Chapter 40 Vale
Vale
Trance shattered, I scramble off Aston, throwing myself back, and knocking my hip into the nightstand in the process. Something teeters off, crashing to the floor with a dull, heavy thud.
I don’t look to see what it is.
I only have eyes for the figure sprawled across the bed in nothing but a splayed-out pink kimono and the tiniest pale blue briefs known to man, darker where the distinct outline of his cock strains against the fabric. Even bathed in the dark grays of dusk, there’s no missing it.
My grip around the knife tightens as I will myself to walk away. To leave and never look back.
But my body won’t cooperate.
On the bed, Aston looks about as confused and spacey as I feel, blinking dumbly at the ceiling.
It makes it hard to blame him this time—to pin what just happened on him. And of course that just reminds me what set all this into motion. What he started to say earlier…all that it implied.
“Acting as if I…forced you.”
The way his face fell, the way the light in his eyes dimmed…how he just sort of faded away right front of me. Or would have…if not for me forcibly snapping him out of it.
I don’t feel…bad. I’m not sorry. He was right after all; that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. Not that it made much, if any difference, once everything was all said and done.
Why acknowledge my own weakness when I could just weaponize his instead? Why admit defeat when I could have my cake and eat it too?
Why not make us both out to be the villains in this fucked up situation?
No. If anything, I’m angry. Still angry. At not just having been called out for something I stupidly thought he was too broken inside to figure out, but because he got to be upset about it.
Triggered by the very thing he stupidly brought up, giving me no other choice but to fucking tackle him and use his own knife to scare him into submission and away from the danger.
Because I was angry. So fucking angry I could throttle him. Angry he was…right.
Not for any other reason…
I’m dimly aware of steps thudding up the stairs. Quick and heavy…the gait of a teenager. The others must be back. Matilda and the kid.
When I didn’t see any cars parked outside earlier, I would’ve kept on driving. But then I caught sight of movement in the upstairs window overlooking the street. The window to his room. And next thing I know, I’m parking in front of his neighbor’s house.
It took me all of two minutes before I lost the battle with myself. I wasn’t even sure if he was by himself or not…but I didn’t care. I just…
I needed…
Now, on the bed, Aston hoists himself up onto his forearms and drags his gaze to mine, peeking through the mess of hair hanging over his furrowed brow. His lips are parted, full and red, smeared with the evidence of what just happened. Evidence I also wear on my own lips, sticky and coppery.
And before I can think better of it—before I can do the smart thing and cruelly wipe my mouth before storming off—the tip of my tongue pokes out for a taste.
Aston’s eyes widen, eating up the action—something akin to clarity returning to him, reaching out like claws to part the cobwebs left in the wake of what just happened.
He sucks on his bottom lip, tasting us—his blood. Mine. Ours—his lashes fluttering madly.
I kissed him.
I practically kissed him.
Hell, I was a split-second from tossing the knife, grabbing him by the skull, and devouring him wholly and completely when—
Someone knocks on the door, stilted and hesitant. Not unlike the voice calling out from the other side, “Aston?”
Owlish green eyes from the bed collide with mine once more. He releases his bottom lip. “Uh…yeah?” he says loudly, rougher in a way it normally isn’t. And fuck if my cock doesn’t twitch at the sound.
A beat passes. “Are you okay? I heard a loud…bang.”
There’s a weighty moment of silence, and then—
Aston slaps a hand over his mouth, muffling a snort, eyes swimming with mirth.
I glare pointedly at him.
“Oh, y-yeah, um. That was Vale,” he manages to choke out, and I want to wring him by the neck.
What does it matter? Jennings knows you’re here. He probably already told his wife.
“He came to…visit,” Aston goes on, stumbling over his words.
“And I…” His gaze flicks across the floor to something behind me.
“My bowling ball. I was showing him my bowling ball.” He tsks noisily, shaking his head.
“He dropped it. Probably should reconsider his football dreams, methinks. It was a total fumble.”
My lip curls as I shoot him a what-the-fuck look. The dumbass just shrugs, mouthing, “What?”
I jab a finger at the fallen lamp near my feet.
Aston blinks down at it like he’s never seen it before, before his eyes round with comprehension.
Yeah, idiot. You could’ve just said the truth.
Well, the partial truth.
“Right…” I hear Eden mutter from the other side of the door. A second later, his steps retreat, followed by what sounds like the door across the hall opening and shutting.
