Chapter 19 #2
He drives the handle an inch farther. I gasp.
“Liar.”
Always.
His hand lurches again, burying the handle deeper “How many times did he shove your head down and lift your ass into the air?”
“Zero.” I whimper, my body trembling with pleasure.
“I thought so.” He jerks the handle out. “Turn.”
“But Kelt—”
“What about him?” Eli snaps.
I slowly bring my thighs together. “I don’t want him to see this.”
He’s quiet for a beat, as if listening. “He says he won’t look.”
“Really?” Relief filters through my veins.
“No.”
“What the fuck, Eli? What did he say?”
“He says he’s seen all of you already, and you’re impeccable,” he grumbles. “And he’ll try not to pay attention, but you should definitely let me fuck you with my knife.”
I laugh. “He did not say that.”
“You really believe he doesn’t want that? He wants what I want, and I’d like to kill him for it, but I can’t change it. And I’m not going to let that stop me from making you come all over this handle.”
He signals for me to turn again, and I obey, flipping around to a kneel. I look over my shoulder at him. “Tell him to go away for a little bit.”
“Down,” he says, motioning with his chin. “You won’t remember who he is by the time we’re done.”
The fact that I can take Eli down with the softest touch, have him writhing at my command is seductive in itself, but nowhere near as much as knowing he can stop me with only a thought, that he can choose my every move, force my body to comply.
“How far?” I ask, attempting a flirtatious tone and failing.
But he gets it.
“All the way.” Blood from my knees disappears down the drain. He takes control of my body, making me lower my head until my cheek smacks down, pressing into the cool metal drain, my hips high, at his mercy.
“Look at that ass.” He runs the handle from the small of my back down my slit.
“You better not be talking to Kelter,” I jest, half serious.
He thrusts the handle into me. I let out a gasping yell at the fullness, the force, the words he didn’t say.
Then he twists, pulling out slightly and pushing back in. My loud moan is lost down the drain. “Eli?” He speeds up in response to my breathlessness. “When will I be able to touch you again?”
He glides in and out, in and out, and I move my hips to match.
He waits until we find a reliable rhythm to respond. “When you learn how to let your darkness out.”
I pull my hair into my fists, groaning at the increasing power of his movements. “I can’t!”
That’s when I hear the slap of skin, the sound of his hand riding up and down his length and smacking into the base. He matches his speed with the in and out of the knife. “Show me how dark that messed-up mind of yours is, little Never.” Heavy breaths break up his words.
“I don’t want to be a killer!”
He shifts, angling the handle down, rubbing it along that sensitive inner wall. My body jerks, and I bang my head into the end of the tub.
“Darkness is more than death.” His speech is clipped by ragged breaths. “It’s that part of you that screams yes when everyone else says no.”
I know darkness.
It’s lies and loss and loneliness, deceit and despair. It’s every godsdamn nightmare and the memories that brought them on. It’s the truth that no one wants to hear. The betrayal that breaks. It’s—
“It’s too much!” I yell, rocking onto the handle, letting it fill me over and over, cold metal icing my walls.
He rips it out, and I push back into nothingness, empty and dripping.
“Turn and look at me,” he says roughly, and I spin around and sit in front of him, an unavoidable view of his cock, hard and ready with nowhere to go. He strokes it slowly as he takes in the sight of me. Of my breasts. My spread legs. My pleading face.
He returns the handle to my opening, slowly pushing it inside. His face is solemn, hardened with determination. He regains his rhythm, his speed, but those dark eyes never leave mine. They go deeper than his knife.
I try to make it last forever, get myself stuck in this moment of bodily bliss and forget every worry that once claimed me.
The pressure and the heat and the tightness become all I know.
I’m lost in the motion, every slamming in and out, the perfect pain, the sound of his pleasure.
I let go with a cry, pulsing around the handle. My hips rise and thrash.
Eli’s unchecked breaths transform into a long, low moan. He leaves the knife inside me and scoots forward on his knees between my open legs, his hand a blur, pumping every stiff inch. Warmth drips down my center as he comes over me, his groans rhythmic, his body shaking.
He takes his knife back from inside me, flipping it to hold by the wet handle and removing the sheath.
I’m quiet except for my whimpers of desire as he spreads his come over me with the flat edge of the blade.
Every slippery slide of the metal against my sensitive skin has me jerking and gasping. It’s a wonder I don’t end up in slices.
He grins, his eyes bright beneath relaxed lids. “How many times did he feed you his come on a blade?”
Then his smile fades. His shoulders drop, and he lifts his knife, pressing the come-covered side against my lips, still warm. He leans down and kisses the other side, unmoving for what feels like an eternity, our gazes locked, the blade sliding sideways between our lips.
A goodbye kiss.
At least that’s how I’ll remember it. He doesn’t know it, but the stabbing pain in my heart leaves no room for doubt.
I have to go after Kelter. It’s as though his soul calls to mine, drags it across realms to be closer to his.
He needs a friend. He needs me to be there for him after everything that’s happened, and even if he didn’t, I’m not sure I could stop myself from going after him.
Eli pulls away, but his stare remains stuck on me, offering a thousand reasons to stay with only the depth of those eyes. I could crawl inside them, curl up in a ball and stay forever. I could.
I extend my tongue, and he swipes the full length of the blade over it before sheathing his knife. I swallow.
He takes a profound breath, as if he were fighting against an invisible source weighing down his chest. “I like knowing a part of me is inside you.”
I guess that’s fitting, considering he has a piece of me inside him. And full control over it.
I tap my fingers on the edge of the mattress.
Four more minutes. That should be enough.
He has to be asleep by now. I’m ready, dressed in my old gray corduroy pants and a blue T-shirt, both a little baggy after months of eating chalky bars.
My bra is my own again too, tiny metal clasps in the back instead of a string closure and embroidered cups, though I liked that part.
I even brushed my hair and snuck some toiletries into my pack after bathing, luxuries I’ve learned to appreciate.
I listen for another hundred of his slow breaths before I move. One sneaky inch at a time, I slide off the bed and onto the carpet. He doesn’t even move.
Perfect.
I look back at him, flat on his back, arms at his sides, exactly how he lay in the black room back in Sonnet months ago. Utterly unnatural. But it’s been hours. The sudden flopping of Milo’s limbs was the only movement, Maverick J.’s stomach gurgles the only sound—I’d know those anywhere.
But even as I tiptoe across the room, avoiding the mess of splayed-out bodies and fully expecting him to tackle me to the floor, I have to fight not to turn around, not to crawl back onto my bed and kiss him one last time.
But I don’t want to wake him up, not when I know he won’t let me go.
I try not to think of what he’ll do in the morning when he awakens… and I’m long gone.
I grab a box of cereal and my backpack, stuff my feet into a pair of my old hiking boots and take one last look at the dead body in the corner before I slip out the door, my heart flying and falling at once.