30. Blesk
CHAPTER THIRTY
blesk
It started with that kiss—toes curling, heart racing, breathless—and then it didn’t stop. I tried not to get swept up in his whirlwind, keeping our interactions to between class and meals and responsibilities…
But… It’s been a magical few days. The kissing hasn’t stopped. Between lectures and tutorials, against walls, between book stacks and doorways. Konnor’s mouth finds mine before every hello, and mine accepts.
Three days of fingers moving from tentative touches at his shirt to gripping and pulling and pushing. Three days of coming up for air only to decide his bourbon flavoured breath is sweeter, and then time’s up.
I slip away.
Or he goes to practise.
It’s fun—the yearning for the next kiss. And now our lips move without question, but with understanding. And his hands move to my hips, squeezing and wanting more than they are taking. I can tell, by the way he paws at me. Restless.
By the fourth night we eat and drink a bottle of wine at The Grill, then head to his apartment, my overnight bag slung over his shoulder.
We enter and something is off. I scan the room, then drift toward his bed, running my eyes over surfaces that feel emptier since the last time I was here.
I stare at his bedside table. “Your alarm clock.” It’s a strange thing to notice, except that I can still see my own hand sliding the note beneath it nearly two weeks ago.
“Broke it. It was a jackarse. Delivering me your letter was the final straw.”
I raise a brow.
He shrugs. “It had been warned.”
“It’s an inanimate object, Konnor,” I say, already drifting toward his beautiful bookcase, strategically placed to act as a room divider, my eyes catching on each spine in turn.
“Oh, trust me, that didn’t stop it from bossing me around every damn day.” His eyes track me. “I did us both a favour. It didn’t have very nice things to say about you either.”
“And everything else?” I spin around and look at him, gesturing towards a corner that once had a pot plant, the empty spot where the coffee table sat, the luscious rug still showing evidence of its weight.
His jaw muscles pulse. “Broke a few other things too, Duch. But forget about that. I know I need to work on… my temper. I have a present for you.” He wanders over to the walk-in closet.
Swinging open the door, he squats and reaches inside.
He pulls out a folder with the word Everything Museum written on it.
I brighten, because I know exactly what it is.
Our mug shots.
I jig in place like a little kid, waiting to see them.
Watching my expression intently, he brings it over and places it on the kitchen bench. He pulls them out, and I look at the images. “Our first ever photos together, Duch. I went back for them. You dropped yours when you ran so… We should frame them!”
My breath catches in my throat, and I press my fingers to my smile.
I’m looking straight ahead, a blush that reads Konnor Slater marring my cheeks.
And he is looking off into the distance, but I know it’s towards me.
My heart aches. It is so ludicrously clear that we are falling hard.
I smooth my finger over Konnor’s soft smile.
I’m unable to take my eyes off it, unable to comprehend how he could look so obsessed with me before he knew I was Liz—when we were just Konnor and Blesk.
When we barely knew each other. It’s ridiculously clear that we were crazy about each other even then.
“I… I love them.”
He grabs his phone, swipes, and the surround sound comes on. Joshua Radin’s voice plays through the speakers. His song Someone Else’s Life begins to play.
“I’m glad,” he whispers. “I love them, too.”
The way my heart is beating makes me dizzy, so I grip the counter. He reaches for my elbow and stops me from leaning into it. He envelops me in his arms, knowing exactly what I truly need —what I don’t even know I need.
I sigh against his chest. His heartbeat is powerful against my ear, heavy and sturdy. He lowers his head, nuzzling the side of my face.
“I love you, Blesk,” he says into my ear. His words hit me like an electric shock. I believe him. “I can’t write or play the guitar, Duch, but this song reminds me of us.” He feeds his fingers through mine and begins to dance with me, lowering his other hand to the small of my back so he can lead.
“Sing while I dance, Kon. Sing and whistle.”
“I wish I could dance with you Liz, like a walzz.”
“It is called a waltz. With a T."
“Yeah, a waltz. But I would be in charge because I’m a boy. The boy is always in charge.”
“Na-ah! I’d be in charge! You’re my pet. I’m your master. Watch me, watch me twirl. See... Spin in your cage, spin like this. It’s fun.”
“You’re a terrible dancer, Liz.”
“You’re a terrible singer, Kon.”
