Chapter 40
Under the shower, Mimi’s words still flooded my mind.
My neurons were firing at lightning speed, trying to process the fact that my mother had had boyfriends, and that she wouldn’t hate me for the way I felt about Elliot.
That I felt a certain way about Elliot in the first place.
I’d been trying to push that last fact to the very farthest corner.
But it was okay to trust a guy and not always expect the worst.
As long as I still prioritized myself, did the best I could, worked hard and diligently . . .
A knock on the bathroom door threw me out of that spiral, and I almost groaned in frustration until I remembered who was knocking. Not much beyond my own ego was keeping him away from me now.
My head poked out from behind the curtain, almost hitting my head on the medicine cabinet beside it. “What?”
Over the water, through the door, I barely understood when he yelled, “How much longer are you going to be?”
Until I know what to do with you. “A while.”
He groaned, I think. “I started brushing my teeth before you got in. I really need to spit out my toothpaste.” And now his mumbling made sense too, if he had a mouth full of foaming toothpaste.
I shook my head even if he couldn’t see. “We have a sink in the kitchen, genius.”
“Full of dishes.” He added, “Genius.”
“Jesus. Just come in, then.”
No response. Not until, “What?”
“What?” I asked back, tone airy. “There’s a curtain, in case you forgot.”
The challenge in my voice was what did it, in the end.
My head dipped back under the water, but my stomach hollowed out when he opened the door.
It must’ve been the gust of fresh air infiltrating the entirely too small bathroom that sent goose bumps down my spine.
Even when I stood below water that was almost at boiling temperature.
My back was turned, but I knew what he was doing, in tune with every single one of his movements.
Spitting out that toothpaste. Rinsing his mouth.
When he hesitated, I knew he was looking in the mirror even though he probably told himself not to.
But he couldn’t help himself and, probably very slowly, turned around. Leaned against the sink.
“That how long it usually takes you?” I asked, pretending to be oblivious. Maybe because I liked his eyes on me, maybe because I was a danger to myself and others. Playing with my sanity—and his. “To spit and gargle?”
If there was a reply, I couldn’t hear it over the water. “At the very least, close the door if you’re going to be in here any longer.” It was getting cold.
The door shut. I couldn’t help the smile when I glanced across my shoulder and saw his outline still there. Leaning against the door, arms crossed.
“I don’t know why I’m still here,” he admitted, voice low, rough, strained.
Probably for the same reason I can’t stop thinking about you. “You can’t possibly miss me that much already. I was only gone an hour, Elliot.”
“Apparently, I’m clingy.”
Something between my thighs slicked. And it took every ounce of willpower not to let my fingers feel what he did to me, just standing there, watching me. Behind a curtain he could barely see my outline through, glued into place like it was the most enchanting show he’d seen in his life.
“Apparently,” I mirrored, and the way I sounded surprised me too. Needy, desperate.
I imagined he swallowed thickly before he said, “You should tell me to go.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Why would you—?!” He cut himself off with a groan. I wasn’t sure if he was more frustrated with me or himself. Settled, once more, on “Maeve.”
Voice lower yet again.
Innocence radiated in every syllable when I teased, “Elliot?”
Another groan. “Yes?”
I turned off the water, and I could feel the way he stiffened. Hear the way his breath hitched in the sudden silence of the bathroom.
“Hand me my towel, will you?”
I could see his outline through the curtain, the way he hesitated, gaze glued to the ceiling. The way he gave himself a push, then reached for the towel, then held it out to me. “Don’t you dare,” he added as an afterthought.
I wrapped it around myself. “Hm?”
“Don’t you dare come out of there when I’m still in this room.”
Laughing, I complied. Stayed behind that make-believe barrier still separating us. And it just felt so nice to be flirting with him without any kind of guilt attached. “What? Are you scared of me?”
“Very.”
He scrambled out of the room, and it took less than a second before I heard his door fall shut, too.
I really did try not to smile. At him. At this. At us. The fogged-up reflection of myself in the mirror showed me I’d failed.
