Chapter Eight #2
I feel like I’m going crazy. Fucking delirious. And every time my flesh makes contact with his, something inside of me notches higher, and I have the urge to sob like a child.
I hollow my cheeks and take him deeper, enjoying the weight of him as I choke, my nose brushing the small patch of blond hair on his pubic bone.
Elijah is vocal above me—alternating between deep, throaty groans and high-pitched whines.
Lifting my hand, I take his balls in my palm and roll them gently, tugging just slightly when he bucks against me.
“Fuck! I’m gonna—stop! Stop, Rowan, or I’m gonna come,” Elijah rambles.
Reluctantly, I pull off of him. He’s staring down at me with an expression I cannot read; one that appears to be a cross between pain, panic, and admiration. Maybe even enough desperation to match my own.
But I’ve never been great at reading people, and I’m afraid of assuming.
So instead, I take to leaving wet kisses against his thighs and stomach. This I know, this I am certain of. That I would rather die than take my hands off of him.
In fact, I want to be closer. I want to feel more of him. I want to be inside of him. And I think Elijah wants that too, if the way he’s trembling beneath my mouth is proof enough.
Standing, I take his hips in my hands again and guide him backwards until he falls onto the bed, urging him further onto it.
Because I am a meticulous person, I keep lube in my bedside drawer for my own late-night activities, as well as condoms for when I don’t want to have a mess to clean up. But for now, I grab only the lube and settle myself between Elijah’s legs.
Except, as soon as my eyes fall to where he lies, all the air is sucked out of me.
Knees bent, golden hair spread out around his head, his smooth chest rising and falling deeply. Those big eyes stare up at me in anticipation and fear, his thighs trembling.
I want to rip him to shreds. I want to touch him so gently until he’s begging for release.
“Oh, angel,” I whisper, but it comes out breathy and awed. Elijah whimpers quietly, brows furrowing. “You look incredible. So perfect like this.”
And he does. He really, really does. I want to give him everything I have. I want to keep him for myself. There is an intense fear growing inside of me that is demanding I never let him leave this bed, as he won’t come back to it. I’ll never lay eyes on him again.
“Rowan, please, touch me,” Elijah pleads, reaching out a hand to touch my stomach. It’s a soft touch, and it sets me on fire. So fucking hot. And the way his fingers flex and twitch against me, I know he feels it too.
Elijah pulls his knees in tighter and I pour some of the lube onto my fingers, and then some straight onto him, letting it fall right on his waiting hole. With his knees bent how they are, I can see him perfectly. Smooth and pink and so perfectly made for me.
I rub gently over it, warming it to my touch. His body spasms for a moment before relaxing against me. And once I’ve rubbed until he’s stopped clenching so desperately, I begin the slow push past that tight ring of muscle.
“Hngh,” Elijah groans, head turned away from me. I lean forward, dropping soft kisses against his shin.
His insides are burning me up. So soft and tight and hot that I could explode right this second, before my finger ever fully enters him.
I am not a virgin. I have topped several men in my life. But nothing has been like this. Nothing has ever felt so all-consuming, so overwhelming. I’ve never felt that if I don’t get inside of him soon, I might very well implode.
And when I do get inside of him, when I connect us in that way, some part of my body is thrumming with the knowledge that something revolutionary is going to happen.
As my finger is fully seated into him, I allow him a moment to adjust, his harsh panting the only sound in the room. I watch the muscle twitch, I watch his dick jump as I glide my fingers up his thighs.
“You can… you can move now,” Elijah gasps out, and I slowly pull my finger out to the tip, using my other hand to loosely pump his length as I push it back in. “Oh, god.”
“I know,” I tell him, because I do. I feel it too. And I lean over him as I pick up the pace, meeting his eyes. I want to watch them as I add another finger—so I do. He cries out, eyes widening. “Shh,” I coo, dropping my mouth to his.
This kiss is needier—more desperate than it was the first time. He’s gripping my face, shoving his tongue into my mouth as he whines and hiccups against me. Tears are gathering in his eyes, and I can feel him begin to push back against my fingers with each thrust.
He’s warming up so nicely, so easily beneath my gentle hands. Just as he should, as he’s meant to.
Yes. Yes—it was always meant to be like this.
Do you remember me now?
I gasp into his mouth, my fingers curling on their retreat and twisting on their way back in. And as I’m dropping my lips to suction over his nipple, I suddenly have an innate feeling of where to find his prostate.
As if I’ve touched it before, as if it’s that easy to find in a man, and I’m just that good.
So I twist my wrist to the right and push in deep, curling my fingers against his walls. Elijah arches up off the mattress, his hand shooting between the two of us to grab my wrist.
Only, he’s not pulling me away—he’s keeping me from retreating.
“Oh, fuck. Oh, god. Right there,” he moans, head thrown back.
I release his abused nipple and grin, rubbing viciously at the spot. “Is that it, little angel? Can you feel me there?”
Elijah is nodding vigorously, and I have to peel his hand from my wrist so that I can extract it to add a third finger. He’s almost ready.
I let go of his shaft and return to his chest, pumping my fingers against that singular spot. Sucking his neglected nipple into my mouth, I roll it between my teeth until it’s fully hardened, eating up every little whimper, every little grunt he gives me.
The desire to sink my teeth into him is driving me crazy.
After a minute or two, I pull my fingers from his twitching hole, wiping my hand on my t-shirt that’s managed to sit abandoned at the end of the bed, and reach into the drawer for a condom.