He hums and sings a few lines to me, and I notice my fingers moving on his back, figuring out the chord progressions.
I inhale hard, trying to stifle happy tears. I’m just so damn tired of crying all the time, however, if I had to choose between never crying again or crying but also experiencing these happy tears, I would choose the latter.
He steals a kiss.
Quick.
Magic.
The wine is warming my cheeks, and his unwavering attention warms every other part of me, too.
He cradles me close to him, rocking, swaying, and dancing.
He moves with confidence. I giggle as he steals more kisses from me, from my neck, my jaw, my shoulders.
“You’re a terrible dancer,” he whispers with a laugh.
My tongue pushes through the middle of my teeth. “You’re a terrible singer.”
It is after midnight now. We are both a little drunk, lying on his bare mattress, facing each other, talking about music and books.
We’re sharing a pillow, and his emerald irises are only inches away, every freckle within them visible. He gazes at me, eyes bouncing around my face, almost as if he’s mapping my features to a grid in his mind.
“You know, I’ve spent so many nights thinking about touching you.
” He sighs. "Thinking about touching more than your finger.” He places his index finger tenderly on my shoulder.
I shiver beneath it. We touch when we kiss on campus.
We grab and pull and push, but this is… different.
We are alone. No one to interrupt us… He traces a path slowly from my collarbone down to the crease in my elbow, along my forearm, and to the centre of my palm.
This should not affect me like it does. I shouldn’t be pressing my thighs together. Shouldn’t be overcome with the urge to lift my hips, seeking pressure.
His breathing deepens as he draws circles in my palm. I part my lips. My body hums.
“I always dreamed of being able to touch you. For four years I laid on that mattress in the dark and ran my index finger over my thumb, over and over, dreaming my thumb was you. I would imagine being able to heal your cheeks and your lips with my finger.” He pauses, unspoken words hanging in the air, then he says, “I remember seeing your bruises, Duchess.”
I nod. I had a lot.
“I wanted to touch them, soothe them. On your wrist and knees and chin... I thought that if I could touch them or kiss them, I could make them feel better. The stupid things kids think. Like my love could fix them.” He laughs but it’s a hollow, sad sound. “Is that weird?”
I gaze at this beautiful man and shake my head. “I would never think that was weird.”
“I’m going to touch you now,” he says, no declares, his voice husky and intense and dominant.
I swallow. “Okay.” I roll to my back, giving him access to my body in a way I don’t think I’ve ever done.
He lifts a finger to my neck, stroking my racing pulse. Every inch of my being can feel his fingertip, its warmth, its ardency, as he trails a line across my skin. I feel his touch. He tracks it with his gaze.
Tracing the outline of my chest, he strokes down, his finger lingering just to the side of my nipple which stiffens and scrapes against my dress.
Oh, hell.
I rub my thighs together over and over.
Breathe, Blesk.
His eyes lift to me. “Can I keep going?”
I give him a nervous nod.
His finger rolls over my nipple—we both suck in a sharp breath. Wow. Thankfully, he doesn’t hover there. Instead, he continues to stroke my torso, dipping down to my navel. His finger circles my skin, causing shivers to rush up my spine.
His finger moves, traveling down to the top of my pelvis and all of a sudden— I flinch.
I flinch.
What does that mean?
I flinched!
Konnor’s hand leaves my skin, and he pushes up to his elbows, staring down at me, pained. “You just flinched."
I don’t know what to say. The words push to my tongue but nothing forms. Only… "Yes."
"Fuck.” His energy changes, darkens. “But you don’t flinch anymore. You don’t flinch with…” Pure hatred creeps into his eyes.
I sit up and cup his face. “It's not what you're thinking. Please stop thinking that.”
"It's exactly what I'm thinking.” His eyes lose focus, pupils eating at green rings. “You don't want me to touch you."
"No...” I shake my head. “No, Konnor. I felt your touch."
"Yeah, and you hated it."
"No. I didn't.” I direct his gaze to me, still holding his cheeks, refusing to let him shake me away. “Try again."
He frowns at me. "No."
He doesn’t understand. I felt it! I felt it. I don’t usually… I go still. "I'll do it then." I grab his hand and press it to my breast, desperate for him to touch me, for me to feel it. Flinch. Not aversive. Reactive. Excited?
He stiffens. His fingers spread out on my chest and squeeze, then drop away. "What do you want?"