It felt wrong to go back out there, pretending something hadn’t just shifted between us.
I took my time, towel wrapped tight around my body.
Brushing my teeth, washing my face. Moisturizing, face and body.
Hoping and praying that with just enough time, I’ll figure out what to do next. How to go about this.
Twenty minutes weren’t enough, but I steered for him the second I left the bathroom anyway. I don’t know why I didn’t leave when I heard him through the door of his room. Maybe because it was my name on his lips, and I was only human.
A human who, when hearing her own name, moaned through a door, couldn’t help it.
I was a bad person, I decided, and still didn’t leave. Still stood in front of his door thirty seconds that felt like hours later, frozen in place.
My name cut off into another hum of satisfaction and frustration and everything else I was feeling, too. Exactly the way I’d felt when I’d touched myself to the thought of him. Only that I’d managed to stay quiet. I think.
The moment felt too unreal to grasp. I didn’t know what was happening until it already was.
Someone turned the doorknob, and it wasn’t me. Couldn’t be. Maybe an alter ego I didn’t know existed, taking over. An alter ego who’d definitely had sex before and was confident enough to be good at it.
I found him the way I thought I would. On the edge of his bed, with his hand wrapped around his cock, pulsing, tip glistening.
Maybe that haze of lust had settled in his brain too, because he didn’t startle.
He looked at me, as if he wasn’t quite sure if I was actually there or just a very realistic fantasy.
The way he said my name in that same way sent goose bumps down my body, only shielded by a towel. I clutched it closer.
Elliot exhaled, and the sound was dangerously close to something else entirely. “I have nothing to say in my defense.” He tried to sound remorseful, I think, and failed. His hand didn’t move. His cock twitched.
Meanwhile, I tried not to stare and failed at that too. I closed the door behind me, took another step into the room that seemed to surprise him, at least a little bit. All without taking my eyes off him.
His flexed abs, the muscles straining his arm, and his large hand around his impressive size. His impressive size.
I didn’t have anything to say in my defense, either. I’d never been this turned on in my life, not even when he’d had his fingers and tongue between my thighs. A tear ran down my leg.
Every single pretense I’d tried to keep up in the bright lights of the Adeline Ashwood offices for weeks melted away at the look we shared.
I took another step. He didn’t mean to tighten around himself; I could tell by the surprised hiss of pleasure. I don’t think he really meant for his hand to move either. Just once before he managed to get it back under his control. “Maeve,” he said again, threateningly close to begging.
When his eyes jumped back up to mine, his pupils dilated.
“Don’t.” There was no conviction in his plea. “You shouldn’t. Come closer, I mean.” His other hand flexed against his sheets. “You don’t want this,” he said, like he was very sure of the fact.
I finally stood between his legs. “Says who?”
His chin grazed my towel, that’s how close we were. Between one second and the next, my hand disappeared in his hair, his eyes closed in response, and a sound tried to fight its way out of his throat, very nearly succeeding. My earlier question was all forgotten about.
“If I’m sure of exactly one thing right now,” I began. “It’s that I want you, Elliot Ashwood.”
“But you said—”
Whatever had taken over my body let go of my towel, too. The argument died on his tongue, leaning back against his elbows, cock springing against his stomach. “Christ, Maeve.”
I’d never been particularly self-conscious about my body, but then again, no one had ever studied it the way he was now.
His gaze slid along every dip and every crevice, so intently it felt like a touch in itself.
Across my hard nipples, down my stomach, between my thighs.
Core glistening the same way his tip was.
“You’re—”
“Dripping.”
“Can I—?”
“Please.”
His touch was gentle, and that made it worse. Exploring me, letting his fingers trail down my side until they disappeared between my folds, and he swallowed a sound so primal the walls would’ve shaken.
“Another few weeks,” he said, like he hadn’t just breathed a kiss against my clit. “If you still want me then, you’ll have me.”
I shook my head vigorously. “I’ll combust before I make it another minute without you.”
