The flirtation grew bolder with every storm.
Theo began describing her in detail he couldn't possibly know — the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when nervous, how her voice softened when she was aroused. He teased her about her terrible coffee habit and the way she bit her lip when thinking hard.
One particularly heavy downpour, he turned the teasing erotic.
"Tell me," he said, voice like dark honey, "are your nipples hard right now just from hearing me?"
Ava gasped, scandalized and unbearably turned on. "Theo!"
"Answer me," he coaxed, a smile in his tone. "Be honest."
"Yes," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. Her hand cupped her breast through her sweater, thumb brushing the sensitive peak. Pleasure sparked instantly.
"Good girl," he murmured, and the praise sent liquid heat straight to her core. "Now slide your hand lower. Tell me how wet you are for a man you've never seen."
She did. The words spilled out of her — breathy descriptions of slick heat, aching need. Theo guided her with filthy patience: slower, then faster, describing exactly how he would use his mouth if he were there. When she came, it was with his name on her lips and tears of overwhelming pleasure in her eyes.
Afterward, the silence felt sacred.
"I'm falling for a voice," she whispered, half-laughing, half-terrified.
"Then fall," Theo replied softly. "I'll catch you on the other side of time."