jealous theo, my fav 18+
enemies to lovers! (size kink warning) this one is loooong
Very few things managed to truly burrow under your skin.
A Gryffindor celebrating a win like they’d personally invented victory. Someone leaving their disgusting mess for house-elves to deal with. And, most infuriating of all, Theodore Nott.
He was a constant, walking irritation. The crude, suggestive jokes he lobbed specifically to make your cheeks burn, the dark, rolling timbre of his laugh that reached you no matter how loud the room or how hard you tried to ignore it, and those damn storm-grey eyes that always , always, found you like they were hunting.
Tonight, though, he wasn’t just looking.
He was staring.
You’d pushed far beyond your usual boundaries for this last-minute Ravenclaw party. The black dress you’d chosen clung to every dangerous curve you normally kept hidden beneath tailored robes. Low-cut enough to feel sinful, short enough that every step reminded you how exposed you were. The firewhisky your dance partner kept tipping into your mouth had set your blood alight. Your skin tingling, cheeks flushed, the room pulsing in time with your heartbeat.
You didn’t even know his name properly. Jake? Jacob? Something forgettable. What you did notice was the clean, cedar-and-citrus scent of his cologne, the confident way his hands settled on your waist, the warm drag of his palms as they slid lower, guiding your hips to the heavy bass. For once you let yourself sink into it, let your body roll against his, let your fingers trail up the back of his neck. A small rebellion. A reminder that you didn’t need anyone’s permission to feel good.
But Theodore Nott's stupidly handsome face was ruining it.
He hadn’t moved from his spot against the far wall. His long legs crossed at the ankle, cigarette hanging loosely between two long fingers, smoke curling lazily upward. His eyes were locked on you with an intensity that made your stomach clench. The easy smirk he usually wore was gone. In its place was something darker. Jaw tight, pupils blown, a muscle ticking beneath the sharp line of his cheekbone.
You should have looked away.
Instead you arched your back a little more dramatically, pressed your ass back against your partner’s hips, let your head tip back onto his shoulder so your throat was bared. If Theo wanted to glare, let him choke on the sight.
Theo wished he was choking.
It would be a cleaner explanation for the vise tightening around his throat every time that Hufflepuff prick’s hands wandered a fraction too low, fingers splaying possessively over the curve of your hip like he had any claim to you. Choking would be easier than admitting to Enzo, to Blaise, to fucking anyone that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, of all people. The same sharp-tongued Slytherin who’d spent years trading venom with him like it was fucking foreplay.
He hated almost everything about you.
The way your smart-ass mouth could cut deeper than any hex, quick and precise, always aimed right at his ego. The infuriating kindness you showed everyone else. Your dumb soft smiles for first-years, easy laughs with the girls in the common room, even a patient ear for that whiny Ravenclaw prefect who wouldn’t shut up about N.E.W.T.s. Everyone but him. To Theo, you were ice and barbs, and he reveled in melting that frost just to watch you flush crimson and spit fire back.
He loved to fluster you. Loved the way your eyes would narrow, lips parting in outrage before you snarled something cutting. Loved pushing until your composure cracked and you shoved him against a wall or stormed off with that delicious sway in your hips.
What he did not love—what was currently carving a hole through his chest—was that fucking dress. Black fabric so tight it looked painted on, clinging to every dip and swell like it was daring him to peel it off. The neckline plunged low, silver snake pendant glinting between the soft swell of your breasts with every breath. The hem skimmed scandalously high, flashing perfect thigh with each sway to the music. Why did you even own something so offending? And that Hufflepuff nerd was treating your waist like his personal playground.
Theo’s cigarette burned forgotten between his fingers, ash crumbling to the floor as he watched the boy’s palm slide lower, cupping the underside of your ass for one brazen second. Your head tipped back on a laugh all light and tipsy and fucking irritating. Something in Theo’s gut twisted viciously at just the idea of you leaving with him.
Before the thought could even solidify fully in his mind and before he could talk himself out of it with another drag of smoke or a muttered curse. Theo crushed the cigarette under the heel of his boot, the ember hissing out against the sticky floor like a warning he ignored.
Ruining your little dance was better than letting you slip away into some dimly lit corridor with that spineless Hufflepuff, letting him fumble through disappointing, half-hearted sex that would leave you unsatisfied and scowling tomorrow. Really, if you thought about it, he was doing you a favor. Protecting you from mediocrity.