Aston blows out a breath, tipping his head back. The sun has mostly gone down, but a steam of dark orange light streaking in from the window catches on his features, lighting him up.
“A bowling ball?” I mutter, my voice like gravel. “Really?”
Aston pushes to a fully-seated position, pulling the kimono back around his shoulders, and points behind me. I twist to find a hot pink bowling ball peeking out from behind his mirror.
“Why the fuck do you have a pink bowling ball?”
When I turn around, he’s scowling. “Because pink’s my favorite color.” I can hear his silent duh.
I blink. “That’s not… You know what? Forget it. I don’t care. I’m leaving.”
Surprisingly, he doesn’t try to stop me. If it weren’t for his eyes tracking my movements as I close his butterfly knife and gently set it on the nightstand before making my way toward the door, I’d have to look up to make sure he’s still here.
Still sitting on the bed.
Still half-naked with tiny freshly cut scabs on his lips and pre-cum staining his underwear.
I don’t know what exactly changed between that day in the locker when the idea of him getting off to me touching him—finding pleasure in my abuse, my touch, my warped toxic need for him—made me want to hurl.
Made me want to choke the fucking life out of him.
Made me want to rewind the clock to six years ago, so I could watch the life leave Rick’s eyes all over again and actually savor what I did that night… what Aston did to his body…
And today, just now…
Knowing just how turned on he was, how needy he was under me, seconds from combusting, all from a barely-there kiss.
From mere friction. From the feel of my heart pounding against his flexed hands, warm and greedy as it clutched at my chest. From our aching cocks rubbing together through denim and cotton.
But I’m not horrified this time around. I’m irritated, yes, but not for the reasons I should be.
What would’ve happened had we not been interrupted…
“Why’d you come?”
My hand freezes around the doorknob, my shoulders tensing.
His question was murmured so softly, I’m not sure how I heard it at all.
Because you were waiting for it.
Waiting for him to say something to stop you.
“The truth.” This time, when he asks for it—demands it, really—there’s a…nervous, wary sort of quality to his voice that wasn’t there before. It’s not a furious command so much as a tired plea.
Is he as exhausted from this back and forth as I am?
Or does he just want to torture himself some more?
Jaw working, I relax my grip on the knob, and turn my body just enough to look back at him.
I’m not sure what I was expecting to find…perhaps a smirk to betray the act he’s putting on to sound meek and innocent. But that’s not what greets me.
Because there is no act this time.
He looks as beaten down as I feel, stripped down to the bone and exposed like the fresh twin wounds scored down our lips.
I don’t miss the way he’s now got the kimono wrapped tightly around him, arms hugging his middle. Or the way he nibbles nervously at his lip. Or the way his bare feet shuffle restlessly in place. Or the way his eyes dart around my face, brow furrowed deep in thought.
“I don’t know,” I hear myself say, surprising us both when I don’t just leave it at that. “I…couldn’t sleep. Been driving around since last night. Trying to get my head straight. Somehow, I just…” I shrug, letting my words trail off.
Looking out the window beyond his head, I take in the dark clouds rolling in across across the sky, broken up only by smudges of teal where the setting sun still manages to shine.
When it’s clear I’ve run out of anything more to say, he says, “How’d you know where I live?”
Our eyes meet. My brow arches faintly. “What, did you think you were the only one keeping tabs?”
His lips part, eyes widening in shock.
Shocked because I admitted it…
Or shocked I haven’t been ignoring him as much as I’ve led on?
“So…what now?” he says after a moment, fingers picking at one of the tassels hanging off his kimono. His eyes track my movements as I cross the room over to where I spot a familiar pair of gray sweatpants balled up on the floor.
“Please don’t,” he says, voice cracking.
With my hand frozen inches from the discarded pants—my discarded pants…that he stole—I turn my head, meeting his wide, desperate gaze.
Wringing his hands together, he says quietly, but no less desperate, “Please.”
Frowning, I snag the pants, and stand to my full height. I don’t miss the way his face falls, some light in his eyes I didn’t notice was there, dimming.
I open my mouth to speak, but he quickly cuts me off.
“There’s been no one else,” he rushes out.
My brow knits deeper.
“N-not since I got out.” His gaze flits between my face and what’s held tightly in my hand. “Only you. And…and I was tested at my discharge check-up. I’m good. I’m…good. Vale—”
My knuckles whiten around the fabric. I nod stiffly. Then—
“I don’t want you.”
He flinches. Visibly, like he’d been slapped.