Chapter 22
ELIJAH
Finley’s wrong.
That’s all I keep telling myself as I sit and stand from my bed. Pacing the length of my room while I discard my clothes. I can’t stop thinking about her words.
Jayden loves you.
He wants you. With everything. More than anything.
But we’re just friends. Jayden’s my best friend. And yes, I care about him. I love how happy he is. How he makes me feel. Forget myself…
That’s all.
If it was more, I wouldn’t still be aching after kissing Finley. My body wouldn’t still be burning and throbbing and…
Fuck.
I want her.
I want nothing more than to go back out there and… and throw her door open and kiss her again. Touch her and feel her and give her what she wants. What she needs. Take what I want. What I need.
What I’ve always needed. Her.
My feet carry me to the door and before I can think better of it, I yank it open and stride to her room.
The pounding of my heart has my hand trembling as I grip the doorknob and twist.
“Elijah…”
I pause at her hoarse moan. With my grip stuck to the metal and my feet glued to the wooden floor, I hold my breath. All I can do is listen as the husky noises filter through the hardwood door.
Noises that I recognize.
That I have thought about and dreamt about and that have been the soundtrack to the best memory of me and her. In the shed behind the church. Just me and her.
Our hands exploring and our mouths… our mouths… our mouths devouring…
My body and her body so close that it hurt. Her bare skin on mine as I gave her all of me and she gave me all of her. And it wasn’t a sin. It wasn’t wrong.
Fuck. Fuck, I need that again.
“Oh God,” the mewl sends a shiver through me, straight to my hardened length.
And the instant that I squeeze myself, my legs quiver. Threatening to give out from under me.
Finley, I bite her name silent on my lip as her needy noises become louder and choppier and—
“Jayden.”
The air whooshes from my lungs at the sound of her sobbed moan.
Jayden.
Jayden.
A thrill shoots down my spine. I feel it everywhere. Every inch of my skin crackles and all I can see is her and him.
My girl and my best friend.
The way they touch and smile and look at one another. The way they hang on each other’s every word.
And the way it makes me feel. That they make me feel.
I shouldn’t like it. It shouldn’t make me feel this needy. Wanting. It hurts and screams inside me as my hand fists my cock harder.
Fuck. I can’t do this. I can’t…
“Elijah…” It’s all I hear as I back away. Too slowly. Too worked up.
The instant I’m in my room, I head straight for the shower.
I flip the water on as I clumsily strip my boxers, allowing the freezing cold water to shock my body into reality.
Reality where I’m me and I know better than to get too close. Reality where the self-inflicted scars on my body remind me of my sins. Of the past. Of the pain and the shame.
For a moment it works.
Everything falls silent.
The bliss of it is so overpowering that I stand there until the water turns warm and then hot, until the heat is too much to bear.
The scalding pain makes it easier to breathe and exist. It’s the sort of pain I can control.
I can make it hurt when I want to, and I can make it stop when it’s too much.
The power is in my hands.
It’s mine.
Except the instant I start washing myself, that my hands start sudsing my body, it ignites the crackle in my pores again.
I’m incapable of drowning out the thoughts that filter through my mind as I scrub my body roughly.
He loves you.
He wants you like I want you.
So bad.
Oh God… Elijah…. Jayden…
Why did I do this?
I’m desperately trying to get it over and done with because I can’t think of him. Not here. Not now. Not ever.
I know that. But my brain refuses to fall into line when my hands sweep down my stomach.
My brain tells me he’s safe. It whispers sweet little nothings, coercing my body with the weeds they twine around my lungs…
my heart. Making it impossible to breathe past the bone deep need twisting in my muscles as my hands slow, spreading the earthy scented suds over my skin.
Chasing the heat in my bloodstream to my groin.
I pause.
I know it’s wrong. I know it’s dirty. It makes me sinful and wicked and… still, the urge is too visceral to resist.
His scent seeps too deep. Spreading through me like a wildfire. An all-consuming blaze that I cannot control. Because its wrongness is the best thing I’ve felt.
So wrong and so right and so good. When my hand grips my length, I can’t stop. I squeeze tighter, stroking myself slowly at first. The tension in my body returns. Coiling around all my limbs with the urgency of my desire.
As the ache spreads, and I gasp for air, I can feel his touch—his grip on my wrist, his hand slipping and sliding with mine—the same way I can feel Finley’s nails dig into my waist, her chest pushing into mine.
I want more. I want to feel more. I want to hide away in their safety.
When I close my eyes, steadying my trembling hand, I don’t know whose eyes I see. Finley’s or Jayden’s. They mesh into one. Green, blue, and brown all swirling together, burning through me. Seeing and knowing.
It’s good. It’s so good that everything comes alive. Every part of me hurts and quakes and yearns. Unlike anything I’ve ever felt. His grip. Her touch. His hazel eyes. Her blue stare.
He’s in love with you. Her voice rasps in my ear, sending a frisson of fire down my spine. It’s natural… chemistry.
She’s begging for you to touch her. He coos, the whisper of his voice shooting through my chest, shocking my heart into overdrive.
My hand quickens on my throbbing erection. The ache of my release building fast and relentlessly. Unforgiving in its force. It overtakes every thought. Every voice. Every truth I’ve ever known.
“Fuck,” my groan fills the air with the sound of the water crashing on my back and my hand slicking over my skin.
Her eyes and his scent. His grip and her caress.
Bracing myself on the tiled wall, I bite my loud moan into my arm as my release bursts from me.
Every cry seeps into my flesh. Heated. Wild. Chasing my breathless growls and the suffocating pounding of my heart.
For a moment, I’m free.
For a moment, I’m perfect.
I’m whole.
Until the heat dissipates. The fog of my lust clears. My safety is gone.
Fear slams into me. Shame knots in my stomach.
I can’t stop the retches. Or the need to purge myself of my sin as I thrust my fingers into my mouth and force it all out. Desperately. Scraping my tongue and scratching at my throat. Retch after dry retch. Because there’s nothing inside me but my sin.
The agony of it pulls me to my knees as I lap at the water in my hands. Trying to put something more inside me. Something that will help cleanse me. Nothing works. It’s all still in there. Hammering in my chest. Slicking through my veins.
And sometimes… sometimes you have to bleed it out. Sometimes the only way to atone is to bleed. Clawing at the strainer, I frantically pull at it. Working the silicone loose with my short nails until it comes loose.
The sharp point of the screw grazes along my thumb before I grasp the disc in my hand and press the screw into the top of my thigh. Just the tip, deep enough that when I drag it across, my gritted cries empty my chest as my wickedness trickles over my skin.
I watch it stain the water before it swirls down the drain.
A trickle at a time. Drop by drop.
Just like every other time.