He cut through the crowd like a shadow given purpose, long strides eating distance until he was right behind your date. You didn’t startle when his presence registered—didn’t flinch at the sudden wall of heat and cedar-and-smoke cologne that enveloped you both. Your partner, though? He stiffened instantly, shoulders hunching as if he’d felt the blade before it even touched skin.
Theo’s eyes were cold steel, lips curved in that dark, amused tilt that promised violence wrapped in velvet. The Hufflepuff spun, took one look at the towering Slytherin looming over him with broad shoulders blocking the light, jaw clenched, grey eyes promising something psychotic. The color drained from his face before you even made eye contact.
“S-sorry, I—uh—getting a drink,” he stammered, tail tucked so fast it was almost comical. Then he was gone, melting into the throng like he’d never existed.
You feigned disappointment beautifully, eyes narrowing into slits as you turned to face the culprit. Chin high, lips pursed in that way that always made Theo want to bite them until they bled. “Do you need something, Nott? Think scaring my date off is going to finally get me to fuck you?”
Theo closed his eyes for one single, measured second, inhaling through his nose, forcing the red haze of rage and raw want back behind his teeth. He wanted to bend you over the nearest table right then, yank that sinful dress up around your waist, and spank your ass raw until it glowed crimson, until tears streaked your cheeks and you sobbed apologies between broken moans. The fantasy alone made his cock throb painfully against the confines of his trousers, thickening further at the memory of how you’d looked strutting past him earlier in this horrible dress.
He didn’t think twice.
One hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your waist and yanking you flush against him hard enough that your breasts crushed to his chest, hips slotting together with brutal precision. His erection dug shamelessly into your lower belly, thick and insistent through the fabric, letting you feel exactly what your little show had done to him.
His breath was hot against the shell of your ear, voice a low growl that vibrated straight down your spine. “Watch your fucking mouth.”
A shiver ripped through you traitorous and immediate. Your thighs pressed together instinctively, slick heat blooming between them at the dark promise in his tone. Your voice came out embarrassingly breathy, cheeks burning despite yourself. “Yeah? Or what?”
Theo’s free hand slid up, cupping the back of your neck, his thumb pressing just under your jaw, tilting your head back so you had no choice but to meet his molten gaze. His lips brushed the corner of your mouth, not quite a kiss, more a threat.
“Or I’ll fuck it,” he whispered, each word deliberate, filthy. “Right here. Shove you to your knees in front of every single person in this room, pull that smart mouth open, and stuff my cock down your throat until you’re choking on me. Until the only thing you can say is my name around my dick.”
Your breath hitched audibly, nipples hardening against the thin fabric of your dress, core clenching around nothing at the vivid image. You hated how wet the threat made you, hated how your body responded to his violence like it was praise.
Theo felt the subtle tremor in your frame, the way your hips shifted forward just enough to grind against the hard length pressing into you. His grip tightened, possessive, bruising.
“You think that little Hufflepuff could ever make you this worked up?” he murmured, lips grazing your pulse point, teeth scraping just enough to sting. “He’d fumble, come too fast, leave you aching and unsatisfied. Me? I’d ruin you. Split you open on my cock until you’re sobbing, begging, coming so hard you forget how to hate me.”
Your hands fisted in his shirt, whether to shove him away or pull him closer, you aren't sure. “You’re delusional.”
“Liar.” His thigh wedged between yours without warning, pressing up against the damp heat soaking through your lace. The friction sent sparks shooting up your spine; a soft, involuntary whimper escaped before you could swallow it.
Theo’s eyes darkened to near-black. “Doesn't feel like I'm delusional sweetheart. Now tell me again how much you hate me while you’re dripping down my thigh.”
You opened your mouth but he swallowed any sound you could make with a bruising kiss. All teeth and fury and years of tension snapping like a curse finally cast. You bit back just as hard, nails raking down his back, tasting smoke and whisky and the sharp edge of everything you’d both pretended not to want.
When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing ragged, foreheads pressed together.
“Upstairs,” he ordered, voice wrecked. “Now. Or I make good on that promise right here.”
You didn’t argue.
