Gentleman Sinner

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  His mouth stays exactly where it is, sucking me gently. “I’ve got you,” he mumbles, kissing my clit tenderly, and then slowly circling it with the tip of his tongue. “I’ve got you.” He slowly stands, his cock dragging across my skin as he rises to his full height while I heave against the tiles, soaking wet, my body singing with satisfaction. Theo studies me as my vision clears of the brain-blanking lust, taking his fingertip and drawing a perfect soft line down my cheek. “Stay there,” he orders, breaking away and reaching for his cock. He starts to pump over his arousal with a loose fist, his back meeting the curved glass opposite me, and I fall instantly under the exquisite spell of Theo pleasuring himself. My skin tingles as I watch his hand glide effortlessly over his taut skin, the head visibly throbbing. My eyes want to savor every piece of the vision, as well as his body reacting to the pleasure. His chest expands, controlled at first but growing more and more erratic with every stroke, and the vein in his neck balloons. His throat rolls on each swallow, his eyes are heavy, low, and lustful. And his thighs are spread slightly, the huge muscles tensing and releasing. When his body suddenly jolts, I hold my breath, anticipating his release as much as Theo clearly is, his fist now pumping, his mouth open and gasping for breath. “Come here,” he demands harshly. “Kiss me.”

  I push away from the wall in a flash and pace over to him, capturing his lips, my hands thankfully held securely behind my back by the cuffs. “Oh, Jesus,” he chokes into my mouth, his tongue not smooth now, more clumsy and stabbing. He pulls away and rests his head against the glass, looking at me, his arm moving fast. I bite my lip and meet his stare, watching as his climax builds in his eyes. His pupils are dilated so much I can hardly see the blue, and now the tip of his cock is sitting on my stomach as he thrusts back and forth. The heat could burn a hole in my flesh. I don’t think I’ll ever witness such an erotic sight again. I’m not even touching him, yet the pleasure dancing through me is immense. And when he holds his breath and his teeth clench, I know it’s time. I zero in on his eyes as he yells, his chest heaving, his hand slowing, and his fiery essence hits my stomach in long, surging spurts as Theo’s body rolls against the glass. I’ve had no climax myself this time, but the gratification I’m rewarded with, just watching him fight his way through his pleasure, is more than enough.

  He releases himself and slides down the glass to his arse, looking overcome, totally out of it. His head drops back, his eyes close, and he brings his knees up to rest his arms on.

  I take myself to the floor, too, sitting on my knees opposite him. And I wait patiently for him to come back down to earth. It’s a good few minutes before he shows signs of lucidity, time I’m happy to spend admiring him slumped on the floor before me.

  I smile when he finally finds the energy he needs to open his eyes. “Morning,” I whisper.

  His beam nearly blinds me. “Morning?” he asks groggily, reaching for me and gently turning me around. He removes the cuffs and massages my wrists for a few blissful seconds, humming. His gesture is sweet but not needed. I’m in no pain, the padded cuffs seeing to that. I let him pull me onto his lap, his hands guiding mine around his neck. “It could be, sweetheart. I wouldn’t know. Time melts away when I’m with you.”

  I settle on him, cuddling into his chest happily, feeling so appreciative. I don’t think I have ever felt so utterly cherished.

  Or safe.

  Chapter 14

  He washed me down in his shower, shampooed my hair and rinsed, working his strong fingers through my scalp. The act wasn’t sexual. It was loving and caring, and it did nothing to stop my feelings from deepening. When Theo said he would treat me like a queen, he really meant it.

  I have a fresh glass of wine in my hand as I roam around his bedroom, snuggled tightly in a soft robe, admiring the décor. I eye each post of his four-poster bed as my lips hover over the rim of my glass, and then take in the sumptuous bedding—all creams and golds and huge great big pillows. A dressing room off to the side is lined with rows of suits, and the bathroom is massive and drenched in lushness. Everything is over-the-top big. Like Theo.

