Chapter 23 Elle #2
Sutton’s lips part as he seems to settle atop me, his hips pressing into mine more firmly. I gasp through my nose, my pulse skyrocketing at the sensation, the hard planes of his body against the soft contours of mine.
I widen my legs a little more, allowing him better access. His nostrils flare, and he shakes his head.
Since he didn’t pin my limbs down that well, I hook one of my calves around his waist, encouraging more. I don’t force it, not wanting to make him do something he doesn’t actually want to do, but I flutter my lashes as if to say it’s okay.
Use me, I want to beg. The broken parts of me want the distraction, the urgency, the dependence. This at least I know I’m good at.
He drags his palm away from my mouth, sliding it down and turning his hand to pinch my chin between two fingers. A war rages in his irises, and I watch his throat bob, trying to keep myself from whimpering.
The way he looks at me feels like I’m being seared from the inside out. My body grows unbearably hot as he shifts, notching the pleat of his pants against my center.
Sutton leans in, his lips hovering so close to mine that I can taste the toothpaste he must have used recently. For some reason, that sends a spark of jealousy spiraling through my abdomen, wondering if he used it because it’s a routine or if he was with someone.
I lift one hand, threading it through his hair. A muscle in his jaw twitches, and his eyes drop.
“Kiss me,” I whisper, so softly that it barely even makes a sound. “We can worry about the consequences later.”
His breathing deepens, and he floats an inch closer, mouth parting.
My tongue darts out, wetting my bottom lip.
He tracks the movement, and my stomach gets heavy. My breasts ache behind the confines of my shirt, hungry for his touch.
When he starts to move in again, his gaze hypnotic, I close my eyes and wait.
“Or… oh shit, do you have someone in there?” Beckett asks next, chuckling. “I didn’t really need anything, so don’t bother coming out. I was just letting you know I’m heading to a Curator party in the quarry, so don’t wait up tonight.”
Within seconds, Sutton twists out of my embrace, launching off the bed and stalking over to the door. He positions himself so I’m shielded as he cracks it, peeking his head into the dim hall.
I glance around, trying to get my bearings.
The shift happened so suddenly that it takes a second for my eyesight to adjust to the room, and as I do, I take in the covered mirrors on the bureau and hanging on what I assume is a closet door.
There’s a stack of papers on the nightstand beneath a ballpoint pen and a worn copy of some book.
Rolling to my side, I lean in to read the spine.
Othello.
I blink, sitting up. Is he reading that because I suggested it?
My eyes flicker to his back, rigid as he stands between his brother and me. His fingers grip the doorjamb in a way that makes my muscles feel weak, and I wish we hadn’t been interrupted.
I wish he’d wanted more than office hours.
“What do you mean you’re going to a Curator party?” Sutton probes. “You’re not an active member anymore.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t attend. A couple of people from my Ancient Civ course last semester asked if I’d join. I didn’t want to say no again.”
“Again? They’ve invited you before?”
“A few times since the start of the year. But I’ve not really been up to attending, so…”
Sutton’s shoulders slump. He doesn’t immediately reply, and I see the shadow from the hall shift, and the top of Beckett’s head appears. Cringing, I dive beneath the blankets, instantly regretting it when I’m enveloped in nothing but Sutton’s scent.
“Who do you have in there anyway?” Beckett asks.
“No one.”
They stay quiet for several beats. Someone clicks their tongue, and then Beckett speaks again. “Come on, just tell me. It’s not like you to entertain guests. Honestly, I was starting to think you were just going to be celibate forever.”
“My sex life is none of your business.”
“But Death’s—”
“Go to your party,” Sutton cuts him off, his voice gruff.
My stomach twists into a dozen knots. What was the end of that sentence?
Is he seeing someone else? Someone in Death’s Teeth?
I admit my understanding of that organization is still pretty fuzzy, but if there’s some kind of requirement where sex remains between members only, I’m not sure I want to know more.
Surely not though. Sutton barely interacts with other people except when they’re in an audience, a safe distance away. I’ve seen him go out of his way to avoid shoulder taps from colleagues and brushes against other students in the halls.
Still. Jealousy percolates in my gut regardless.
“Oh, is it a student? Someone Father would hate? Because—”
“Be home no later than midnight, or else I will drag you out in front of your friends.”
Beckett’s sigh is loud and obnoxious. “Whatever you say, Sutty,” he grumbles, and then his footsteps carry off somewhere in the distance, making me think he’s walked away.