Our eyes clash.
"I've… I’ve never been with anyone else. Until a few days ago.” I’m aroused right now, in a way that feels wrong, so wrong, but— But desperate and unforgiving. “I couldn't even see the entire picture of what we were. I would disappear. Every time I thought about it after... it was static.”
“And now?”
My head moves from side to side slowly, hauntingly. “It's not static anymore, Konnor.” The back of my eyes burn. “I remember things he said the first time. And a feeling he built inside me every time, and a feeling after that."
Oh, God.
I close my eyes.
He growls. "Painful?"
"No.” My voice breaks. “Worse..."
Pleasure. Then shame.
I think it—I can’t form those words.
"Oh, Blesk.” His hand is on my face, his thumb at my chin. “Look at me.”
I blink my eyes open.
A stunning green gaze stares back at me, blacker than normal but still him, still safe. “I don’t want you to be ashamed of what you felt."
My lip wobbles. "But I am."
His eyes move over my shoulder, to the kitchen, to the bottle of bourbon I know is on the counter. Then back to me. He stays. He stays here on the bed. “No one is touching you again. Just like in the basement, it's me and you. Only us. What do you want, Duchess? Ask me."
My pussy clenches. “I can't say it."
I can only show you.
Sickness floods my stomach at the same time as I push him back down to the mattress, before rolling onto my side with my back pressed to his warm front.
I tremble, taking his hand, guiding it down to between my thighs. I press his fingers to the wet cotton. I can’t breathe. "Swear that you'll stay with me after this?" I whisper.
He clears his throat. "Through it all, Blesk." His voice is so much deeper now, so obviously strained.
I stare at his bedside table, only to come face to face with his graduation photo, featuring his cool smile and perfect family. I close my eyes.
His heart is racing. His breathing roughens as I guide his fingers under my knickers. "Tell me to listen to my body."
He freezes, then growls again. "If we do this... this... are you going to stay present? No static.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. "No static.”
Tears track down my cheeks, but my body wants his fingers, deeper. I push them into me, and he hisses. I’m so wet that when he scoops two fingers inside me, then pulls out, he easily slides around my lips before entering me again and again and again.
I keep my hand softly on his. Feel him inside me. No static. It’s… It’s… I paw at his arm. Curl my torso around it. Clutching, holding, sobbing, and moaning. I. Feel. Everything.
Whimpers fall from my lips, then, “Do you remember how you were wet when I stroked you…" My mind buzzes with memories, my heart aching, my body vibrating. “It’s okay. I know. It’s a lot. But you’ll wake up Dad.”
I fuck his fingers, digging my nails into his arm. His erection knocks at my back, making my head swim. His body is so stiff, so hard and angry, but a body does what it does.
Like mine.
‘Listen to your body.’
‘You bled so fucking much.’
I cry out as his skilled fingers find that place inside me that doesn’t ask permission, that doesn’t discriminate.
"One,” I say. “Two.”
Then I break apart, my body rocking and moving against his fingers, my mouth open and gasping against his bicep, tears falling hard, unwilling to let go as I come. “Three.” The pleasure is almost blinding. “Don’t. Flinch,” I choke out as sensation vibrates through me.
I bury my head in Konnor’s arm, humming with pleasure, and sob, expelling the horrible truth in the arms of the man who doesn’t hide the unpleasant things about himself. He bleeds them out, and right now, I do, too.
He collects me close to his chest and holds me in a way that doesn’t yield, that isn’t soft, that is a cage made of rage and fury contained for only this moment. Only for me. There is no hiding what I am now. What I became.
He’s panting when he says, "Talk to me."
I’m… this is me. "I'm tainted."
"You're not."
I open my eyes to the bookcase, a blur of spines behind tears. “Are you disappointed? In what I am? In what your dream girl has become?"
"No.”
"Konnor..."
“I'm gutted I wasn't there.” His voice darkens.
“To kill him." Even after a night of drinking, I’ve never heard him sound so sober.
“It's okay,” he rasps. “It’s okay, Blesk.
That was... Listen. You're safe. You're safe to explore...” He bites back a growl.
“Fuck, that's the wrong word. Process this with me. Okay? We do this together.”
I nod into his arm.
“You’re not alone in that room. Just like I wasn’t alone in that basement. You’re not alone in that room anymore.”