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I fall asleep feeling his steady heartbeat against my skin.
10
JADE
Fool & The Thief – THE HARA
I think it’s after twelve when something wakes me up.
Pleasure.
I moan, feeling the flick of his tongue repeatedly against my clit. My hand slides under the covers, grabbing his hair.
I can feel how wet I am, and the way he laps it up.
“Elliot,” I gasp when his teeth graze my clit.
I press harder against his face, feeling so close to the edge. Let there at least be one good thing about this deal. I get to have sex with Elliot Pearson again.
That’s until he pulls away, his face appearing from under the cover.
“Good afternoon, my love.”
I throw my head back, tense from the need to orgasm.
“Don’t leave me like this,” I huff.
“I am absolutely leaving you like this.”
“Elliot,” I whine. “Isn’t this deal meant to be fun?”
“For me. And my fun is watching you become more and more desperate for me. That’s when you become really interesting to play with.”
The few hours I slept were the worst sleep I’ve had in a long time. At least Stan would always feed the undying need for sex inside me. He would attempt to satiate the both of us to no end. Elliot prefers torturing me just because he can.
“You should go shower,” he says. “Then I’ll make you something to eat.”
When I’m showered, Elliot gives me yet another of his band t-shirts. My Chemical Romance this time, and I know he got inspired by the album his brother is currently listening to on repeat in his bedroom. I slide on a clean pair of boxers and walk to the kitchen with him.
“I’m loving seeing you dressed in my shirts,” he says casually. “I think this should become a rule.”
“You’re making rules now?” I roll my eyes as I open the kitchen door. Ethan comes out at the same time, bumping me with his shoulder and not sparing a word as he keeps walking toward the hallway. Turns out, he wasn’t in his bedroom.
His black hair is disheveled, like he ran his hand through it many times, strands falling in his eyes. He’s wearing black jeans with a chain hanging from the front pocket to the back belt hoop.
And no shirt.
My mouth waters, catching a glimpse of his hard abs and the myriad of tattoos spread all over his torso. Unlike Elliot, who’s on the bulkier side and whose body has always been thick, Ethan is skinnier. He clearly has to work twice as hard as his brother to develop his muscles and put on weight. He’s lean, the hard ridges of his abs prominent.
He didn’t look like that when we were together. He was a skinny boy with long hair to his mid-neck. He didn’t care what he looked like. I didn’t care either. There’s something special in Ethan’s mind. He’s a creative genius. Life takes a different meaning through his eyes. He turns ugly things beautiful. He turnedmebeautiful through him.
“He’s making music,” I mumble toward Elliot, surprised I can see it so clearly after so many years.
I can see it because the plate he’s holding indicates he’ll be eating in his room, yet the simple slice of buttered toast means he’s not really eating much. I also know because he’s not wearing a shirt. Because his hair is greasy and messy. There are moon-shaped nail marks on his biceps because he presses them into his skin when he can’t get it right. He needs pain to function, needs things around him to break and bend to his will, or else he gets frustrated.
“You need to eat more than that,” Elliot throws his way.
He ignores us, of course. We hear his door slam, and the deafening music carries on.
