24. Elle #5
I don’t need to answer. Because I’m already here. I’m already his.
***
Hours later, the sun is setting. Dinner settles warm in our spent bodies. The scent of roasted boar and herbs lingers faintly in the air. Fire crackles in the hearth.
Then Stan brushes past me in the kitchen. His fingers skim my hip, light but suggestive. Still, it steals a breath straight from my lungs.
A moment of blurred movement later, Stan presses me against the counter, his voice low and sinful in my ear, fingers gripping my thighs. Sterling kneels in front of me, focused and quiet in the way he devours my soaked center.
Stan gives Sterling instructions, and he gives me praise with every breath.
They clear the table next. I’m seated at the edge, legs parted, fingers gripping wood as Sterling thrusts slow and deep. The table groans beneath us.
Stan stands close, mouth tracing down my throat, murmuring how pretty I sound, how good I look between them, and how he’s eager for his turn.
Then it’s the rug. The wall. Even the windowsill, where I’m lifted clean off my feet, helpless with laughter and a light heart, despite how sore I feel.
It doesn’t matter. I want everything they’ll give me.
So I take every quivering ache and every agonizing stretch.
I accept every way they want to show their devotion to me.
And I do the same, by giving in to their want. To mine.
Soon, Sterling’s armchair becomes mine for a stretch of time. Stan stays behind me, whispering filthy promises into my ear while Sterling’s kneeling between my legs again. His fingers are gentle, his warm mouth so torturously precise.
Sterling doesn’t speak much during all of this. He doesn’t need to. His silence carries everything I crave—devotion, hunger, care.
But Stan is always talking. He fills every pause with praise, alongside little barbs that make Sterling narrow his eyes in warning. I feel them both so differently. One wild and impulsive. The other steady and sure. And I love it.
By the time we collapse in bed again, I have no strength left. I sigh, satisfied, as I lie between them.
Stan is spooning me like he never wants to let go. He nuzzles against my hair and says something completely obscene that it makes me giggle despite how boneless I feel. “I swear,” he mumbles, “this should be illegal. It’s more addictive than any hit.”
Sterling lies on my other side, eyes half-lidded but lit with that warmth I always search for in him. His fingers trace circles along my hip, slow and idle, like he doesn’t want to stop touching me.
Stan kisses my neck. “Such a good girl.”
Sterling hums in his throat, agreeing. He takes my hand under the blanket, linking our fingers. I look at him, and even though he doesn’t say a word, the kiss he places on my nose says more than enough.
My hand lays flat against Sterling’s chest, right over his heart.
That steady rhythm is still there, strong and constant.
I breathe with him and rest there, skin to skin, while Stan talks himself into sleep behind me, trailing off mid-sentence with one last cocky ramble about being “the crowd favorite.” Then there’s his snores, familiar and endearing, I suppose, since they’re faint this time.
Sterling breathes out, long and aggravated. Stan is taking up too much space again. I smile anyway. And like I did earlier, I climb on top of Sterling, fitting perfectly, as if I was made to belong right here against him.
His arms wrap around my waist. His chest rises beneath my cheek.
I stare up at him, eyes meeting his, and I don’t have to say anything. Neither does he.
His touch is steady, fingers gliding along my back, calming me like always.
When Stan’s snores grow louder, I laugh into Sterling’s chest. He doesn’t laugh with me, but his thumb grazes the small of my back, light yet intimate.
Then Sterling asks, “You okay? Want water?”
“You’re a little much when you get like this,” I tease lightly.
He exhales through his nose, almost smiling.
I melt against him. “But I love it when you fuss.”
He doesn’t respond out loud. He doesn’t stop touching me either. I lie there on Sterling’s chest, lulled by the rhythm of his heartbeat.
The world can wait. The fire’s mostly embers now, casting a faint amber glow that flickers across the walls.
The only sounds left are the groan of the cabin settling, wind weaving through the trees outside, and Stan’s snoring inside.
I smile into Sterling’s chest again.
His palm glides along my back beneath the blanket. “Comfortable?” he asks quietly.
I nod. “Too much to move.”
“Good,” he says. I think that’s all he’ll say, but he speaks after a moment. “I thought you might regret it. That it’d feel like too much too fast.”
I lift my head to see him in the dim light, his gaze already searching mine. “I don’t regret it,” I whisper. “Not even close.”
He fumbles for my hand, fingers clumsy until they find mine and hold tight. “I didn’t plan any of it.” His words sound rough. “Didn’t mean for it all to happen like that. But I didn’t hate it. I can’t when it makes you happy.”
I press my smile against his chest. “You worry too much, Sterling.”
“You don’t worry enough, Elle.”
That earns him a gentle pinch. He breathes out, nearly a laugh.
“I like seeing you like this,” he adds. “Letting go. Doing what you want.”
I smile even more. “It’s easier with you.”
He goes quiet again, but his hand moves to cradle the back of my head, fingers slipping into my hair. The hold is so gentle, it almost breaks me.
Outside, the wind kicks up. Inside, the fire hisses in response. Stan mumbles in his sleep, then rolls with enough force to rattle the headboard. Sterling and I both stifle a laugh.
“I like it when you laugh,” he murmurs.
“I like it when you try not to.”
I tip my head up to see him better. His eyes appear the way they always do when he’s close to letting something show. I want him to let it show.
He lifts a hand, cupping my cheek, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. “You’re beautiful all the time. But even more when you’re happy.”
It takes all of me not to let tears rise in my eyes. Closing them, I’m quiet for a moment, because I don’t want to ruin the moment by saying too much. Words that would split me wide.
I love you, Sterling. I always will.
So instead, I rest a hand over his heart. His fingers settle against my cheek. We stay this way, in silence that feels like its own conversation. And then, slowly, I lean toward him. He meets me halfway.
Our kiss is unhurried and warm, as though we have all the time in the world.
I wish we did. It already feels like we do.
His hand cards through my hair. My lips part above his, and his mouth moves against mine in that slow, consuming way that makes the rest of the world disappear entirely.
Time ceases to exist. Everything else disappears.
Eventually, when we pull apart, I smile, my wet eyes still closed, but I feel his heart beat with mine. We’re in perfect sync.
Sterling moves a bit, gently pulling the blanket up and over my body, even over my head.
I laugh quietly, cocooned in wool and warmth. “Still fussing?”
“Don’t want you cold.”
“I was already warm,” I murmur. “Thanks to you.”
“Now you’re warmer.”
His arms wrap around me. His body is a furnace. His comforting presence brings me peace. His heartbeat lulls me into calmness. And with him here with me, sleep comes easy, and the nightmares stay at bay.