You let him haul you through the crowd with his hand possessive on the small of your back, erection still evident, pulse roaring between your legs, knowing the night was about to burn everything you’d built between you to ash.
The door clicked shut with a finality that echoed in the sudden quiet, the muffled bass from the party downstairs now just a distant throb, like a second heartbeat.
Theo didn’t give you time to breathe.
He spun you, shoved your back against the wood so hard the breath punched out of your lungs in a soft gasp. The impact rattled your spine, but the sting was nothing compared to the heat of him crowding in immediately after. His broad chest pinning you, hips grinding forward so you felt every thick, insistent inch of his cock straining against his trousers.
One large hand roamed greedily, shamelessly. Palm sliding up your dress to cup the heavy swell of your breast, thumb dragging rough circles over your nipple until it peaked hard beneath the thin fabric. The other hand yanked his shirt over his head in one impatient motion, muscles flexing and rippling under pale skin dusted with dark hair. He tossed the shirt somewhere behind him without looking, but your mouth runs dry at the sight.
Merlin, he was devastating.
Every line of him carved like he’d been sculpted to ruin you. Sharp collarbones, defined pecs that shifted with each ragged breath, the deep cut of his V disappearing into low-slung trousers, abs tightening as he pressed closer. A faint scar curved along his left ribcage as if proof he wasn’t just pretty but also dangerous made your core clench around nothing.
You hated how perfect he was. Hated how it made the ache between your thighs sharpen into something painful.
No time to dwell on your hatred. Theo’s fingers hook into the fragile lace of your soaked panties that cling obscenely to your folds and shoves them down your thighs in one brutal tug. The fabric caught briefly on the swell of your ass before sliding to pool at your ankles. He stepped back half a pace, just enough to rake his gaze over you like he was memorizing every filthy detail.
Your dress was rucked up around your hips, silk bunched and wrinkled. Thighs slick with your own arousal, glistening in the low lamplight filtering through the cracked window. Hair a wild tangle from his earlier grip, lips swollen and red from biting back moans, cheeks flushed a deep, guilty crimson. Eyes glassy, pupils blown wide with want and fury in equal measure.
He stared like you were art he’d waited years to defile.
A masterpiece, he thought. Every forbidden fantasy he’d buried under layers of spite and cigarettes finally breathing in front of him. Wet. Trembling. His to take.
You reached for the hem of your dress, fingers trembling as you started to drag it over your head, needing to feel skin on skin, needing more.
Theo’s hand snapped around your wrist like iron. Hard and unyielding. He pinned it above your head against the door, the wood cool against your knuckles.
“The dress stays on,” he rasped, voice wrecked, thick with Italian gravel and something darker. His thumb pressed into the racing pulse at your inner wrist, feeling it flutter like a trapped bird. “I’ve spent all night imagining bending you over in this fucking thing. Watching it ride up while I fuck you stupid. You don’t get to take it off until I’ve ruined it.”
Your breath hitched in half protest, half plea. The silk was already clinging damply to your skin where you’d leaked onto it, the fabric suddenly too tight and imposing.
Theo released your wrist only to slide both hands under the hem, palming your bare ass and lifting you effortlessly. Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, heels digging into the small of his back as he ground his clothed cock against your dripping center. The rough drag of his zipper and the hard heat beneath it made you whimper loud, broken, embarrassing.
“Feel that?” he growled against your throat, teeth grazing your pulse. “That’s what you do to me. Every time you open that smart fucking mouth. Every time you glare at me like you want to hex me into next week.” He rocked forward again, deliberate, letting the ridge of him catch against your swollen clit. “And now you’re going to take every inch while this dress is still on you. So when you walk out of here later with your legs shaking and cunt still dripping. You'll feel me with every fucking step and remember exactly who ruined this sinful dress.”
You tried to snap something back, some cutting retort or some kind of denial, but it dissolved into a moan when his fingers found your entrance, two sliding in without preamble. Deep. Rough. Curling immediately against a deep spot that made your vision blur around the edges.
“Fuck—Theo-”
“There it is,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, voice low and filthy. Deep rooted satisfaction bloomed behind his chest, the nickname slipping out so easily when you've refused to use anything but his full name in years. “My name on that pretty mouth. Say it again while I stretch you open. Tell me how much you hate me while your pussy sucks my fingers like it’s starving.”
