The doctor’s voice gains an even harder edge. “He’s made it clear he can’t talk to you about his condition, so frankly, I’m not inclined to talk to you about it either.”
I drain the rest of the whiskey in my glass. It burns a fiery path down my throat, mirroring the blaze of insanity scorching its way through my brain.
Maybe the reason Theo can’t talk to me about his hallucinations is because I play a starring role in them. Maybe what he thinks are hallucinations are something else entirely.
For instance, memories.
In a shaking voice, I say, “Dr. Garner, do you believe in reincarnation?”
“No,” he says flatly, “and I don’t believe in Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy either. If you want to help your husband, convince him to continue his stay at Acadia.”
“Continue? You mean…”
“He’s completed the treatment period he signed up for. I don’t believe he’s a threat to himself or anyone else, so there’s nothing I can do to keep him here, but I strongly believe a stable, therapeutic environment like the one we offer here is in his best interests.”
I stand, balance myself on the kitchen counter for support, straighten my shoulders, and take a grounding breath. When I blow it out, I’m filled with new resolve.
“I’ll tell you what’s in his best interests. Being home with me.”
I hang up, go upstairs, and crawl under the covers next to Theo, who’s sleeping as still and silent as death on Cass’s side of the bed.
* * *
I wake in the quiet gray hours before dawn, burning hot and disoriented. I spend a moment in that hazy space between dreams and reality, my limbs and eyelids heavy, my heart thudding a slow and steady pace.
A hand, strong and rough, slides up my thigh.
Here’s the source of all that heat: Theo’s wrapped around me like a blanket. His legs are drawn up behind mine, his chest is pressed against my back, one muscular arm pillows my head. His lips brush the nape of my neck.
His erection is a different heat, rock hard and throbbing against my bottom.
He slides his hand over my hip and rib cage and cups my breast, lazily thumbing my nipple until it stiffens. His mouth, hot and wet, opens over my shoulder.
I whisper, “Good morning.”
In response, he presses his teeth gently into my skin.
“Did you sleep well?”
He sucks where his teeth have just been, sliding his hand down my belly and between my legs. I inhale a quiet breath when he touches that most sensitive part of me. With slow, stroking circles, his fingers work their magic. Within moments, I’m softly moaning, turning my head for his kiss.
He takes my mouth. The kiss is deep and erotic, as unhurried as his hands. Soon I’m making a mewling sound in my throat, needing more.
He gives it to me.
Spreading my legs with his knee, he slides his erection between my thighs and uses his hand to guide it between my wetness. But he doesn’t push inside—he strokes back and forth, his shaft sliding through my folds as he continues to work me with his fingers.
I make a small sound of pleasure, rocking my hips in time to his soft, even strokes.
He goes on like that, maddeningly slow, until I start to breathe raggedly and push harder against him. A noise rumbles through his chest, deep and dark, the sound of his desire. He grasps my inner thigh, lifts my leg higher, and cants his hips until he gets the right angle. With one sure thrust, he slides inside.
I arch, moan, shudder. He flattens his hand over my stomach and holds me against his body as he starts to pump into me, shallowly at first, until the greedy movement of my hips forces him deeper.
Then he rolls me onto my belly, fists a hand in my hair, and fucks me until I’m gasping.
I come hard, my fingers digging into the mattress, animal noises of pleasure raw in my throat. He grunts his approval, his breath ragged, his body heavy and hard against my back. I think he’s going to come too, but he slows, withdraws, then flips me over. Then he lowers himself between my thighs and kisses me deeply as he pushes inside.
It’s so good. So natural. He feels like heaven.
He feels like mine.
I hook my ankles around his back and twist my fingers into his hair, pulling hard because I can’t get him deep enough, close enough. I want more of him. More of everything.
He starts to lose himself. I feel it in the way his arms shake, hear it in the deep rasps of his breath, see it in his face as his brows draw together in the kind of pleasure so acute, it’s almost pain. With every thrust of his pelvis, my nipples drag against his chest. He bends his head and takes one into his mouth, then sucks hard as he starts to buck uncontrollably, pumping deep and groaning around my flesh.
“Ah—Theo!”