Chapter 21 Eden #3
Taking Charlie’s hand, Eden drags him through the living room and down the hallway, pretending he doesn’t notice Charlie eyeing the toys scattered across the floor and piles of crayon drawings and books.
He’s going to explain everything after. Right now, Eden is desperate for Charlie to fuck him—to fill every aching hole he didn’t make and to rid Eden of the haunting memories of being unwanted or used.
“I like your room,” Charlie says once they’re inside, admiring the array of makeup covering Eden’s shitty second-hand dresser.
“Shut up and get naked.”
“Bossy,” Charlie smirks, grabbing his shirt from behind his neck and tugging it off in one smooth go. His Crocs go next, followed by his pants and boxers. “Naked enough for you?”
Not trusting himself to speak, Eden nods and hopes it’s good enough.
Charlie really is stupidly fucking gorgeous with his long limbs and darker complexion.
Eden drinks in the sight of him, taking in every sharp angle and all the bare skin, relishing the sight of Charlie exposed for him, and him alone.
“Get on the bed.”
“Did they add in an extra dose of demanding juice to your Red Bull?”
Eden snorts out a laugh, unsure how Charlie can push all his buttons, destroy all his walls, and make him laugh in situations where it would seem otherwise impossible.
“Fuck off.”
“I’d rather fuck you.” Charlie drapes himself across Eden’s bed unceremoniously.
Unlike Charlie’s massive king-size bed, Eden’s is only a twin.
It’s not big enough for the kind of fucking Eden wants, or for cuddling, or for someone as tall as Charlie really, but Charlie doesn’t complain as he slides back and lays his head on Eden’s pillow.
Suddenly nervous, Eden fidgets with the hem of his sweatshirt.
“You can’t grab me,” he blurts. “And don’t flip us. I need to be on top.”
“Okay,” Charlie agrees, and though it’s clear he wants to ask why, he doesn't, which Eden is grateful for. He’s not sure he has it in him to explain right now. “Anything else?”
“Don’t take control.” Eden’s heart threatens to beat out of his chest, raging at him to run again. He hates his brain sometimes, hates the way it tries to escape, even from the things he wants when he feels unsafe.
“You’re in control, Eden. Always.”
He’s not. Not remotely. Eden’s rarely in control, that’s the problem.
Memories surge to the forefront of Eden’s mind—how good it felt to be held, to be filled, and how horrible it felt every time that was used to control.
How it felt to be taken and owned, held down.
There’d been no point in saying no, it wasn’t an option for someone like Eden.
Besides, how could he say no when being fucked by strangers was the only time he got touched, the only time people looked at him?
How can he ever explain to Charlie that being hurt felt good because at least he felt something?
“We don’t have to do this.”
“I want to,” Eden insists, which is about as far as he can go to explain.
“I have an idea.” Charlie sits up, grabbing one of Eden’s belts off the floor, holding it up.
“I’m not going to hit you,” Eden frowns. “I don’t like pain.”
“Uh, good. Me neither.” Charlie wraps half of it around his left wrist before extending both arms so Eden can finish. “Tie me up, to the bed. So I can’t grab you.”
“I thought you said you wouldn’t.”
“I won’t, but me knowing that and you believing it are two different things.”
“Aren’t you gonna get mad at me?”
“For what? For having bad experiences with men?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to, Eden. I’m a lot of things, but oblivious isn’t one of them. I know what you did in the past, and I know some of them hurt you. I can’t change that, but I can do whatever it takes for you to feel safe.”
Safe.
Oh, how that word makes Eden ache. What would it be like to feel safe all the time?
Not just when he’s hidden away at home with Addy and Ella but out in the world?
What would it be like to not be afraid he shouldn’t wear the makeup or skirts he likes?
What would it be like to be loved and not be afraid of being left behind? What would it feel like to be safe?
“Don’t cry, baby.”
Is Eden crying? He touches his cheeks, surprised to find wetness there. Stupid fucking feelings. He didn’t give his body permission for this.
“Maybe we should just talk.”
“No.” Eden doesn’t want to talk. He wants to fuck. He wants to be fucked. He wants to be filled with Charlie, wants to touch and kiss and consume. He wants to pretend for one goddamn moment that he’s not an amalgamation of trauma hidden behind a pretty facade.
He wants to feel good. He wants to enjoy sex with someone who likes him and not think about the past or the future, about the people who hurt Eden or about the possibility that Charlie might change his mind.
He wants to be fucked by Charlie and forget everything except for this moment.
“I think I can handle that,” Charlie says, expression softening. This time Eden doesn’t close his eyes or look away. He devours it, memorizes it, knows that if one day Charlie leaves at least he will have this memory of Charlie looking at him like he’s perfect.
“I didn’t mean to say any of that out loud,” Eden admits, yanking off his sweatshirt and tossing it to the floor. “You make me do stupid things.”
“I hope we can do a lot more stupid things together. Preferably while naked.”
“Slut.”
“Your slut,” Charlie reminds him, stretching himself back out on Eden’s bed and raising his arms, belt still wrapped around his left wrist.
Shucking off his boxers before climbing onto the bed to straddle Charlie’s waist, Eden grabs the belt, wrapping it around Charlie’s right wrist until he can’t move his hands.
There’s no headboard to tie them to but he trusts Charlie to keep them there, pressing them down into the pillow as he lowers his mouth to Charlie’s and kisses him.
Growing up, nothing was his to keep. He didn’t have his own bedroom.
No toys. No family. Hell, at more than one point, he didn’t even have his own socks or underwear.
He got shunted around with borrowed belongings in a trash bag.
He belonged to no one and nothing belonged to him.
Eventually, Eden gave up caring about possessions; they never lasted anyway.
Or so he thought. He wants to possess Charlie, to keep him like the kind of special treasure he was never, ever allowed to have.
Charlie King is his.