He pumped harder, scissoring, thumb finding your clit and rubbing merciless circles. Your hips bucked, chasing, thighs trembling around his waist. The door rattled hard with every thrust of his hand and even you, miss perfect, couldn't seem to care about the prospect of anyone hearing you.
“You’re going to come like this first,” he ordered, teeth sinking into the soft skin below your ear hard enough to mark. “Gonna soak my hand, then I’m flipping you around, bending you over and fucking you until you can’t remember why you ever hated me in the first place.”
Your nails scored down his bare back, leaving red trails he’d happily wear like badges tomorrow.
“Promise?” you gasped, pleasure taking over every rationale part of your brain.
Theo’s laugh was dark, dangerous “Trust me, sweetheart,” he breathed, curling his fingers harder, faster, “I promise.”
Your orgasm hit like an explosion. Shattering, violent, thighs locking around him as you pulsed and clenched, slick coating his wrist, dripping down to stain the silk bunched at your hips. You cried out his name unabashed and he swallowed the sound with a bruising kiss, drinking every tremor, every broken whimper.
The tremors still rippled through your thighs in aftershocks that made your knees threaten to buckle when Theo flipped you with brutal economy.
One hand fisted the silk bunched at your waist, the other gripped your hip hard enough to leave fingerprints, and he spun you so your front slammed back against the door. The wood was cool and unyielding against your overheated skin; your cheek pressed flat to it, breasts crushed to the panels, nipples scraping painfully sensitive through the thin fabric with every heaving breath. The latch rattled faintly from the force.
He wished, fiercely and uncharacteristically irrationally, that he’d dragged you all the way down twisting corridors to the Slytherin dungeons. To his own four-poster, heavy drapes drawn, sheets already carrying his scent. Somewhere he could chain this moment, repeat it until sunrise, mark you so thoroughly that even if this was the only night he ever got inside you, you’d wake up tomorrow feeling him in every bruised inch of your body. Just in case you never let him again.
But patience had died somewhere between the wall downstairs and the first landing. This anonymous room above Ravenclaw Tower with it's bare stone, single narrow window letting in pale moonlight and faint smell of dust and old books, would have to be enough. The door would have to be enough.
Your back arched immediately, involuntarily, spine curving like it had been trained to seek him out. Your cunt throbbed in vicious, oversensitive pulses, still swollen, still leaking from your release. Every tiny shift of your hips made the ruined silk drag across your folds, a cruel reminder of how thoroughly he’d already wrecked you.
Theo stepped in close. His bare chest pressed to your back, skin fever-hot, heart slamming against your shoulder blades. One long arm snaked around your front; calloused fingers wrapped around the slim column of your throat, not squeezing just yet. Possessive. Just like all the times he'd thought of this in his head, he almost moaned at just the idea he was choking slytherin's only good girl. His thumb stroked once along the frantic flutter of your pulse while his other hand shoved between your bodies, guiding himself.
He kicked his trousers and boxers aside in one impatient motion. The heavy length of him sprang free thick, flushed dark, veins standing out under pale skin, the blunt head already glistening with pre-cum. It slapped wetly against the curve of your ass before he angled it down.
No warning.
The fat head shoved against your soaked entrance, parting slick folds with inexorable pressure. Your whole body locked up. Muscles seizing, breath snagging sharp in your chest as the sheer size registered all over again. He was impossibly thick, stretching you open inch by burning inch even before he’d pushed inside properly. The stretch was obscene: a deep, aching burn that bordered on too much, the kind that made your eyes water and your thighs tremble harder.
There was no possible way you could take all of him.
No fucking way.
And there was absolutely zero chance in hell you’d ever admit it out loud.
Theo felt it instantly—the sudden, involuntary clench of your walls, the way your whole body locked up the second he tried to push an inch deeper.
He really should have known.
Some smug, rational corner of his mind had always known.
He was big. Thick. Unapologetically so. He’d never had to wonder whether a girl could take him; most of them either begged for it or tapped out early with wide eyes and shaky apologies. But you? Your perfect, dripping cunt had never been properly stretched, never been forced to make room for someone like him. Of course it hadn’t. Look at the boys you let touch you. Look at the soft-handed loser you danced with downstairs, the ones who probably came in their trousers before they even got your dress off. They’d never come close to filling you the way he was about to.
