23. CHAPTER 23
I ’ve been making decorations all morning. Not because I want to, but because, for some reason, Eden wants to celebrate Christmas. I still don’t see the point when it’s only the two of us, but for the next five days I’ll put on a happy face for him and pretend I’m looking forward to it as well.
Without much to work with, I’ve been tying bundles of newspaper strips together with twine to make little pom-poms. And now I’m using duct tape to stick slightly larger strips together into one of those ring garlands you make in kindergarten. But hey, it’s still better than playing Gran Turismo.
The flowers Eden found really are pretty, and they look good on the tree, but they won’t last. They’ll be wilted by tomorrow, maybe sooner because of how close they are to the fire.
We made breakfast together with minimal conversation. It kind of just happened, but without any of the affection from the shower spilling over into it.
As soon as he was dressed, Eden returned to the bathroom to brush his teeth while I started the process of making powdered eggs and milk taste like something you can look forward to eating.
“Do you feel like fish for lunch?”
“We just ate.”
“It’s one-thirty.”
“Piss off,” I curse at the garland and throw it across the table.
Eden puts the controller down to look at me. “Why don’t you call it a day?”
“I’ll call it a freaking year. This tree isn’t getting anymore of my time.”
“Who’s gonna decorate it then?”
I pick up a handful of pom-poms and throw them at him. “You are.”
“Hey now,” he says while collecting them. “You just made these. They’ll get scrunched up if you treat them like that.”
“It’s newspaper on an illegally cut down tree. Who gives a crap?”
Holding the pile of pom-poms against his stomach with one hand, he walks to me, cups the back of my head, and looks at me so gently I’m not sure what to do. “You care, Jin. Or you wouldn’t have lost track of time.”
“I’m—” I cut myself off, take the pile from him, and move to hang one on the tree. He lets me, and lowers his hand to the base of my neck as I turn away from him.
After I’ve placed the first pom-pom, Eden takes another from the pile and hangs it with one hand.
When the small pile is hung, I turn to fetch some more from the table, but Eden grips into my hair and forces me to face him again.
There’s nothing gentle about his stare anymore. It's almost as if, from a distance, he can handle me, but up close, he loses all control. I can even see his body twitching like an attack was already set into motion, but his brain kicked in a split second later to stop it in its tracks.
I’m too scared to move, but it’s not from the fear of getting hurt. This is different. It’s the anxiety of potentially never knowing what he was going to do.
“Did you wanna finish the tree, or get lunch started?” I whisper.
I don’t get an answer. All I can do is watch on as the muscles of Eden’s body sporadically tense and twitch until his jaw is clenched so tight his lips start to tremble.
Pressing my palm to his chest, I tell him, "Why don’t you start lunch, and I’ll finish the tree?”
His hand leaves my hair to cover mine over his pounding heart, and he shakes his head.
“Did you want to finish the tree together?” I ask.
He shakes his head again.
“Should we both start lunch?”
It’s still a no.
My eyes leave his, and travel down his body. I see his other hand clenched into a frustrated fist by his side, and when he realizes I’m looking at it, he hides it behind his back.
I reach around his body, but Eden catches my hand and places it at the back of his neck. As he lets it go, his fingertips run down my wrist and forearm, and his eyes plead with me to figure out what he needs me to do next.
I dip my head to the side and lift my free hand up to meet my other one, and the second I do, he’s gripping my thighs and lifting me.
We were in this exact position just hours ago.
It had taken every last piece of my courage to step into the shower with him. But I had to do it. I needed to know if he would push me away. And right now, it feels like he’s putting me through the exact same test. Except for a whole different set of reasons.
My gaze flickers from his lips and back to his eyes expectantly, but he doesn’t kiss me. He digs his nose into the crook of my neck, and smells me. Just like he did when we first hooked up. So I turn my head so he can easily move behind my ear.
With his hand back in my hair, he jerks me to the other side and does the same. Then he’s licking up the front of my neck. Sucking bruises into my skin. Biting me so hard I gasp in pain and push him back.
There’s a look of worry on his face, like I snapped him out of a trance.
Quickly glancing behind himself, he carries me to the couch, and sits down.
After staring at him, waiting for him to do something, I make the first move and start taking off my sweater. As I feel my stomach bare, Eden takes hold of my t-shirt to prevent me from removing it too.