After several minutes, the sound of the door clicking shut echoes through the room, followed by the turning of a lock. I peek out from the covers, watching Sutton as he walks back to the bed and flops face down onto the mattress.
Ask him. Ask him about what you saw in the forest, Elle. Ask what those people you hid from in the gazebo were talking about. Demand answers. Don’t just wait around again until something happens.
“Hey, Sutton?”
He groans without moving. “Don’t call me that.”
Every other question I’d been about to verbalize vanishes on the tip of my tongue. “Your name?”
“I don’t like how it sounds coming from you.”
“Okay… Boy Scout it is then.” I pause, waiting for something else, but he doesn’t say more. The air shifts, and I don’t really feel like now is the time to talk about curses or possible cults. “Should I go?”
“Yes.”
My insides deflate. “All right. I’m sorry—”
“You should go,” he continues, cutting me off. “Because the longer you sit here, the more I think about stripping you bare and taking what you’ve offered me multiple times now.”
“Oh.” I push the sheets off and toy with the snake dangling from my choker.
“Fuck. I shouldn’t have even said that. Just… Give me a minute.” He presses the heel of one hand to his temple.
“Are you okay?”
“Migraine. It’ll pass eventually.”
“Do you get them often?”
“A few times a week.”
“Is that what the apricots are for?”
“Yes. They probably don’t help all that much, but it’s a bit of a ritual at this point.” He pauses. “Thank you for the one you brought to class. That was very thoughtful of you.”
“Well, I’ve used them myself, so I can attest to the anti-inflammatory properties. They don’t work for everything or everyone, but I figured maybe you were eating them so often for a reason.”
“You get migraines?”
“Endometriosis. Tissue grows outside the uterus and makes periods super painful. Among other menstrual and reproductive-related issues.” I cringe as I speak, aware that I sound like a pamphlet you’d get at the gynecologist and that most guys probably don’t want to talk about periods at all.
“Ah, yes, I remember you mentioning it before. That sounds…well, to be frank: shitty.”
I laugh softly. “Yeah, it is.”
“At least we can commiserate together. Perhaps next time, you can bring two apricots.”
Flames lick at my cheeks. “The other one was just supposed to be a peace offering.”
“Are we at war?”
“Well, no, but I’ve been coming on really strong, so I was just kind of hoping we could maybe…start over.”
“Start over,” he repeats. “And breaking into my apartment for sex was, what, a fallback plan?”
I don’t reply, shame too heavy in my chest. The silence thickens around us, and I swallow, moving to dismount the bed in case he wants to be alone.
He lets out a small breath, like he’s in pain, and I freeze.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No,” he replies. “Most of the time, I can sense them coming on and take the necessary precautions, but some things like stress can trigger them before I really notice. This one just happened to sneak up on me, but it will subside.”
Guilt pecks at my bones. “Am I stressing you out?”
“Since the day we met.”
Apparently my embarrassment knows no bounds.
“I’m sorry.” And I am. I’ve clearly misread everything because I was too busy focusing on external, carnal sensations rather than putting any effort into caring about him.
He should reject me. I’d do the same if the roles were reversed.
“It’s not just you,” he adds, rolling onto his back, eyes closed.
He folds his veiny hands over his chest with a long exhale.
“My brother’s been going through some shit, and I don’t know how to help him.
He doesn’t talk, barely leaves the house…
except for tonight, that is. And on top of that, I’ve got… things I can’t really discuss.”
“Forest-related things?”
One eyelid peels back, peering at me.
“Your dad told me not to go into the forest too,” I tell him, pulling my knees to my chest. It’s unnerving how comfortable and easy this entire situation feels, despite the fact that we were practically dry humping and arguing just moments ago.
Like we’ve been doing this forever. “Does it have anything to do with Death’s Teeth? ”
He closes his eye again. “The less you know, the better. Trust me.”
“Give me a reason to.”
“I’m your professor. You should respect my authority.”
Dropping my knees, I shift onto them and lean forward, letting my hair fall over my face as I hover above him, planting my palms on the mattress. Right next to him. His breath hitches when the ends of each strand brush over his chest and arm, but he doesn’t look at me.
“Right now, you’re not my professor,” I say. “And I’m not your student. We’re just two people in a bedroom. Talking. Resisting.”
“Séductrice.”
I smirk. “Is that seductress in French?”
“Oui. Very good.”
My cheeks burn. “Are you just trying to distract me?”
“Is it working?”
“No.”
He sighs. “Stay out of the woods, stay away from my father, and don’t go poking around Death’s Teeth. No good can come from any of that.”