Your body knew it too, even if your mouth would never admit it.
The tension snapped through you like a taut wire, your spine stiffening against his chest, thighs quivering, breath catching in sharp, shallow hitches. Your walls fluttered wildly around the blunt head of him, clenching in reflexive panic, trying to push him out even as your traitorous body betrayed you in the most humiliating way possible. Another hot, slippery rush of slick coating his cock, dripping down the seam of your folds and onto the floorboards beneath you.
He could feel every pulse of resistance, every helpless spasm as your cunt fought to accommodate him.
And fuck if that didn’t make him harder.
Theo’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding for a second as he forced himself to hold still barely an inch deeper than before, letting you feel the impossible stretch, letting you feel exactly how much of him was still waiting. His hand on your throat flexed once, thumb stroking the frantic flutter of your pulse like he was soothing a wild animal.
His grip on your throat tightened just enough. Not cruel, but deliberate. Commanding. The pressure curled your spine further back against his chest, forcing your head to tip, neck arching in a long, vulnerable line so you had no choice but to look at him over your shoulder.
Storm-grey eyes met yours and held. Dark. Molten. Pupils blown so wide the silver was nothing but thin, razor-sharp rings around endless black. He looked wrecked already. Sweat beading at his temples, dark curls clinging damply to his forehead, lips parted on shallow, ragged breaths, and still somehow in complete control. Like he could unravel you with nothing more than that stare.
“Relax,” he rasped, voice pure gravel and smoke, fraying at the edges with the effort it took not to just snap his hips forward and bury himself to the hilt. His lips brushed the shell of your ear soft, almost tender, before his teeth grazed the sensitive skin there. A slow, deliberate scrape that sent fresh heat flooding between your thighs.
“Finally figured out how to get you to shut the fuck up.” The words were low, mocking, laced with dark satisfaction. He rocked forward another torturously shallow inch, barely anything, but enough to make your walls flutter and burn, enough to drag a choked whimper from your throat that you couldn’t swallow back.
“You took my fingers, baby,” he murmured, lips curving against your ear in something too feral to be called a smile. “Two of them. Deep. Stretching you open while you soaked my hand and begged with those pretty little gasps. You can take my cock.”
Another slow, relentless push. The thick ridge of him dragged against every swollen, oversensitive inch inside you. Your cunt spasmed, clenching hard in reflexive protest even as more slick leaked out around him, dripping obscenely down the seam of your folds, coating his balls, trickling warm and sticky onto the floorboards beneath you both.
Theo groaned low, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your back where he pressed against you. His free hand slid down to grip your hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, holding you exactly where he wanted you.
“Look at you,” he breathed, voice rough with something dangerously close to awe. “Trying so fucking hard to keep that smart mouth closed now. But your pussy’s telling the truth, isn’t it? Clenching around me like it’s scared I’ll pull out. Dripping like you’ve been waiting as long as I have for this.”
The stretch was vicious. A deep, searing burn that radiated outward from where he was splitting you open, every ridge and vein dragging against your swollen, oversensitive walls like he was carving his claim into you one brutal centimeter at a time. Tears pooled hot and immediate in the corners of your eyes, not from pain alone but from the overwhelming collision of too much and not enough. Your body screaming it couldn’t possibly take more while your cunt clenched greedily around him, betraying every hateful word you’d ever spat in his direction.
He still held your head angled back by the throat, fingers firm around your pulse, forcing you to keep looking at him over your shoulder. No escape. No hiding the way your lips trembled, the way your pupils were blown wide with a mix of fury and want, the way tears clung to your lashes before one finally slipped free and tracked down your cheek.
Your thighs shook violently, muscles quivering so hard they threatened to give out. Your nails scraped uselessly at the wood above your head, leaving faint, desperate gouges in the ancient oak as if you could claw your way out of this moment, out of him. A broken sound tore from your throat before you could clamp your teeth down on it. The satisfied look on his face was enough to piss you off.
“Fuck. You.”
The words came out wrecked, breathy, more plea than insult. Your voice cracked on the last syllable, raw from screaming his name earlier, from biting back every whimper he’d already dragged out of you tonight.
