

For the first time, there is no urgency between us. No hunger, no violence, no edge of desperation threatening to consume us both. Just this. The quiet aftermath, the fragile peace of tangled limbs and whispered breaths in the dark.

I close my eyes, letting myself sink into it, into him. Theo presses his lips to my hair. “We’ll get better,” he murmurs. “The Doctor will help us.”

Something on my chest clenches. I don’t move. I don’t breathe.

He believes it.

After everything—the pain, the bruises, the way the Doctor bends us and breaks us and stitches us back together with cruelty disguised as kindness, Theo still thinks there’s a way out. That if we just follow the rules, if we submit, if we behave, we’ll be fixed.

We’ll be saved.

A lump forms in my throat. I want to believe him. I want to close my eyes and picture a future where we aren’t trapped behind these sterile white walls, where the sound of locks clicking into place isn’t a lullaby we’ve learned to live with.

Where we aren’t just two broken people trying to make something whole out of the wreckage. But I know better. The Doctor isn’t our salvation. He’s our cage.

I curl closer, pressing my face against Theo’s chest, inhaling the salt of his skin, the lingering scent of sweat and something deeper beneath it. His arms tighten around me instinctively, his body curving around mine like a shield, like he can keep me safe.

But there is no safety here.

Not for me.

Not for him.

“We’ll get better,” I whisper back, the words catching on my tongue. “We’ll be together. ”

Theo exhales shakily, like he’s relieved, like he needed to hear me say it.

I close my eyes, burying myself in the warmth of his body, in the illusion of comfort. The lie sits heavy in my chest, a dull ache spreading beneath my ribs.

Because I know the truth.

And it doesn’t matter how many times I say the words, how many times I whisper them against his skin, against the walls of this prison we pretend is temporary.

If I say it enough times, maybe I’ll believe it too.