Chapter 40 Elle
ELLE
“It feels weird being in here with your permission.”
“Weird?” Sutton’s mouth skims the underside of my jaw, one of his hands on my hip, the other flat against my back, keeping me as close to him as I can get with all my clothes still on.
“Well, it hasn’t been all that long since you were telling me to leave,” I breathe, my fingers tangling in his hair.
The leather couch in his living room is a lot comfier than it looks, which is good, because he hasn’t let me off it since we arrived—separately, so as not to arouse suspicion, even though it was well after ten by the time we got the auditorium cleaned up and the faulty equipment reported.
He clearly wasn’t okay after the incident, but I didn’t want to pry, letting him deal with the shock or memories—whatever the incident triggered within—however he wanted.
This was his choice.
Since the whole Death’s Teeth thing, it’s like he can’t keep himself from touching me when we’re alone. Like he needs some reminder that I’m safe, which would be endearing if I didn’t keep recalling the conversation we had in his office about the apparent danger I’m in.
They granted him an extension to make his decision, but I can’t help feeling like a sitting duck still.
“In my defense,” he murmurs, threading his fingers through the ends of my hair, “I was desperately trying to convince myself to stay away from you.”
“You gave in surprisingly quickly.”
“Well, you are my Maiden now, right? Between us at least. Why not enjoy the reprieve we have at the moment?”
It feels like an oversimplification, but I’m not sure how to tell him that. Sutton’s the kind of person to shut down when threatened, and I don’t want to ruin the progress we’ve made.
“Plus, that Lexington was always circling around you like a hawk, biding his time. I had to swoop in and stake my claim.” He pulls back, looking into my eyes. His are a little unsteady, like he’s got a lot going on in his head, and I wish I could reach in and stall the thoughts for a little.
“Your claim? What am I, a piece of property?” I say, leaning in and brushing my lips against his.
“I wouldn’t mind conquering you.” He grins, palming the back of my head and slanting his mouth onto mine.
Turning so I’m straddling him, I swallow every one of his breaths as if it were my own.
My palms flatten against his pecs, sliding up to cup both sides of his neck. His tongue slips inside my mouth, tasting and teasing mine; each flick sends arousal spinning webs through my limbs, making me clench my knees against him.
He lets out a little noise of desperation, his fingers inching beneath my sweater. The backs of his knuckles are cool on my heated flesh as he drags them from left to right, reveling in the way my stomach twitches, before slowly ascending to my breast.
Pushing my top up, he leans in and tugs the cup of my bra down. I exhale shakily as his breath skates across my nipple, hardening it to a fine peak.
“I love how responsive you are,” he mutters, laving the flat of his tongue against me before closing his lips around it and sucking, hard. “Like I can give just the slightest touch and have you aching for more, my needy little temptress.”
Crying out, I arch into him, clutching his head to keep him in place. A shiver races down my spine, pushing me into a brief flash of clarity as he swirls around my sensitive skin, sliding his other hand between my thighs.
“Wait,” I say, grabbing his wrist before he can brush my pussy. My abdomen is tight, trepidation clawing at my muscles. Kissing him, being with him, doesn’t usually feel like this.
The anticipation, the excitement, is off.
Something is wrong.
Sutton waits. I clear my throat, glancing over my shoulder. The thick brown curtains are pulled in his living room, along with the coverings in the kitchen and foyer. At the end of the hall, his bedroom door is shut, and no other sound is made while we sit there in silence.
Running his thumb over my nipple, he cocks his head. “Everything all right?”
No, but I’m not sure why I feel so uneasy. Maybe it’s just paranoia seeping in from Fury Hill or the leftover adrenaline from the auditorium earlier.
“Is this what you asked me here to do?” I ask instead, avoiding eye contact.
He looks up from my chest. “Well, I’m not exactly opposed…”
“Maybe we shouldn’t. I mean, don’t you think the whole thing in the auditorium was a little oddly timed, especially considering the Death’s Teeth stuff?”
“What’s that got to do with what we’re doing now?”
I shrug. “What if they know you’re trying to push the Maiden duties off on Sabrina or that I’m the one you’re really picking?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m Incarnate. They can’t disobey a direct order to let me handle things. Sabotage would be insubordination. A punishable offense.”
“Punishable how?”
“I’d…rather not say.”
We spend several minutes sitting just like that, not speaking, not moving. I can hear the steady rhythm of his heart, but that’s all. I let it ground me, shoving myself out of the narrative where something terrible is always about to happen.
It feels too easy that his dad let me walk away that night, especially if the organization hates Andersons as much as Sutton says.
If my discovery could have resulted in my death without his interference, who’s to say they won’t try to off me outside the group functions and make it seem like an accident?
My eyes find Sutton’s, and I grind my teeth together. He doesn’t want me to be his Maiden, but he doesn’t feel there’s another choice.
And maybe there isn’t.
Maybe I should just be content with what I’ve got and stop poking my head where it doesn’t belong.
My mouth parts to tell Sutton about his dad, to clear that hurdle before it gets to him some other way, but then he’s palming the back of my head.
He pulls me into another kiss, this one startlingly sweeter than the last. When he withdraws, he strokes my cheek with his thumb, then places me on the other side of the couch.
I watch as he gets up and heads for the kitchen, tossing something into the microwave. A few seconds later, popping noises fill the air, and the scent of melted butter assaults my nostrils, making my stomach growl.
When he comes back, several thick throw blankets and a bag of popcorn in hand, I move to stand and give him that space.
He settles back onto his cushion, giving me a look as I start to leave. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Back to my dorm?”
“I don’t think so. Come back here and watch Casablanca with me.”
“Casablanca?”
“You know it?”
“It’s one of my all-time favorites. I love all the classic movies, but that one in particular gets rewatched monthly.”
He grins. “I knew you were perfect for me for a reason. Come on. We can have a movie marathon. I have My Fair Lady and North by Northwest in my collection too.”
Licking my lips, I stare at him, then glance at the television when he switches it on. Within seconds, the black-and-white title screen comes on, though I still hesitate.
Is this a date? Can it really be considered one when we can’t even do things publicly?
A part of me is terrified that I’m getting my hopes up. That going any further with this man will only end in heartbreak.
Maybe that’s why I stopped things from progressing earlier. It’s starting to feel a bit too real, and I’m much more comfortable in the land of make-believe.
Sutton leans forward, his eyes on the television, and grabs my wrist, yanking me down onto the couch. I fall into his side, and he immediately covers me with a blanket, holding me against him.
“This is now a hostage situation,” he says, offering me a handful of popcorn.
I open my mouth, and he feeds me a few pieces. The earlier sensation is absent, so I write it off as nerves. “Fair warning, I’m a really bad crisis negotiator.”
He laughs, his eyes softening. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of letting you go.”