  I pad through to the lounge, working my way around the room, gazing up at the framed portraits as I sip my wine. After our shower, I feel alive and refreshed. Being here with Theo, immersed in his world, I forget my draining day. I hold the glass at my lips and frown at the painting currently before me, a pretty depiction of the Last Supper. It’s another religious symbol, and Theo, apparently, isn’t religious. In the reflection of the glass, I see the bright sparkle in my eyes bouncing back at me. It’s a rare sight. I’ve never felt so happy, so relaxed and safe—shielded from my past and the world. Theo makes me so happy. He makes me feel valued. Untouchable. So special, and completely consumed.

  I don’t understand it, but I can’t ignore it. Trying to reflect back on my life without Theo in it is impossible, because his presence now is so powerful, anything before is diluted by it. And that is so very appealing. He’s chasing away the fear I fight to keep buried every day. He’s soothing my hidden sadness. He’s given me something I didn’t realize I wanted.

  Safety.

  He feels like he could be my…I let my thoughts fade there, telling myself that I’m getting ahead of myself. Or am I? I consume his thoughts, invade his dreams, and he craves my touch. For a man who doesn’t like to be touched, that’s a profound confession. He’s made me endless promises, told me I can trust him. I’ve never once doubted that. I trust him with my life. And I trust him with my heart.

  I return to my earlier thought, the one I stopped myself from thinking. And though it scares me a little, I admit that he feels like he could be my cure. And I also admit that I’m falling for him.

  I breathe in and laugh a little on my exhale. You silly woman, Izzy. I’m not falling. I’ve fallen. Hard. So damn hard. It’s an incredible feeling. One of hope, peace, and happiness. Just like I imagined. It’s also unstoppable, and that’s terrifying. I’ve been in control of my emotions for so long. I’ve dictated the rules, managed my fears. Now, I’m at his mercy. My heart is at his mercy. My feelings are his to control.

  I’ve fallen in love with a man who is feared by most but has shown me nothing but utter tenderness since we met. I’ve fallen in love with a man who pulled a gun on someone but was doing it to defend and protect me. I’ve fallen in love with a man who radiates violence, but I just know he would never be violent toward me. I’ve fallen in love with a man who can’t bear to be touched but craves my touch. I’ve fallen in love with a man who has a natural, powerful urge to protect me. To look after me. Yet I don’t really know him. Do I need to? Can I leave my heart open and exposed to a man who is so confounding? “Don’t hurt me, Theo,” I whisper to myself. “Don’t let me down.”

  A noise behind me has me pivoting and finding him filling the doorway to his bedroom, a towel wrapped around his lean hips. My head tilts, and I fall into a daydream, running my gaze over every inch of him until I reach his smiling eyes. His face. Fierce but angelic. “I love you,” I whisper to myself, so quietly I know he couldn’t have heard me.

  He gives me a questioning look, his smile fading a little. “Did you say something?”

  I clutch my glass with both hands and shake my head. “No.”

  “Your lips moved.”

  “I was praying for resistance.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can’t touch you, and when you’re there like that, it’s really hard, Theo. It’s hard all of the time.”

  When I expect him to look smug, he surprises me and drops his eyes to the floor, ashamed. “I’m sorry.”

  “No.” I rush to soothe him, trying to locate something in my head to counteract the playful statement that’s injured him. “Don’t be sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” I, too, drop my head, annoyed with myself. I don’t ever want him to be sorry for being who he is. Because every single thing that makes him Theo Kane is why I’m standing here in his lounge making my silent confessions.

  I hear a s
oft sigh, and then soon after see his bare feet in my downcast vision. “Here.” He takes my glass from my hand and places it on a nearby table before claiming my hands. I look up through my lashes as he negotiates my arms around his shoulders, flattening my palms on his nape. The softness of his hair there calls for me to stroke and feel, so I flex my fingers gently until Theo releases. I exhale deeply and caress him tenderly as he shuts his eyes and hums. It’s so strange that such a big, formidable man needs to be handled with such care. “That feels good,” he murmurs dreamily, moving in and taking my hips. His heat radiates through the thick material of my robe and penetrates me to my soul.

  Shifting one palm to my nape, he pushes my face into the crook of his neck, forcing me onto my tiptoes. I smile into his skin. Even our cuddles are carefully controlled.

