Chapter 19 Andre #2
Elias pulls out his phone instantly. He stares at my message. He starts looking around, but I’m behind him and on a higher level of the staggered floor.
I text, Stop looking for me. It won’t do you any good.
When Elias looks up from that, head turned enough to show me part of his profile, he smiles the biggest smile I’ve seen from him.
Jesus Christ, it’s fucking beautiful. It stops my breath.
It soothes my jealousy. Until now, I wasn’t sure, not really sure, that all this tonight was about me, but it is. This is what he wanted.
I should be angry that he’s lured me, manipulated me, laid this trap for me, but I’m not. I want this too.
My phone vibrates.
Elias: Are you angry with me?
Ah, so he knows he’s bad. That simplifies things.
I reply, I don’t have to be angry to punish you.
His breath hitches. I smile. That’s right, baby. You’re in trouble.
I send one more text: Keep your head straight. If you look back, I’m gone.
Elias freezes, staring at that. I have to trust him. I don’t have any choice. I stalk forward. My boots are at the level of his shoulders, so he catches the sound. This is his chance to see me, to end the game, but he doesn’t. I think he knows that in winning the game, he would lose it.
He stays still as I drop to one knee behind him. I take the long ribbon of purple silk from my pocket. Elias sucks in a breath when I lay it over his eyes. I wrap the length of silk around his head three times, securely binding his eyes before tying it behind his head.
I have to leave him for a moment to walk around to the short set of steps down to his level. I watch him the whole time. Under the slashed crop top, his chest is heaving. His lips are parted. He’s beautiful, blinded like that in this dangerous place, excited and a little frightened.
When I reach him, I stroke his head. He shivers and makes a needy little sound.
“Mmm,” I murmur because I can’t help it. But I can’t allow myself anything more. I can’t speak to him without giving myself away.
As I sit on the couch, I pull him up and into me. His ass settles on my lap, his back against my chest. He’s breathing hard, trembling, not sure what to expect, but I just hold him there. He starts to relax. His body eases, molds to mine. His weight feels so good against me.
I wasn’t hard before—I was too upset—but I get hard now, sitting here with Elias. His hands are resting on my arms where they band around him. His head is tilted back, resting on my shoulder.
I let my hand drift down to where his cock is pressing visibly against his pants. I stroke almost idly and listen to him murmur with pleasure. I nuzzle at his ear and jaw. Except for the smooth, slick band of silk, I get to touch his face with mine. There’s no mask in the way.
I feel almost relaxed as we sit here. I can’t talk to him so I don’t have to construct any lines to shape this for either of us. I can just touch him, enjoy his body against mine.
He’s grinding lightly on me. It’s instinctive, without thought. I’m without thought too as I open his pants.
But that’s when he seems to remember that he’s in public. He freezes. I don’t—because there are some things I understand about my Elias that maybe he doesn’t. He needs to be seen. Coveted.
He doesn’t notice when people look at him.
It’s like his brain rewrites it, dismisses it as nothing before he can even see it.
But there’s no way for his brain to rewrite the possessive grip of my hand on his stiff dick as I shove his pants down.
There’s no dismissing my public claim of him, even if he can’t see it—especially because he can’t see it. He has to feel it instead.
He moans and presses his shoulders against me as I stroke his bare cock. I’m simultaneously satisfied and enraged that others can see him, his beauty, his need. But one thing is certainly clear: all of it, all of him, belongs to me.
That’s when I stop thinking. I didn’t actually plan to fuck him here, but that’s what’s going to happen.
When I push more demandingly at his pants, he starts to help.
He twists and contorts his body to get them off.
It’s not easy for him because I won’t let go, not even as I struggle onehandedly to get my own pants open.
I dig a packet of lube from my pocket, rip it open with my teeth, and slick my cock. Elias has managed to get free of his pants and shoes by then. I reach for his hole, intending to stretch him, but he grabs my cock and holds it in place while he sinks down.
A strange, good-bad mix of feelings goes through me. I haven’t been grabbed in a long, long time. I start shaking because I don’t know how to react. My body is confused about it.
But it’s Elias, and I trust him, so I let it happen.
He sinks down slowly, letting my cock stretch and open him. He trusts me too. He must, to do this blindfolded, in public.
It’s strange to realize that we’ve built any kind of trust between us, given the nature of our relationship. But it’s there. I feel it. And I can’t mistake it because I have never, ever felt it before, not with anyone.
I trust him.
When he’s taken me all the way, he leans back against me, trembling like I am. I tighten my arms around him, cover his dick with my hand. I hold him against me and breathe.
He starts to rock on me. He leans forward by degrees, angling his body against mine, fucking himself on me. I drop my hands to his hips. I squeeze. I force him harder against me. It feels good, but it’s not what I want. It’s not what Elias wants either.
