64. Is Everclear Too Much to Ask #3
The stories continue, and we all share our embarrassing Mom encounters, sharing each other’s humiliation. At some point, the night has to come to an end, and I stand and stretch. “Pop, can I crash at your place?”
“I’m happy to take you home, Brighton. It’s on my way. If that’s okay with you, Mr. Ranger?”
Pop nods. From the look on his face, he doesn’t suspect anything.
“That’s cool of you,” Braxton says, already with his feet up in his recliner like an old man. He’s half asleep and wholly drunk.
“Brax, I’m taking your couch,” Layton says, eyes closed, but cup still in hand from his position on the sofa.
Exton stands. “I’m heading back to the big house. Pop, you coming?”
“I suppose it’s that time,” he says, getting up from his seat. Pop looks around the room and something profound crosses his face. He says nothing else, but gives a nod as if tipping his hat and walks out Braxton’s front door. Exton is right behind him.
“Thanks,” I say to Layton. “Will help you clean up tomorrow, Brax, if that’s all right?”
“Works for me,” he replies, but he’s mostly out of it.
I turn for Elias who I see putting the food trays in the fridge. He heads my way and places a hand low on my back, ushering me outside and into his car.
I must’ve fallen asleep on my way home. Because I wake in Eli’s arms, cradled to his firm chest, as he walks into my house.
I don’t know how he got the door unlocked or open. I don’t care either.
The lights are on in my bedroom from when I changed earlier. Eli flips the switch and plunges us into darkness. It’s as if he turned off the lights and turned on some electromagnetic field. The air is charged, and my skin hums.
When he sees I’m awake, he sets me down, practically sliding me down his body until I stand in front of him, the back of my knees hitting the mattress. His hands are on my waist and slide ever so slowly to my ass, pulling me tighter to him
His head dips toward mine, and when he’s so close he could kiss me, he detours to my ear and whispers, “Darlin’, it’s time for bed.”
I feel the shiver as it starts at my head and rattles down my body to my toes. I bob my head, unable or unwilling to reply.
Not giving me any more space, he leans around me and pulls back the covers. I hold his gaze as much as I’m able as heat zaps between us, and sit down. With a boldness only tequila can muster, I reach out, unhook his belt and release the button and zipper on his trousers.
“Brighton.” My name on his lips is exasperated but breathy.
I choose to ignore the former and exploit the latter. I hold his eyes and stroke his hardening cock, before leaning in and kissing him through his boxers.
The sound of his moan and the sight of his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides is all the encouragement I need.
I push his trousers over his lean hips, and do the same with his briefs.
Grabbing his dick in my hand, I hold him as I lick him from root to tip, swirling my tongue around his head, before doing it again and again.
I take him into my mouth, flattening my tongue to give him full access, and hum as I pump my hand in time with my mouth.
“Fuck, baby, I—”
I’m rewarded with his hands fisting in my hair and his loss of control.
“Bright, stop…”
I don’t stop. His eyes blaze with fire as they hold mine and I defiantly keep sucking until a wave of pure pleasure overtakes his face.
“Baby, I’m going to come.”
I swallow hard two times as he fights to pull out, or push deeper, I can’t tell which. Maybe both. But the last swallow is his undoing, and I take all he gives as he releases down my throat.
“Fuuuck.” The word is pulled deep from his throat as he lets go.
The heat in his eyes is reward enough for me, and he follows me down onto the mattress, kissing me deeply and no doubt tasting himself on my tongue.
He is unhurried as his fingers caress my side.
I reach for his cock again, palming it, feeling it pulse as I do. A shudder runs through him and instinctively he presses himself into my palm. Without warning, he jerks away from me, turning to sit on the bed with his back to me.
He drops his face into his palms and groans. “Baby, you’re drunk.”
“So?”
“And it’s been a shit day.”
Understatement of the century. I can’t think about that.
I slide up to my knees, wrap my arms around his muscled shoulders, and whisper in his ear, “I need you, Eli.”
He groans, leaning further into my touch, while he runs a hand down his face and scrubs his chin with it. “I’m insane.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Trust me. I am.” He stands, kicking off his pants, but pulling up his boxer briefs. “Climb in, baby. Under the covers. Not going to fuck you when you’re drunk. Not that you aren’t tempting the fuck out of me—you so are, but I’m not taking advantage of you.”
The burn of rejection slices through me again. And, damn if I hadn’t let down my guard just enough that this hurts as much as last time. Lesson learned.
I flop over with my back to him and hug myself. I try not to think of burying my mom. Or the struggle on Pop’s face. I try not to feel the warmth at my back or hear the words the man behind me speaks.
I try not to consider a life where the ones I love leave me or reject me. I fail. But sleep is kind and takes me quickly.