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Chapter Eight
Zel
The taste of Elias’s lips created an impenetrable contract that I’d never go back on in a million years.
And now that I’ve had them pressed against my own it feels like that’s all I can think about sometimes. Getting them back on my mouth.
My neck.
Everywhere I have life in my body.
Anywhere they twist themselves into tasting.
I’m hooked.
I’m hooked to his touch…his smell…his voice…the way he calls me “little doll”.
I’m a self-admitted fiend for all things Elias Whittington.
Unfortunately, our almost perfect arrangement does have one minor issue.
For the past few weeks, Tomas has requested to see me. Requested might be the wrong word. Demanded. Tomas has repeatedly demanded to see me. In person – might I add – claiming that all the pictures of me and my “fake boyfriend” he’s seen don’t count.
I don’t know why they don’t count.
This is honestly the best relationship I’ve ever had.
Elias – continuing to be a man of his word – has specifically expressed he has absolutely no problem with me spending time with my brother. After all, the driver already takes me to my parents’ home anytime I ask him to. Given the schedule Elias keeps and the schedule he prefers us to have, I’ve structured my family visits to occur earlier in the day, an easy compromise for everyone except Tomas it seems.
Why?
Because…
A – Tomas is still sleeping off whatever shenanigans he got himself into the night before when I make my midmorning appearance.
B – He doesn’t believe his ass should ever be up before the afternoon soap operas, not that he watches those.
C – He doesn’t like not getting his way for this long.
It’s been over three weeks that Elias and I have been doing…whatever it is we’re doing…and for the first time in my life, I’m living more by my own wants and needs and desires rather than what my family demands.
Pretty sure that’s really why Tomas has an issue with me not visiting in the afternoons and evenings.
He’s manipulative like our dad – although the latter only tends to look out for himself – but usually believes my best interests are in his overly protective hands.
My body slouches down a bit further in the roof top pool side chair I was peacefully studying in before he called to throw a tantrum.
“This shit is ridiculous,” Tomas continues to grouse from the other end of the phone. “I should be able to see you when I wanna fucking see you, Zel,”
“It’s not about what you want” is right on the tip of my tongue yet never leaves.
“I mean, come on with all this bullshit! I haven’t seen my baby sister in like two months or something. You don’t think that’s fucked up?!”
This time I physically bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from mentioning the two obvious facts – which are that I haven’t even been gone that long and that he was also locked up for a portion of that time!
“He’s keeping you locked up,” Tomas tosses out a version of the same line I was just mentally screaming. “I fucking know that asshole is secretly keeping you locked in the attic or some shit.”
“That’s not true, Tomas, and you know it. I visited mom literally yesterday!”