He draws himself off me. I growl, angry at first, but he turns and straddles me face to face. With his feet up on the couch on either side of me, he grips my cock again.
My teeth slam together because I just don’t fucking know about that, but it’s Elias. It’s Elias, so I let him do it. He sinks down on me again.
I gasp and choke at the stimulation and the unfamiliar closeness, then I just start shuddering as Elias curls into me. He starts … fuck, he starts petting my hair. He does it until I calm down, until I kiss him.
I don’t mean to. It just happens.
He opens for me, moans into my mouth. He grinds on me. I grab his hips and work him harder on my cock. The kiss breaks. He tucks his face against me. In this position, his head is above mine.
I don’t know if I can come like this, but he will. His cock is stiff, his balls swollen hard. He’s moaning. His abs are tense.
I tilt his hips so I can hit his prostate. I stroke his cock. I’m greedy and harsh, but he likes it.
“I need you,” he says. “Please—I need you.”
It’s a strange freedom to be unable to speak. I can’t reshape what he said, can’t reject it or speak over it.
He keeps curling toward me. That’s what he’s doing when he orgasms. He bites my neck. He clenches on my dick. He grabs my hair—and I fucking come.
It surprises me. It has me grunting and straining up into him as he curls into me. I press my face into his shoulder through the harsh waves of it. I feel powerless in it, which triggers a deep, familiar horror. But there’s no stopping it. I don’t have any choice but to let it happen.
The orgasm takes a long time to pass, and it leaves me shaking. I don’t know how to react.
Elias is relaxing against me. On a certain level, that feels good—he feels good.
But there’s a scream somewhere in my head. I don’t like it. I don’t want to deal with it.
I try to dissociate, but I’m not very successful. The scream dulls, but I’m very aware of it under my skin. I’m very aware that I’m still trembling under Elias’s weight and warmth. I’m not entirely sure what the problem is. Maybe it’s the cum on my shirt. Maybe it’s Rafael in my peripheral vision.
Elias nuzzles at me, his face against my neck. I feel the sleek brush of silk binding his eyes. It helps me remember my role and what I’m supposed to be doing. It jolts me because, for a moment, I’d forgotten it.
This is why I needed until Monday. I haven’t gotten my shit sorted out. The walls that are supposed to be up in my mind, keeping everything clear and distinct, are still fragile.
But I know the actions that I’ve scripted for myself as Elias’s stalker. He can’t see me, can’t know me, but I can’t leave him, not here, not like this. Which means that he has to leave me. So I dig the tablet from my pocket.
Holding Elias against me, my cock still inside him, I lean forward and drop the pill into his drink.
* * *
I go through a lot of motions between handing Elias that drink and getting him in my car. At some moments, I’m almost robotic. Others … I struggle.
My brain isn’t working quite right. I think that’s why I don’t notice that I’m being followed until I turn off the main street for the hotel’s parking garage.
I see the black Audi in my rearview mirror. It was parked outside Lush when I emerged with Elias. I only noticed it then because I was gauging potential interpretations of me scooping up a very drunk-looking Elias. But there was no reaction, so I moved on.
But it’s the same car.
I park in my private section of the hotel’s garage and haul Elias from the passenger seat. He’s completely out now, a total ragdoll, so I heft him into my arms. I take him up to his floor and into his apartment.
At this point, I’m not really acting out my role. Elias’s stalker would lie down in the bed with him. He’d walk around the apartment, maybe take pictures, maybe leave some sign of his presence. He’d feel a sense of power.
He’d also be preparing to deal with the fact that, come morning, Elias will realize that his stalker has extensive access to the hotel and must, therefore, be an employee.
But something is eating at me. A lot of things are, actually, but I focus on the easiest one. That Audi.
So I take off the purple silk ribbon binding Elias’s eyes and leave him in his bed with a sense that something is unfinished, that we’ve been interrupted.
As I’m walking out, I pull up the hotel’s exterior security feeds on my phone. It takes me a minute to find the Audi, but when I do, when I zoom in, I frown.
The image of the driver isn’t great, but it’s a man, maybe 30, Italian. I wouldn’t be able to discern that much from the grainy image if I hadn’t already seen him tonight.
He’s the one who took a picture of Elias at Lush.
I’d forgotten about it, but I shouldn’t have. On another night, with my head clear, I wouldn’t have.
My skin prickles with goosebumps. Why the fuck did this man take a picture of Elias then wait outside for him and follow us?
I grit my teeth. There’s nothing I can do with this shitty image and the bare fact that I saw the guy earlier. I need information. I need to know who he is.
And there’s only one place to start, one person to talk to. Rafael.
Fuck.