His hands settle on my thighs as they straddle his.
His thumbs trace tiny circles, but still, he doesn’t move.
Starting with the bottom button of his flannel—navy, red, and white, no holes, nothing underneath—I trace around it with my middle finger before pushing it through its hole and moving onto the next.
The closer I get to the top, the higher his hands creep on my thighs until his thumbs are pushing into my hip bones.
Even though I’m not watching him, I know his eyes never leave my face because I can feel him studying every little intricate move it makes as I map his bare chest with my hands. Completely sober. With the midday sun streaming in through every window.
I ghost the back of my nails over the tattoos on his stomach and chest, and when I reach his collarbone, my fingertips brush lightly over one, then the other.
I move on to his nipples and watch his pecs quiver, even though he tries to hide it.
I feel them get even harder beneath my fingertips until I can't resist any longer and lean down to lick one.
He lets out a short, sharp breath, and his hand slides over my shirt and up my back.
I run my top and bottom lips over it, then flick it with my tongue until his breath is quicker, and his fingers are back; tangled in my waves. Not guiding me, just holding me softly.
I pepper kisses back up over his collarbone to his shoulder.
To his neck.
To his jaw.
He turns his head like I had, and I brush aside his long hair.
The tattoo I hate so much is staring straight at me, but I trace up from the spider to the web with the tip of my tongue until I feel the prickle of the shaved part of his hair.
It feels like velvet when I run my fingers over it.
With both of his hands back at my hips, Eden draws them in and up to my waist; my t-shirt bunching as he goes. Then, in one swift motion, he lifts me, slouches further on the sofa, and sits me back down.
I do everything I can to remain emotionless as I feel his dick hard against my backside.
He remains steely too, until we’re at a standoff, and some unknown entity compels me to press my palm to the base of his throat.
His cock twitches beneath me, and as I slowly wrap my fingers around his neck, his eyes almost gloss over.
I straighten my arm, and push against him.
I rock my hips but Eden digs his fingers into my waist to stop me.
He shakes his head like he did back at the Christmas tree.
I squeeze harder around his throat.
One side of his mouth curls into a smirk.
My hand goes slack and falls to his chest.
My gaze is back on his lips, then up to his eyes and down again.
“Why won’t you take me?” I ask, but all I get is another infuriating shake of his head. “I know you want to.” He shakes his head again and I smack my hands against it. “Stop saying no!”
“No.”
“Screw you,” I mutter, and in retaliation, he stops looking at me.
I’m fed up now.
He refuses to do anything, but the grip he has on my waist is so tight I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. So I do the one thing I’ve been needing him to do since he handed me the pom-poms, and kiss him.
His response is instant. One arm wraps around my lower back to pull me closer, and the other slides beneath my t-shirt to press against my spine.
My fingers comb through his black hair until my forearms are resting on the sofa cushion behind him.
He tastes like the coffee he’s been drinking all morning.
His lips seem softer, or maybe it’s because he needs to shave and they feel like pillows compared to the rough spikes surrounding them.
I think this is what it was meant to feel like in high school. Not just fun , but so, so much more.
If it had been like this, nothing would have been questioned. If it had been like this, I would have had somewhere else to go.
Holding me tight, a frustrated groan echoes through our kiss as Eden grinds up against my ass.
I reach behind me and between his legs to stroke him with my hand, but he snatches it away and puts it back over his shoulder.
I stare down at him, and we’re at another standoff.
Five seconds. Ten seconds. Fifteen—
It’s Eden who makes first contact this time around.
I tilt my hips and grind against his stomach.
He lets me, so I do it again.
The next time I rock back, he holds me in place so he can grind against me before manhandling me back against his stomach.
Withdrawing his hand from beneath my shirt, he rests it against my cheek. His touch is tender compared to the rough calluses on his fingertips from all the work he’s been doing. And I do the same to him, but feel the three day growth that’s making my chin red.
Huffs and moans are soon so frequent that they make kissing almost impossible.
“Will you take me now?” I whisper against his lips.
“Not today, Little One.”
“But… That’s not fair.” Our grinding continues as I plead my case. “You can’t do this… You can’t call me that, and…”
With both arms enveloping me, Eden holds me still, and repeats, "Not today.”
I whine, "But why?” and try desperately to keep rubbing against him.