Chapter Eight
Rowan
I‘m not breathing. I’m wide-eyed, staring down at him as he peers up, lashes brushing his high cheekbones with every blink. And his skin is so soft to look at, so unblemished and pure.
I want this piece of him. I want to take it and keep it for myself.
“Okay,” I hear myself say. The word leaves me as a harsh breath would. A scared confession.
“Where do you want me?”
God, I wish he’d stop talking to me like that. Why does everything he says have to sound so filthy?!
“Just… stay there," I mumble.
After making sure the camera is loaded and ready, that all the settings are correct for the lighting and the portrait, I take a deep breath and raise it.
Benjam—Elijah stares at me, no trace of a smile on his face as he watches me through the lens. No, that’s not right. He’s not looking at the camera at all. He’s watching me so intently, so curiously. As if he’s figuring me out, as if he’s learning me with every breath, every move I make.
For a moment, all I can do is stare at him through the camera. My two favorite things combined into one—Benjamin and photography.
Only—this is Elijah—and I’m terrified of what will happen when the shutter goes off.
“Row,” Elijah says, and never taking my eyes off of the shape of him through the electronic viewfinder, I respond.
“Yes?”
“Are you going to stare at me all night, or are you going to take my picture?” The slight hint of a smile tilts up the left side of his mouth, and the shutter goes off.
A deep, loud sigh leaves my chest, and slowly, my eyes lift to meet his. “Done.”
“And?”
“And…?” I repeat.
“Do I have a piece of you, or do you have a piece of me?”
The question startles me, much like several of his others, and I take a moment to let it sink in.
“If I’m honest… I don’t know," I answer him.
Elijah is taking the camera from me. He’s sitting it on the desk and turning those domineering eyes back onto mine. I don’t remember Benjamin ever looking at me in such a way.
My hands grip the edge of the wood behind me, and I watch in horror as he lifts those fingers to graze my jaw.
“Then I will give you something you can understand,” he tells me.
Before his mouth can reach mine, I speak. “You’re drunk.” A soft huff of air leaves him. The place where he’s touching me hurts.
“No—I’m really not,” Elijah counters.
And then the first brush of his lips over mine is happening, so soft and so warm, and it’s as if my body knows how to react before my mind. As if I’ve been in this situation before, and now is the time when I’m meant to act on instinct.
My hands shoot out to grasp his hips, dragging him to me; under my palms is straight fire, something achy and alive. Elijah groans, as if he, too, feels this pain.
Despite how hard I’m gripping the bones of his hips, his lips are still pressed so gently to mine. Closed mouth and slow.
Something is passing between us: something that hurts as much as it thickens my desire. And fuck if it doesn’t feel right, if it doesn’t feel exactly how kissing another man is supposed to.
Elijah pulls his lips from mine, just far enough to look me in the eyes.
“What…?” He seems to be asking me what this thing between us is.
“I don’t…” Because I don’t.
If Elijah sought to give me something I would understand, he has failed horribly.
And as he presses his hips into mine, I come to the realization that he doesn’t care. He is chasing this painful pleasure in the same way that I am.
Elijah’s mouth crashes back against mine, his tongue hungrily dancing along the seam of my lips. And when I allow him access, when I open for him and feel the smooth wet muscle against my own, my eyes shoot open.
He’s pressed so tightly against me that I cannot see him very well, but I’m not really looking anyway. Instead, I am seeing every moment where I’ve tasted Benjamin in my dreams. They’re playing out right in front of me—and they taste just like this.
With one long, vicious moan into his mouth, I have his legs wrapped around me, carrying him out of the darkroom and to my bed.
Elijah does not object. In fact, I begin to wonder if he’s capable of having thoughts outside of devouring my mouth with his own.
But then I’m standing him up in front of the mattress and he’s pulling away, looking at me with another expression I have yet to see. Whether it be on him or Benjamin.
Before I can register anything else, his hand is on my shoulder, applying minimal pressure. But I get the idea, and slowly, I sink to my knees.
Elijah does not unbutton his jeans; he does not demand I touch him.
No—Elijah stares at me from where he towers above, and something hungry enters those hazel eyes.
His bright hair framing his face, his soft lips pouting so beautifully. All of his sweet, boyish features sit in such a stark contrast to the way he’s staring at me now. As if he’ll devour me at any moment.
Elijah views himself as the puppet master, and in this moment, he holds all of my strings. So beautiful.