  “Come lie down on the bed with me.” He lifts me from my feet and carries me into his bedroom, settling me gently on the colossal bed. “Comfy?” he asks with a crooked smile, sinking into the covers beside me, pulling at my hip to face him.

  Comfy doesn’t cut it. I could be floating on clouds. “So-so.” I shrug, resting my head into the squishy pillow.

  His smile is a vision, and we lie there for a while, facing each other, our noses just a few millimeters apart. I spend the time running continuous circuits of his face, reaching forward to feel the bristle of his jaw.

  “Tell me who that man was,” he says, breaking the silence.

  “At the hospital?”

  “Yes.”

  “I did tell you. He’s the son of a patient.”

  “I thought you might have been lying.”

  “I wasn’t,” I reply, a little injured. I wonder for a moment if Theo thought Percy’s son was someone else—like the man I’ve run from. Part of me wishes he were. Part of me wishes he’d found me, because I could guarantee he wouldn’t come near me again after encountering Theo Kane.

  A frown that vanishes from his brow as quickly as it appears leads me to believe I was right. “Then why did he attack you?”

  “His father died today.”

  “He attacked you because his father died?”

  “He was looking for someone to blame, as any grieving relative might do. It’s happened before, though not to that extent. We get shouted at, accused of incompetence, but it’s all part of the job.” I shrug.

  His eyes narrow a little. He doesn’t understand. “You heal people.”

  “I try to help them get better, yes.”

  Theo falls quiet, seeming to think deeply about something. The sight is fascinating, the giant man quiet and contemplating. “Why did you decide to become a nurse?” His hand moves to my neck, to the place Frank left his claw marks.

  I look out the corner of my eye to his hand touching my skin softly. “Because hospitals are safe places,” I whisper mindlessly under the amazing feeling of his touch.

  “Safe?” he questions. “Izzy, in the short time I’ve known you, an old man has tried to strangle you and a pissed-off relative tried to…” His words fade, and he shakes away his obvious dread.

  “I was handling myself just fine,” I argue softly, dragging the pad of my thumb across his bottom lip. My fear isn’t of physical pain; I can handle pain. It’s more psychological. The feeling of complete helplessness. Of being weak. Vulnerable. But I wouldn’t expect Theo to understand. Neither do I want to tell him. So I say nothing more, because I don’t know what to say. I’m not up for laying bare my nasty history. Besides, Theo is keeping the reasons for his phobia to himself. It might be childish, but I’m not comfortable with him having more on me than I have on him. Yet if this thing between us is serious, are we really going to hold back our secrets from each other? Can we do that? Should we do that? I breathe in deep, close my eyes, and remember my mother’s happy face. Her joy. Her spirit. But just as quickly, that lovely image vanishes, replaced by her sad, empty eyes. She would love to know there was someone in my life to look after me. She’d take comfort in that, I know it. How many times did I wonder if she was looking down on me, shouting at me for the decision I made? How many times did she turn in her grave when I…?

  I feel something take hold of my jaw, and I flinch, recoiling so Theo loses his hold on me. I snap my eyes open to remind myself of where I am, then just as quickly scold myself for letting my mind wander. Theo pulls away, wary, regarding me carefully. “You’ve never done that before,” he whispers, his brow becoming heavy. “You’ve never startled when I’ve touched you. Why now, Izzy? Where were your thoughts?”

  I fall into my shell, not liking his probing questions or looks, and roll over, getting up from the bed. My instinct is to flee. Fight or flee. It’s always been flee. Fighting never paid off. It just resulted in extreme physical scars to accompany the mental scars. Whether I’ve fled by shutting my mind down, blanking it all out, or by physically running, it was always flee.

  I stride across the room to the bathroom, coming to a startled stop when Theo rounds me and fills the door, a palm braced on each side of the frame to block my way. I stare at his chest, my hands nervously twiddling the end of my robe’s tie.

  “Share with me,” he says gently. “Please, Izzy.”

  I square my shoulders and look up at him, filling myself with fake resolve. “What about you? Will you share, too?”

  “You don’t need to hear of my crimes.” Theo’s tone suggests I really don’t, and my fortitude wavers as I step away from him.

