Chapter 7 #2
I shove the bills in my bra, as Dame and Kitty laugh, and Elliot pulls me from between the cushions.
“What did he want?” he asks, throwing his arm around my shoulders.
“He apologized.”
“And?”
I shrug.
“And I told him to fuck off.”
“That’s my girl,” he says, tail wagging.
He presses a kiss to my temple as he crushes me close, and I resist the urge to shrug him off on account of Kitty and Dame sitting two feet away. But that doesn’t stop me from muttering a reminder under my breath as he ushers me from the room.
“I’m not your girl,” I say through clenched teeth.
He leans down until his lips brush the shell of my ear and whispers so that only I can hear.
“Semantics.”
Elliot leads me from the common room with a hand resting at the small of my back until we reach the first set of stairs, at which point he falls behind, gesturing for me to move ahead of him.
The stairwell leads us up to the residential floor, but rather than veering east toward his room, he guides me across the catwalk to the west wing.
“Where are we going?” I ask as we come up to a door with the words “Ranked Only” written on it.
“Someplace private,” he says.
He shoulders the door open and waits for me to pass through before moving ahead to open another. This one has a key, which he fishes out of his pocket. It dangles from the chain hooked to his belt loop, clanking noisily as he works the lock.
“Sorry, I’m late,” he says, once he gets it open. “I was trying to—”
“It’s fine. Dame told me.”
He nods, shutting the door behind me, but making no move to lock it back.
“Is it a pain in the ass?” I ask.
“The paperwork? Yeah. Every fuckin’ time.”
“You don’t have to do that for me. You’ve already done enou—”
“It’s not for you,” he interrupts.
“What?”
“Filing a challenge,” Elliot says. “It’s not for you. It’s for the pack. If we file a challenge, they’ll have to send a formal notice to inquire with every member. Keeps them from hauling us in without notice.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that.”
“It’ll help slow their progress, but it isn’t just for you.”
I follow him blindly, as I have been for the last few days, and after three more doors and two long, narrow hallways, he stops in front of a plain-looking wooden door and nods for me to open it.
Once again, there is no lock, and as the door swings open, I can see why.
There’s nothing of value in here either. Not unless you count the two well-loved sofas and the TV mounted on the wall with a video game console on the floor.
“What is this?” I ask, thumbing through the stack of video games set along the coffee table.
There are at least thirty of them in here, mixed with a few DVD cases.
“This is where Dame and I hang out when they start pissing us off. He’s the only other person who has a key to the ranked floor, so no one will bother us here.”
I take a turn around the room.
It smells faintly of mint and sandalwood, the perfect blend of Elliot and Dame, and the warm wood tones give it a particularly relaxing air.
In the corner, a desk sits with neat piles of paper stacked in three of the four corners.
The largest pile, stacked about two inches high, has the words “Official Inquiry” written in red on the front, with the Inquisition seal stamped in the bottom-right corner.
I bite my lip, trying to ignore the big red lettering.
I know I shouldn’t ask. It’s better if I don’t know.
But I keep imagining Grey’s rotting body coming back to life to vomit up the truth, and Elliot chained in a dungeon somewhere in exchange.
And the longer I look at it, the bigger the letters seem to become until I can no longer keep myself from asking the question that’s been rolling around in my mind all week.
“What did you do to him?”
“Who?” Elliot asks, voice distant as he stands watching me from the doorway.
The heady flavor rolling off of him provides a momentary distraction from the tension in my throat, but even so, I nearly choke on the name.
“Grey,” I whisper.
The door shuts.
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“That’s too bad, because I’m not telling you.”
“I have a right to know,” I say.
“No, you don’t,” he says.
“Excuse me?”
“You don’t even have the right to ask,” he says, “Not anymore.” My face twists, but he continues before I can argue. “If you really wanted to know, you would have asked that night. And I would have told you. But you didn’t. Why?”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer.
“You don’t care about Grey,” he declares. “You don’t regret it. You didn’t then, and you don’t now. So why do you want to know? Really.”
My mouth opens and shuts, but I can tell Elliot actually wants an answer, so I take a deep breath before I confess, “I just don’t want you to carry my sins for me.”
He shrugs.
“Why not? I carry everyone else’s.”
He says that as if it should bring me comfort, but it doesn’t. It just makes it worse.
I sigh, resigning myself from the conversation, and continue to make my way around the room.
There’s a few books sat beside the sofa, and this deep in the west wing, you can barely hear the rest of the pack. I see the appeal.
“So…You brought me to your man cave?” I ask, cringing.
Elliot chuckles, baring his sharp teeth. He doesn’t have his grill in tonight. Too flashy for a Tuesday, I guess. But his bright white teeth still glint in the low light as he smiles at me.