“You look like an angel,” I whisper, and Elijah’s eyes widen. His breathing comes out quicker, chest rising and falling beneath his sweater.
“Do I?” He wants to hear it again.
“Yes. You’re glowing. I… I quite like being on my knees for you.”
“Fuck,” he whines, chin falling to his chest as those eyes hide away behind clenched eyelids.
“I think I know,” I tell him, and for some reason, the words keep pouring out. I’m not even completely sure of what I’m saying. But I know it’s right. That it’s the truth; I just wish I knew how I became aware of it. “I think I know how you need to be touched.”
Elijah opens his eyes, bottom lip quivering as he watches me from under hooded lids. “And how is that, Rowan?”
I want to hear it again. I want to hear my name from his lips in that lust-soaked voice.
I slowly pull his shoes and socks off, one after the other. And when they’re gone, I lift his foot to my mouth and kiss the top of it. I hear his breath catch.
“You want my attention,” I start, setting his foot back to the floor and running my hands up his legs. “You want someone to notice that you’re a lot more than just a pretty boy.”
“Rowan.” It sounds like a warning, like a plea. That is how I know I’m right.
My hands slip under his sweater, brushing up over his hard nipples.
“You’re so beautiful, Eli. Every time I touch you, it hurts.
That’s how bright you burn.” I push the fabric of his sweater up until he gets the message, pulling it over his head.
And for a brief moment, all I can think of is how they look exactly the same, even here.
“Just looking at you makes me feel weak. So pure, so brilliant to look at. I don’t think I deserve even this much. ”
“Rowan, please,” he pleads. “It’s time to touch me. Get up.” Now he demands, tugging on my shirt until I stand before him.
Only, I’m not quite done paying slow attention to every inch of his body that I can reach. As my fingers work the button of his slacks, I drop my mouth to his shoulder, licking and kissing the skin there.
He groans against me, hands gripping my biceps.
And once his pants hit the floor and all that’s left of him is his straining body and a pair of tiny white briefs, I take a step back to fully see him.
“Take them off,” I tell him, and Elijah doesn’t hesitate in his movements as he pulls the briefs down and kicks them away.
Now he is naked, fully exposed in front of me. His skin is smooth, so smooth in every area. A soft, tapered waist and narrow hips. His cock stands hard and wet, just long enough to touch his lower stomach with his desire.
I want to swallow him whole. The animalistic urge to mark every inch of his clean skin battles with the need to softly brush my lips over it in offering.
“You’re unearthly,” I breathe, taking a step toward him. Elijah holds a palm out to stop me. Then, he gestures to my own clothes with wide, desperate eyes.
Right, I’m fully clothed.
I pull my shirt and jeans off, taking my socks with them. And then I’m watching him as I slide my boxers down, revealing my own embarrassing need.
But my self-conscious thoughts only last a moment, as Elijah licks his lips and releases a stuttered breath in response to my dick and where it rests a few inches below my navel.
“Jesus,” he says, eyes slowly dragging up my body to meet mine. “Back on your knees.”
I do not need to be told twice. As soon as my knees hit the hardwood, Elijah is walking toward me. The sight of me below him must do as much for him as Elijah being above does for me. Arousal beads at his slit, sliding obscenely down his length once it builds to an unreasonable weight.
Once he’s right in front of me, I give in to the desire and lean forward, swiping my tongue along the trail and collecting the taste of him.
Elijah hisses, hips bucking forward just slightly. Only, I can’t really focus on his reaction over the taste of him. A little musky, a little citrusy, a little… familiar.
The taste of him is so insanely vibrant it’s as if it’s screaming at me. Something in my chest hurts. It’s begging to be heard and to be touched, but I’m not sure what it’s saying. What it wants.
I think I need to touch him more to fully understand.
My fingers trace Elijah’s thighs of their own accord, my lips dragging over the length of him. He smells so good. So fucking good I could die right here.
I’d do anything—in this moment, I am realizing that I would do just about anything to stay here with him. If it kept him within my line of sight, under the weight of my hands… I think I’d commit a crime.
“Elijah,” I groan, burying my face into his hip. “Let me blow you. Let me taste you some more.” I’m begging him. There is no hiding my tone of voice, my desperation.
“Suck it.” He's grinning as he says it.
I wrap my lips around him, sucking greedily at his tip. I want more of him on my tongue. I want more of his skin, his arousal, his smell. Everything—I want it all.