And I meant it. That incessant need for him, the one that had been harder and harder to suppress, was threatening to eat me alive if we didn’t do something about it.
He pressed his finger between me again, reminding himself how wet I was. “Fuck,” he groaned, then repeated, “Fuck, Maeve. This is such a bad idea.”
“Is it?” I asked innocently as I took one final step toward his bed. He didn’t mean to scoot back, make space, invite me in. His body did that for him. I simply followed its request when I sat.
“You shouldn’t be doing this with a guy you hate.
” But his hand wandered back to his cock, stroking just once.
Wanting to do it again, I could tell by the gleam in his eyes, that obvious need for someone to touch him.
And if it wasn’t going to be me, he had to take matters into his own hands. Literally.
“And yet here I am.” Lie. Such a big one, I almost felt bad. But this wasn’t the time to tell him all about my recent realizations and discoveries.
Something in his expression loosened, in sync with the sound in his throat. With a groan, guttural and raw, he let his head fall back and that last bit of restraint he’d been holding on to right with it.
I didn’t think I’d like watching his hand ride up and down his cock as much as I did. But knowing he was imagining my hands or lips or, God forbid, me on top of him . . . I couldn’t deny what it was doing to me.
The way my finger slipped between my legs was involuntary. Like there was no other way I could’ve possibly reacted to the image of Elliot, jerking off in front of me.
“God.” I only realized I’d closed my eyes when I opened them again at the sound. “You really are needy,” he said, appreciation in every intonation. “You just can’t help it, can you?”
I couldn’t. With a finger circling my clit, the other hand playing with my nipples, and a perfect view of him, doing the equivalent to himself, I was basically unstoppable. My moan said as much—and quickened his pace. Which quickened mine.
“How often have you done this?” he asked, husk in his voice. “Touched yourself to the thought of me?” Panting a laugh, he added, “Fair warning, if you say more than once, I’m going to come.”
I moaned and finally pushed a finger inside of myself. “More than once.”
“Maeve.” Warning in his tone. “I’m serious.”
“Good. I want you to be.”
Wanted to see him lose control. Wanted to see his face contort and hear him finally stop holding those moans back completely. Wanted to see my name on his lips, at the very least. If he wasn’t going to sleep with me, I could at least ask for that much, right?
I wasn’t sure what compelled him or changed his mind, but he came closer, kneeled over me. Let his fingers dance across my legs and showed me how much it affected him. “You want me to come?”
“Right before you make me come.”
“Not the other way around?” But from the way his hand moved, his pace picked up, and there was enough precum it had turned into lube, we didn’t have enough time for a change in plans.
And anyway, “I want to see.” I never had, and it only seemed fair to show me what I was in for.
His hand tightened around my thigh. Another groan worked its way out of his throat, confirming we really didn’t have time.
My own finger slipped deeper, and my other hand fell from my breasts to continue circling my clit. I was so close, with nothing but his hand on my leg, I could taste relief. I could feel it trying to catch up with his orgasm.
But it spluttered through him before I could. His head fell back, his knuckles white around my knee, and my name on his lips as he came across my stomach, just the way I’d wanted it.
I trembled below his touch, his words—the muttered Gods and Fucks and You’re incredible, Maeve—getting me there quicker too. While he was trying to make sense of what just happened, he noticed. Begged me to let him finish this off with nothing but a single look.
His finger replaced mine effortlessly, curling inside of me, hitting a spot previously unfamiliar. Then his tongue replaced my other hand, and I was coming before I’d even managed to warn him.
He kissed my hipbone, let his hand delicately glide along my leg, up my body until he scooped me into his arms, only to let me back down with my head on his pillow.
He cleaned me up, brought me water, then tucked me in below a comforter that smelled like him.
When he slipped in beside me, he held me against his chest.
The entire thing was a blur, like someone had put my mind to sleep in a sunny, picture-perfect meadow. I drifted off with my head against his chest, his heartbeat drumming steadily below my ear, and woke up to absolute fucking mayhem.