  “And you don’t need to hear of my tragedies,” I counter with grit that I’m really not feeling. I would love to offload every tiny detail of my horrid past. To stop hiding it, to relieve the pressure of the secrets. To face it head-on and find some kind of complete closure. But I’m scared now, more than ever. He’ll hate me as much as I hated myself, and I wouldn’t blame him.

  “Who are you?” Theo asks, keeping me in place with a steely gaze. “Why aren’t you on social media?”

  I suck in air. What? “You’ve looked me up? Why would you do that?”

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t Googled me.”

  My hesitation is a sign of my guilt. “For what use it was, yes.”

  “What’s your story, Izzy White?”

  “What’s yours, Theo Kane?” I retort.

  He smiles a little in understanding and drops his hands from the doorframe, letting them hang by his side. I can see his chest pumping in time to the feel of mine. All this delving into my past, albeit unproductive for Theo, is challenging me. I’ve thought about it more since I met him than I have since running away. I don’t want to think about it. Ever.

  “I’m a man most are wary of,” he says quietly, studying me closely as he speaks.

  He must realize that he’s telling me something I already know. “Why are they wary?”

  “Because they’re scared.”

  “To touch you,” I say, and he nods. “Why can’t they touch you?”

  His jaw pulses a little, and I see with perfect clarity how much effort it’s taking to tell me, which only leaves me increasingly worried. Even just talking about his phobia stokes his temper. “I don’t like being touched when I’m not expecting it.” Theo’s chest visibly pulses as he gets a hold of himself. “I need warning to prepare myself. I’ve learned to read people, to predict their moves, but it’s a constant challenge. It’s exhausting, hence the control of my home.” He pauses for a beat, letting me absorb it all. “Your touch sinks past my skin, Izzy. It warms me. With you, I barely need to think. My body responds to you. I don’t know why, but it does.”

  “Except in bed.”

  “While I’m lost in you, I want only to be lost in you. I won’t risk losing my focus when we’re intimate. Like I’ve promised you before, I won’t hurt you, not in any way.” He gives my cheek a light brush with his palm, his smile fond as I nuzzle into his hand. “I hope you believe me.”

  “I do,” I assure him, feeling a little overcome. “I’ve never doubted that part of you.”

  Dropping a kiss on my lips,
he strokes over the curve of my arse. “Now, tell me about you,” he mumbles against my mouth.

  I withdraw fast, and it is complete instinct. “What?” I feel myself folding in once again.

  “I’ve shared, now I want to know about you.”

  I stare at him, seeing the questions in his eyes. Yes, he’s shared, but I’m certain there must be more to it than that. Like why he’s like he is. But this has to be give and take, right? He’s shared a little, and if I want this to work—and I so do—then I have to reciprocate, no matter how much it hurts. “My mother died of cancer when I was seventeen. She was all I had, and I…” I gulp, battling with my instinct to run before I can be forced to share something I really do not want to share. “We weren’t rich. We only had each other, so I had nothing when she was gone. No home, no money. I needed money.”

  Theo is quiet for a second, and I just know it’s because he’s trying to hold back from asking the question that I really don’t want him to ask. But, of course, he does, ignoring the pleading in my eyes. “So what did you do?”

  I look down, so ashamed of myself. Not just for what I’m about to tell him, but for bending the truth. “I was a stripper, Theo. I took my clothes off for men.” I wish that was all there was to tell. I so wish that was the end of my story.

  I see him move away a little. Like I’m dirt. “A stripper,” he murmurs, so quietly.

  “I’m not proud.”

  “How old were you?”

  I’m wincing again. “Seventeen.” I hear a low growl. “It wasn’t for long. I scraped some money together and got out.” Another lie. “I hated not being able to ease my mother’s pain when she was ill. It was natural for me to study medicine. So I left Manchester and came to London. I wanted to be a doctor, but I couldn’t afford the fees. Nursing was the next best thing. It was as far as I could go on my own.” That much is the truth. The rest of the horrid story will remain under lock and key. I look up to Theo, hating the undeniable shock on his face. Shock and disgust. It’s exactly the reaction I expected, but was so hoping I wouldn’t get. And now I hope he regrets probing me. “I’ll leave.” I back up, feeling filthy, humiliated, and empty once again.