Theo’s thumb stroked once along the frantic hammer of your pulse, the barest whisper of tenderness in the middle of all this violence. His lips curved against the shell of your ear, dark and dangerous.
“Oh trust me,” he rasped, voice low and frayed, thick with the same barely-leashed rage that had simmered between you for years. “I plan to, all night long.”
He punctuated the words with another slow, punishing roll of his hips and burying that last thick inch until he was seated so deep you felt him in your fucking throat. The blunt head kissed your cervix with brutal precision; your whole body locked up in a full shudder, walls spasming wildly around the impossible girth of him. Slick gushed out around where you were joined. Hot, obscene, dripping steadily down your thighs, coating his balls, pooling on the floorboards beneath you both with soft, wet patters that echoed in the quiet room.
You hate him.
Hate how perfectly he fills you.
Hate how your body arches back into him like it had been waiting for this exact moment for years.
Hate the way fresh tears slip free even as your hips tilted higher, silently begging for more.
Theo felt every tremor, every flutter, every helpless clench. His free hand slid from your hip to palm the curve of your ass. Fingers digging in hard enough to leave crescent bruises before he cracked his palm down once, sharp and stinging. The slap rang out; your cunt clamped down so hard around him he groaned low in his throat, hips stuttering for the first time.
“Still hate me?” he growled, lips brushing the tear track on your cheek, tasting salt. “Still want to pretend this isn’t exactly what you’ve been dripping for every time you glared at me across the common room? Every time you shoved past me in the corridor and your breath hitched?”
Another thrust harder this time. The door rattled violently behind you. Your breasts dragged against the wood through the silk, nipples scraping painfully into sensitive peaks that sent sparks straight to your core.
“Say it again,” he demanded, voice fraying into something darker, more desperate. “Tell me to fuck off while your pussy milks me like it’s terrified I’ll stop. Tell me you hate me while you’re crying on my cock.”
Every thrust he gave you made your stomach warm, low molten heat spreading outward like liquid fire, coiling tighter with each brutal snap of his hips. The door at your back rattled in time with the rhythm he set: deep, punishing, unhurried enough to make you feel every single inch dragging out before slamming back in. Your walls fluttered helplessly around him, still hypersensitive from the last orgasm he’d ripped out of you, every ridge and vein stroking places you didn’t even know could ache like this.
His hand on your throat flexed, squeezing just enough to make stars flicker at the edges of your vision while his other palm slid down to grip the front of your hip, holding you hard against him. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed obscenely in the small room, mingling with the slick sounds of your arousal coating him, dripping down your thighs in steady, shameful rivulets.
“You can spit venom at me tomorrow,” he continued, voice fraying at the edges with his own building need. “You can glare across the common room and pretend this never happened. But we both know the truth.”
He pulled back almost all the way leaving you empty, aching, walls fluttering around nothing, then slammed home again, burying himself so deep your toes curled against the floorboards.
“You’ll always want more after tonight.”
The words land like a hex so quiet, certain, devastating. Because he was right. You hated that he was right. Hated how your body arched back into him, hips tilting higher despite yourself, chasing the stretch, the burn, the overwhelming fullness only he's ever given you. Hated how fresh tears slipped down your cheeks even as your cunt spasmed around him again, milking him like it never wanted to let him go.
Theo’s forehead dropped to the curve of your shoulder for a heartbeat, breath hot and ragged against your skin.
“Fuck—Theo—”
“Look at me,” he growled, fingers flexing tighter around your throat enough pressure to make your head spin sweetly, enough to remind you who owned this moment. “Watch my face while I fill this greedy little cunt.”
You obeyed with glassy eyes, lips parted on shallow pants, staring back at him as he sank impossibly deeper.
“So fucking tight,” Theo growled against the shell of your ear, voice raw and frayed, each word punched out in time with the brutal snap of his hips. “You can hate me forever. But I’m the only one who gets to fuck this pussy.”
Your head was spinning with pleasure crashing into the sweet, dizzy pressure around your throat, blurring the line between oxygen deprivation and the white-hot ecstasy building low in your belly. His fingers flexed once, loosening just a fraction, just enough for you to drag in a ragged, desperate breath—before he slammed back into you, hard and deep, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing off the stone walls like a curse being cast over and over.