“Would you rather we go to my room?” he asks, watching me carefully.
“So I can roll around in your sex-covered sheets again?” I drum my fingers over the back of the couch. “No, thank you.”
“Sex-covered?”
There’s an inflection in his voice that tells me he’s being coy, and when I turn, I find him leaning against the edge of the desk, arms and ankles crossed, frowning at me.
Fates, he’s such a slut.
“That’s not going to work on me, Cross. You might be able to smooth-talk the rest of Highcrest into your bed, but don’t forget, I actually know you.”
His tail jumps, and his ears stand.
“Is that so?”
I lift a brow in challenge, as if to say ‘tell me I’m wrong,’ and he promptly shakes his head.
“I don’t think that’s true,” he says. “Because if you knew me, then you would know that only claimed partners are allowed upstairs.”
“So?”
“So…” He leans across the empty space, hooking a finger in the waistband of my skirt and dragging me forward to stand between his legs.
“I’ve never claimed anyone before. Which means…
” His fingers pull at the scarf around my neck, but he doesn’t untie it.
“The only woman that’s been in my bed is you. ”
I blink, suddenly conscious of the way he’s looking at me.
The grin is gone, but his eyes are bright, and his head is cocked.
He’s studying me, like Dame does. Waiting to see what I’ll do. Only Elliot’s gaze is not so innocent.
His eyes move over my lips and throat, down to my chest, where they linger before sliding back up to my mouth. Leaning forward, he takes a deep breath, scenting me.
“I think it’s working,” he whispers.
“Shut up,” I whisper back, but his hands are already on me.
He lifts my feet from the floor, turning to set me on top of the desk, drawing my legs around his waist as he lays me down on the hard wood. The air in my lungs feels shallow as he hovers over me, and I focus on his face in an effort to remind myself that this is Elliot.
Elliot Cross, the boy who never lets them get away with staring. Who hides my bodies, and always makes sure I’m full.
Elliot, I repeat. Elliot Cross.
“Princess, are you okay?”
“What?”
My eyes must have slid shut in my meditations, and when I open them, he is leaning over me, soft, green eyes glistening with worry.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
I nod, but no words come out, and Elliot frowns.
“Did you just lie to me?”
“What? No, I—”
“Yes, you did.” He presses his nose to the base of my throat. “You still are.”
“I swear, I’m—”
He straightens without warning, dragging me into an upright position as he stands.
“What are your safety cues?” he interjects.
“Cross, I’m fine. I don’t need a safety lesson.”
“Well, that’s twice now you haven’t used them, so, sorry, it’s not up for discussion. You have three seconds to tell me your cues, or I’ll let you starve.”
“Cross, you’re being—”
“One.”
“Cross.”
“Two.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
His brow lifts.
“Iris…”
He doesn’t make it to three because the moment my name leaves his lips, I am reciting the words.
“One means harder. Two means slow. Three means pain.”
I hold up my fingers as I go, demonstrating the corresponding hand sign, and Elliot nods in approval.
“Good. And your safe word?”
I groan.
“Oh, come on.”
“Nope.” He shakes his head. “Not quite. Close though, would you like to try again?”
My fingers curl into tight fists.
“Cross, I know our safe word.”
It’s very hard to forget.
“I believe you, baby. But how am I supposed to know you know it, unless I hear it from those pretty lips?”
He runs a thumb over my lower lip, smearing my gloss across his finger, and I contemplate biting him. I refrain, but only because he’d probably enjoy it.
With a heavy sigh, I mutter, “cheese fries.”
“I’m sorry,” Elliot says, leaning closer. “I can’t hear you.”
“Cheese fries!” I blurt.
He smiles, nodding in approval.
“Smart girl,” he teases. “I expect you to use your cues, Iris.”
He’s still holding me by the waist, and his finger strokes lazily beneath the hem of my top.
“I told you, I’m—”
“I know.” He groans, grip tightening. “I know you’re fine. And I know you could kill me. And I know you’re the most dangerous creature in this house aside from me. I know that. And I won’t forget any of that if you decide you need your cues. okay?”
He brushes my hair over my shoulder and dips his head to kiss my neck, and a slight shiver runs down my spine.
“Okay,” I mutter, distracted by the warmth of his touch.
Elliot tips my chin up, forcing me to look at him.
“Thank you. Now, open your mouth.”
I do as he says, and he pushes a single digit past my lips, encouraging me to suck at the smooth pads of his fingers as he hikes up my skirt in preparation for what comes next.
I lose myself in the sensation.
The pressure of his palm on my hip. The flavor of his desire on my tongue. Even the whisper of his breath across my neck.
“Spread your legs, baby.”
I lied.
The best thing about Elliot?
He knows exactly what buttons to press.