Chapter 30 #2
It all feels too real now. Overwhelming in a way, a storm is beautiful and terrifying at once. Never in a million years did I think I'd even tolerate Elijah… let alone ache for the sound of his laugh, the brush of his fingers on my skin, the way his lips find mine and make everything feel okay.
The thought that he's become someone important to me—someone who hurt my dad and split my family up—should make me step back. But it doesn't. Not even a little.
So I kiss him. Recklessly. Every ounce of me sinks into him, claiming him even as I straddle him, letting myself trace over the planes of his chest, memorise the strength in his arms, the tension in his shoulders.
I ride him slowly at first, feeling every pulse of him inside me.
I push the ache away from my own body, the weight of last night and this morning, the confession he just made…
all of it melts into the what between us.
In this moment, there's nothing but him, the rough gentleness of his hands, and the dizzying, perfect chaos of us.
I let myself surrender fully because with Elijah, even the messy, complicated parts of me feel right.
“Hello, you two.”
Ezra drops into the chair beside me, flashing that boyish grin that usually means trouble.
We’re at their parents' house for dinner. Elliot, Aria and Millie were supposed to come, but they've all come down with a stomach bug, so it's just us tonight.
He turns fully in his seat, deliberately ignoring the dark glare Elijah is sending him from across the table.
“I couldn't help but notice something,” he drawls, tapping his fingers lazily against the wood, eyes gleaming with mischief.
“And what's that?”
Elijah exhales sharply beside me. “You really shouldn't have asked that. Now he won’t shut up for the rest of the afternoon.”
He lets out an easy laugh, stretching his arm along the back of my chair. “Please, I’d talk either way. Though I have to say, you're awfully grumpy for a man who clearly had a very productive night.”
The wink he throws my way nearly makes me choke.
I still, but only for half a second, as he studies me, trying to look for a crack in my reaction.
“Relax, Willow,” he adds smoothly. “It’s our little secret.”
Elijah takes a sip of his drink, maddeningly calm, unlike myself. “There is no secret.”
“Oh yeah? Then you won't mind explaining that.”
He gestures toward Elijah's neck. Just below his ear, dark against his skin, is a very obvious purple bruise. And I know—because I put it there, which probably matches the other ones I left on his perfect body.
Oh no, we are done for, finished. If Ezra spotted it there's no way their parents didn't.
But Elijah doesn't rush to cover it. Doesn't even tense. If anything, the corner of his mouth twitches like he finds this amusing—his knee presses against mine under the table.
“You're also walking around like you've just had an orgy,” he adds casually. “Trust me, I know.”
I press my lips together, fighting the urge to laugh—or choke. I honestly hadn't thought anyone would notice. But walking has proven to be difficult because it still feels like Elijah is between my legs.
The man responsible, though, doesn't rise to it, but he doesn't deny it either.
He simply leans back in his chair, looking entirely too satisfied with himself.
There's a quiet arrogance in the set of his jaw, in the way his fingers curl loosely around his glass.
A man who knows exactly what he did, and how well he did it.
And it only makes my cheeks burn hotter.
We barely managed to crawl out of bed this morning. The shower has been long and slow, steam thick in the air. He’d washed my hair for me, gentle and thorough, just like he had weeks ago when I didn't have the energy to care for myself.
The same steady care and quiet devotion.
That's the thing about him, he can ruin you one minute and handle you like something precious the next.
After the shower, he’d given me a look before mentioning that he had something he wanted to try. From the drawer, he produced a small, glass toy, which was heart-shaped and pink at the base.
A but plug.
He had given me a but plug.
At first, I couldn't believe it.
I've never been taken there before. And when he slid it in, the sensation had been strange, but different in a good way. He’d been patient, Intentional. He wasn't just chasing pleasure but making sure I felt safe in it.
Understandable and so needed because his dick is huge.
“Careful, Willow,” he murmurs, amused. “You're blushing.”
Elijah's knee knocks against mine. “Enough, Ez.”
I shift in my seat, suddenly very aware that both of them are watching me now. Tingles run up my spine.
“I’m going to see if your parents need cooking—” I wince. “I mean, if they need my help.”
Smooth, Willow.
I’m on my feet before either of them can respond, escaping the dining room and the weight of their twin stares. Just as I reach the kitchen doorway, I hear the loud smack of what definitely sounds like a hand connecting with someone's arm, followed by Elijah's low, irritated voice.
“You're a fucking idiot.”
So two people know about us, and neither of them is horrified by it.
Even if it is a messy, complicated situation.
I step into the kitchen to find Moira alone at the counter, plating up dinner with quick, efficient movements, sleeves pushed up, cheeks slightly red from the oven's heat.
The room smells incredible.
“Ah, hi there, love,” Moira says, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Hope my boys haven't been drivin’ ye mad.”
“Nothing I can't handle,” I reply, half-truth, edging closer to the counter where she stands. “Was just wondering if you needed any help.”
She waves me off. “Ah, don't be botherin' yourself, I’m all done. Ye’re the guest here. Though those two could learn a thing or two from ye, I swear on my soul.”
I look around. “Where's Oscar?”
Moira rolls her eyes. “Ran off to the loo, as per usual. Only ever gets a stomach ache when there's actual work in the kitchen.”
I let out a small laugh, more wistful than anything. “Sounds like my dad. He hated cooking, so we ended up eating out a lot or surviving on takeaways until I finally taught myself. By then… well, he didn't really have much of an appetite anyway.”
I trail off, the memory of nights spent cleaning up after him still vivid in my mind.
Moira nods, eyes soft with understanding. “I remember his mam telling me about the time he nearly burnt the kitchen down tryin’ to make soup once. She never let him cook again… not even toast.”
I've seen pictures of my dad's parents, and he spoke about them often. Tragically, they died in a car accident just before I was born. I've lost so many people in my life.
She reaches over, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “I just hope ye know how strong ye are.”
I wish I felt it. Most days, it's like a grey cloud is permanently hovering over me, weighing me down.
She grabs two plates from the counter and stops beside me, the warmth of her presence filling the space. “No matter what happens, ye’ve always got a home and family here with us. I’m sure Elijah’s made that clear enough.”
When she leaves me standing in the kitchen, taking some plates myself, I can't help but feel gratitude.
Grateful for them—for the way they’ve welcomed me so completely, so effortlessly, in such a short time. It's strange, really, to feel like I belong somewhere, like I have a place in a family that's not mine by blood, but feels just as real.