“Fucking say it,” he snarled, teeth sinking into the soft skin below your ear hard enough to bruise, hard enough to mark. His hand on your throat tightened again, rhythmic, possessive, making stars burst behind your closed lids. “Say who this cunt belongs to now.”
Your voice came out wrecked, high and broken, trembling on the edge of another shattering orgasm.
“You, Theo, please.”
The words slipped out soft, broken, desperate and the second they hit the air, something in Theo snapped.
There was a time, not long ago, when he was certain hell would freeze over before you ever begged him for anything. Before you’d ever let that pretty mouth form his name like a plea instead of a curse. He’d spent years imagining it in the dark corners of his mind. Your voice cracking, your pride crumbling, you finally admitting what he already knew: that beneath all the venom and glares, you wanted him just as badly as he wanted to ruin you.
And now here you were.
Begging.
For him.
Gods, he had a sickening feeling he'd do whatever you asked if you just tacked the word please on the end.
His pace turned feral.
He slammed into you faster, each thrust a punishing claim that rattled the door on its hinges and knocked the breath from your lungs in sharp, staccato gasps. The wet, obscene slap of skin on skin filled the room, louder than the distant party thump, louder than your own heartbeat thundering in your ears. His cock drove deep, relentless, the thick head kissing your cervix with every brutal snap of his hips until stars burst behind your closed lids.
Your eyes rolled back, whites flashing, head thunking against the wood as pleasure overloaded every nerve. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but feel him: the stretch, the burn, the overwhelming fullness that made your toes curl against the floorboards and your thighs quake uncontrollably.
“Again,” he growled, voice wrecked and commanding, lips pressed to the sweat-slick curve of your neck. His hand on your throat sliding up to fist your hair instead, yanking your head back so he could see your face. “Say it again. Beg me like you fucking mean it.”
“T-Theo—ah!—fuck—please!”
His name fell from your lips like a chant, broken and breathless, each syllable punched out by the next punishing thrust. Tears streamed freely now with pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain, dripping down your cheeks to mix with the sweat and the faint smear of mascara.
“That’s it,” he rasped, teeth grazing your shoulder, biting down just hard enough to leave another blooming mark. “My name. Only my fucking name. No one else gets to hear you like this. No one else gets to feel this perfect little pussy.”
He angled his hips, shifting just enough, and the ridge of him dragged over a swollen, sensitive spot inside you with devastating accuracy. Once. Twice. Relentless.
“Come,” he ordered, voice fraying. “Come on my cock right here, milk me while you scream my name into this fucking door.”
Your whole body seized.
The orgasm built so fast it stole your breath, coiling vicious and tight before exploding outward in a blinding rush. You screamed his name raw, echoing, shattering off stone walls, cunt clamping down so hard around him his rhythm stuttered, hips slamming forward one last time as he groaned low and guttural against your ear.
"Theo- I can't take-"
“You can take it, baby,” he snarled against your neck, teeth sinking into the soft skin just below your ear. “Let the whole tower hear how good you cum when I fuck you stupid against a door. You'll take every fucking drop, gonna fill you up just to watch it drip down these pretty legs while you try to walk back like nothing happened.”
His orgasm stole his breath only seconds later. Hips slamming deep, burying himself to the root as he came with a broken groan. Hot, thick spurts flooded you, spilling out around his cock, dripping down your thighs to join the mess already on the floor.
Theo’s forehead dropped to your shoulder, lips brushing the bite mark he’d left there, soft now, almost reverent.
“Say it one more time,” he murmured, voice hoarse, stripped raw. “Just once more.”
You swallowed, throat dry, voice wrecked, but the words came anyway, quiet and honest in the aftermath.
“Theo… please.”
His low, breathless laugh vibrated against your skin. “Good girl,” he whispered, pressing a slow kiss to the nape of your neck. “That’s my girl.”
He didn’t pull out yet.
He stayed buried deep. Still half-hard inside you, arms banding around your waist to keep you upright as your legs threatened to give out completely.
“We’re not leaving this room until I hear it a hundred more times,” he promised, lips curving against your ear. “And maybe not even then.”
The door stayed locked.
Your dress stayed on ruined, clinging, soaked.
And the line between hate and something far more dangerous had finally, irrevocably blurred.