Elijah watches me as I roll it on, as I add more lube to the latex. I’m pulsing, moments away from screaming at the reality of sinking into him like this.
“Rowan,” he says, and I can hear the surreality in his voice. He’s overwhelmed.
I lean over his body, lining myself up with his entrance as I take in his expression. I am not scared of his rejection or of him turning me away. Neither will happen. This is meant to be.
“Eli,” I whisper, kissing him gently. “Are you ready?”
After a beat or two of silence, he takes in an unsteady breath. “Take me.”
I begin to sink into him, not daring to take a breath until my head pops through that ring of muscle. As it does, I damn near fall on top of him.
Instead, I hold still—my eyes clenched shut as I try to keep from coming while also giving him a moment to handle the pain of it.
When I open my eyes, I find that his tears have finally fallen. My heart sinks, and panic begins to set in.
“Does it hurt too badly? Want me to pull out?” I ask, and wide eyes stare up at me as Elijah slowly shakes his head. His palm lands on my ass, and he’s soon pushing me forward, further into him. “Ugh, fuck,” I groan, dropping my forehead to his. “So tight.”
As I bottom out—fully sheathed inside of him—Elijah takes in several loud, sharp breaths. I can feel him everywhere; I can sense him everywhere. And suddenly, all I can smell is citrus—the overwhelming scent of oranges and home.
I’ve begun to weep.
Something horrible and devastating is bubbling up inside of me, and all I can do is grin and cry.
Slowly, I drag my hips back until nothing but my swollen tip sits inside of him. Then, I push back in. It’s a slow, painful fight for Elijah and a slow, agonizing wait for me. But soon he’s groaning in annoyance and wrapping his legs around my waist.
“More. I need more,” he whines, and I don’t waste another second before I’m slamming into him with reckless abandon. “Oh, shit!”
“I…” I begin, pressing another breathless kiss to his lips. “Let me worship you. Even if it’s just for tonight.”
I want him to understand how important our being connected is; I need him to understand that my desire to praise him is so deeply rooted in me that I think I’ll die if he says no.
“Okay,” Elijah says, and something in me snaps into place.
“So fucking good.” My lips drop to his neck, making a path to his shoulders and then to his chest. With every thrust, I push myself further into him, and my lips are claiming his skin one kiss at a time.
“Rowan,” he cries, and I can feel the wetness collecting in the hair at his temples. I grip the strands there, slamming into him as I level my face over his, holding that hazel gaze.
“You’re so beautiful. Fuck—you’re so beautiful. I’d do anything, anything you asked. Anything for you,” I’m confessing, and his tears only grow heavier. “On my knees, I’d beg you for a single touch.”
“Oh, god. So deep,” he whimpers, hands clenching at my hips. And I can’t take it; I can’t take this burning desire or this building of emotion inside of me.
I pick him up, sitting him on my dick as I pound up into him. Elijah cries out, wrapping his arms around my neck.
“I know—I know, baby. Just like that… you like it just like that,” I whisper against his ear, hitting that sweet little spot inside of him with every desperate thrust.
And he’s moaning and leaking and falling apart, so I know I’m right. Even without those tell-tale signs, I know I’m right.
Because every moment of my life has been leading up to this, everything suddenly makes sense to me.
Do you remember me now?
As I fuck up into Elijah’s tight ass, I try to breathe around the weight of my devastation, of my sorrow.
Can you feel how your body remembers mine?
My hand sneaks between our torsos, pressing hard against the little spot between his hips where I’m buried so sweetly inside of him. Where we connect.
I finally found you, didn’t I? What happened to us? Where did you go?
“Row, I’m gonna come! Oh…Oh fuck, ohmygod, ohmy—ugh,” he groans, and I can feel the hot release of his come spread between where our chests are pressed together.
Elijah is sobbing, sobbing so fucking desperately. As if his body is remembering mine; as if it’s mourning.
I can’t breathe around the sick sorrow in my chest, and my own tears make my words nearly unintelligible.
“God—this is our souls connecting. I’m learning your spirit as well as your body. I want it all,” I hear myself saying.
I want every piece of him. I want to learn every inch of who he has become.
And as he keeps crying, I keep fucking him. Licking his tears away, swallowing each sob.
Do you understand why you’re crying in such a way? Have you missed me as much as I’ve missed you?
I fuck him even harder. Elijah comes over and over again. Throughout the night, neither of us can stop crying, and he keeps coming.
I have lived my entire life shrouded in sorrow, all for this one moment, this one reunion.
In this devastating connection, I feel him—Benjamin—alive in every inch of Elijah. His soul is mine to reclaim, and mine is his. There is no thought, no doubt, only the overwhelming truth that he has always been here, waiting, and I have finally found him.
With every thrust, with every tear that falls, I am more assured. With each climax, with every passing moment, I am more certain that he and Benjamin are one and the same.
There is no way that I would get this close to him and not know; there is no way he and I would be born to the same universe, and I would not find him.
It’s fine that he doesn’t seem to remember me. His body does—and I can make him fall in love all over again. I don’t mind; slow and steady wins the race.
After so long, I’m not sure how long—time has become something that no longer matters in this moment of realization—when I see that Elijah is completely spent, I allow myself to come.
I push myself as deep inside of him as I can and unload into the condom, feeling my tears fall onto his face. I’m watching him, and he’s watching me, and we’re both still sobbing. Like children. Like two halves of one soul coming together.
Like two lost lovers finally finding each other in the next life.
“Little angel,” I pray as I kiss his cheek, pulling him even tighter against me. “Stay with me.”