Chapter 64
CHAPTER
SIXTY-FOUR
Elijah is everything I’d expect in bed, and yet, still so much more.
He takes his time, paying the most reverent attention to every last inch of my body before ever touching me where I need him most. He looks at me like I’m something to be cherished.
Like I’m perfect. Even if my body has gone through so many drastic changes these last few months—my hip bones jutting out too far, bruises littering every surface, and my now-healing port scar, to name a few.
He kisses each imperfection as if thanking them for being on this journey with me, like they’re a reminder that I made it at all.
“Get out of your head,” he murmurs, his lips pressing to the inside of my knee, working up my thighs as he pushes them further apart to accommodate his broad shoulders.
“I was merely thinking about how perfect you are.”
“Oh?” he asks, cocking a blond brow. “Well then, carry on.”
“Thank you for the permission, oh great one,” I tease.
“Don’t go giving me nicknames like that just yet. I might be the worst lay of your life.” His shoulders quake with laughter as he loops his arms beneath my thighs, pulling my pussy to his face.
“Good thing we have the rest of our lives to work out the kinks,” I say, regretting the words as soon as I speak them. I can’t promise him anything. Not yet.
He doesn’t seem to see the torment on my face. My words have had an entirely different impact on him, as if the proposal of a life spent together, with him perpetually on his knees for me, is the single best thing I could have ever offered him. A low growl leaves his lips, and then he’s on me.
His mouth slides over my slit, tongue slipping out and delving inside me. My eyes clamp shut, back bowing, and whatever I was just agonising about leaves my brain like leaves in the wind.
“I thought it was all make-believe,” he murmurs.
“You thought what was all make-believe?”
“All the romance books. I thought everyone who’d ever written one had truly lost themselves in the fiction of it all when they said pussy tastes delicious. But they were right, and I’m happy to have been proven wrong.”
As if trying to corroborate his own point, he dives back in for another taste, pleasure zipping up my spine, and I’m beyond thankful it’s been long enough since my last chemo infusion for this to be safe. Not enough people talk about the fact that those toxins are excreted in every bodily fluid.
Elijah lifts onto a veiny forearm, pulling his glasses from his face, but before he can toss them to the side, I’m reaching for his wrist, holding him captive.
“Glasses stay on, princess,” I tell him.
“Oh?”
I nod, biting my lip. “I happen to have a thing for your slutty little glasses.”
The corners of his lips twitch, and he settles the frames back in place. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmurs, burying his face between my thighs where they belong.
I run my fingers through his hair, tugging on the roots. “Good boy.”
He releases a pained sound, a cross between a whimper and a moan, and continues to fumble through another one of his firsts. Our firsts.
He’s nipping and sucking on my labia, slipping a finger inside me, pumping too fast, then too slow, listening to my every suggestion, watching how my body responds, and adjusting to make it good for me.
And I find that I sort of love it. The way he’s so impossibly eager to learn my body, to please me; the way he gets worked up just knowing I might enjoy something he does; the way he meets my heavy gaze with the widest smile each time he coaxes a moan out of me, as if the sound is just the praise he’s been searching for all his life.
It should be no surprise that, like everything else, sex with Elijah Elliott is everything I hadn’t known I wanted.
“I can’t believe I get to have you like this,” he whispers, repeating similar sentiments over and over, as if I’m an apparition that might dissolve into nothingness at any moment.
He makes the experience fun and enjoyable beyond measure, my cheeks burning from the smile I’m wearing as he takes his time learning me.
My hands snap out, fists gripping the sheets. “Oh, that! J-just like that.” I moan.
He wraps his lips around my clit once more, pulling on the sensitive bundle of nerves in a movement that has me seeing stars. “Like that?”
“Yes, exactly like that,” I whine. “More, please, Elijah.”
He ducks his head, pressing a wet kiss to the inside of my thigh. “You sound so fucking sexy when you beg. I plan on spending every day figuring out how to make you do it again and again.”
“P-please, Elijah, make me come.” A whimper slips out as he slides two fingers into me, separating them and stretching me deliciously. I’m a delirious mess by the time he has his mouth back on my clit, intoxicating pleasure branding me like a hot poker.
“Come for me, sweetheart. I want my name on your lips when you fall apart for me,” he says, and that’s all it takes for me to tip over the edge, riding a high I’ve never felt before.
My thighs clamp around his head as I grab the pillow beside me, smashing it to my face, shouting into it, moaning his name over and over as the blinding euphoria rolls through me.
I’m a panting, sweaty mess by the time I’ve made my descent to earth, and he tugs on the pillow, lowering it from my face and scooting up the bed to curl around me. He presses a kiss to my temple and relaxes beside me.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fabulous,” I answer, endorphins flowing through my jellified limbs. “I must say, all those books you read have done you well. Your dirty talk is stellar.”
“Why, thank you,” he says, chuckling as he kisses my shoulder, nuzzling into my neck. “Now, why don’t you go pee, and then we can sleep for another hour before we have to shower and make breakfast?”
“You know, there’s no scientific evidence that peeing after sex prevents UTIs, but I still feel like I need to do it anyway.”
“Kind of like not showering when it’s lightning outside?”
“Exactly like that, yes,” I say, pushing up and dragging my arse out of bed. I’m glad to return to him a few minutes later, feeling lighter than ever, with him cradling my body to his chest.
The morning passes quickly, my parents babying me, asking Elijah a million questions and thanking him profusely for making breakfast for everyone, including all of my parents’ favourite British foods.
He heads to the gym and later meets up with his friends so my parents and I can have the day together, and I work on re-earning some of the trust I’d lost in my desperation to protect them.
Not that I’d been the least bit successful, but much of what led me to do so will be hashed out with my wonderful therapist for years to come, I’m sure.
“When do we get the results?” Mummy had pressed, not hesitating to ask any questions that came to mind, no matter how much I’d wished she’d let me go back to pretending none of this was happening.
“One month,” I grumbled. Much to my annoyance, I have to wait a month after finishing my infusion before I can repeat scans and assess my remission status.
“Don’t speak to your mummy like her questions are a nuisance to you. We deserve answers,” Papa had chided, and my heart sank. He was right. They did deserve answers, so, as I should have all along, I supplied them, no matter how invasive they were.
Now, I sit in Elijah’s lap, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders and a giant, steaming mug of cha in hand.
Mummy sits back, kicking her feet into Papa’s lap. She takes a sip of the tea, and I have to clamp my lips shut at the way Elijah holds his breath, awaiting her assessment.
Her brows climb her forehead, lips smacking gently before curving into a smile. “It’s good! More cinnamon next time, but very good, Elijah,” she praises, and I swear the man beams behind me.
“Thank you for teaching me, Deepti.”
I settle against his chest, turning my attention to the telly where Papa’s cricket team is playing. “Any interest in moving to India and playing cricket instead?” Papa asks. Elijah clears his throat, the hand wrapped around my waist squeezing me gently, then tightening.
“I’ve given up a lot to get to where I am right now, and I think I owe it to myself to stay true to that. But I wouldn’t mind learning and playing a friendly match with you,” he says, winking at my dad.
I can’t help the rush of pride that swarms me at his words.
He’s been a constant pillar of strength for me throughout the worst months of my life, and I’ve had the honour of seeing him show himself some of that same kindness, no longer becoming lost in his need to be agreeable, to fix everything for everyone.
And the knowledge that I get to see him continue down this new path, hand in hand with me, is unlike any other thrill I’ve ever experienced.
This must be what selfless love is like—a quiet surrender, no matter the stakes.