Chapter 12 #2
I want her in a way I don’t remember wanting anyone. Not… fuck, not ever. And how do I reconcile that? I loved my wife in ways I will never love another woman. But she and I… we were easy. Flawless.
Everything with Elle is difficult. Blemished. And yet I crave her in this moment more than my next breath. The breath that’s already ragged. Corrupt. Needy. My vixen .
My knuckles flatten out, curling up into her hair, and her breath hitches. “Stella goes to your house.”
“All right.”
“Only two days a week. No more.”
“Fine.
“I need you to sleep with your window closed.” Because though I’ve had mine locked, I still stand beside it, straining to hear if she’s crying. Desperate to catch a glimpse of her. Who makes you cry, Elle? Who possesses those tears and how do I make them go away?
She shakes off my hand at that, not pleased at all with me. In fact, I think her hand is ready to fly. “You spy on me?”
My hands fall to the table, right beside hers, pinkie to pinkie as I bracket her in.
My nose hits her neck, just at the base of it, right where it meets her shoulder.
I take a deep inhale as I slowly glide up.
She hates me, and yet she’s not pushing me away.
Slapping my face the way I deserve. No, she’s trembling against me. And not in fear.
“Landon.” My name on her lips. It’s a demand for answers I’m not giving, but her voice is not as smooth or in control as it was. It vibrates through me and that deep, dark abyss in the pit of my gut suddenly doesn’t feel as bottomless as it did seconds ago.
“I haven’t in over two weeks,” I tell her, my hot breath brushing against her skin.
“But you did?”
“I did. I listened to you cry.”
Another inhale, this one right under her chin, and her body shudders, shaking desperately against me.
One hand flees the table, grasping my hair in a punishing fist when my tongue sneaks out, stealing a taste.
She moans, and I grunt, my cock throbbing in my slacks.
Her breasts press into my arm and fuck, I fucking hate her.
I hate her so goddamn much I’m crazy because of it.
I hate her for being in the hotel that night.
For moving in next door. For being irresistible to me in ways I don’t comprehend.
For befriending Stella and me not being able to say no.
For being right that Stella needs more than I can give her.
For being this sweet, bubbly person when I wish she were nothing short of evil.
Truly hateable.
I steal another taste, and then I’m retreating, walking back step after step. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are a wild, angry, stunning storm.
“You can’t touch me again.”
I smirk at that. If I want to touch her, I will, and we both know she’ll like it. “With any luck, I won’t have to see you at all.”
She straightens, moving now around tables and pots, heading in my direction. Toward the exit. But I don’t want her to go. I want to take her mouth with mine. I want her to beg for me. To cry out my name. My fucking name. Not Luca’s.
Somehow I’m blocking the doors, and I don’t even know how I got here.
She stands right before me, mere inches separating us, until she’s forced to crane her neck to meet my eyes. She smirks, and I know I won’t like what’s to come next.
“I don’t cry so much anymore at night. I’m usually busy doing other things. With my window open.”
Motherfucker.
“Stella can come over on Mondays and Wednesdays,” I tell her, returning my focus to Stella or this will only end one way. “Those are the best days for me since those are the days I work late.”
She swallows and nods. “I’ll take care of the groceries, and she can bring anything from this greenhouse she wants to use. You’ll even likely get dinner out of it.”
I shake my head. “I pay for the groceries. That’s nonnegotiable.”
She rolls her eyes but acquiesces with a shrug. “Fine. I’ll send you a receipt for whatever I buy.”
I shift to the side, forcing myself out of her path. She needs to go. I’m barely hanging on.
The door opens, and a welcome blast of cool hits me, brushing my hair back off my face and dragging reason back into me.
She falters by the door, her back to me. “For the record, you’re nothing like your brother. Even when you were pretending to be him. I liked the man I met in the hotel better than either of you in real life.” Then she’s gone, running out into the darkness of my backyard.
Me too , I think.
I liked being him with her. That guy. The one who reminded me of me from days long forgotten.
Which is why I let her go. It’s why I allow her to walk back into my house and tell Stella the plan.
I watch as they speak in my kitchen, and Stella jumps up and down with a squeal I can hear even from out here.
She gives her a hug, and Elle is laughing.
Smiling at my girl. Making her happy in ways I try to and likely fail at more often than not.
Stella needs a woman in her life, and with my mother being sick and my sister working long hours and in a serious relationship, and Layla and Amelia doing their own family thing with Oliver, it seems Elle is her best option.
Stella needs Elle, and I need to let that happen.
I just have to figure out a way to keep my distance when keeping my distance seems to require a herculean strength I already know I don’t possess.