Page 24 of All the Things We Buried

TWENTY THREE

LENORE

H e’s here.

Or at least… some version of him. And God, it hurts.

It hurts because I’m falling in love with every version of him.

Even if we’re strangers wearing the same skin, my heart still knows him.

And I will keep falling, over and over again, for every version he becomes.

People change with time, but when you love someone truly, you fall for the changed version, too.

Their smile, their eyes, the curve of their nose, the way they speak, and the way they don’t. Every silence. Every breath.

Even when he ran from me, from the feelings, I knew he’d return. Because I was the only one who understood him. I was his mirror.

The only difference was I never ran. I was terrified of losing him completely. But he left anyway, knowing I would wait. That’s what’s killing me.

I woke to silence. Pulled myself from tangled sheets and walked downstairs, half-believing the night before was a dream. The house held its breath. No footsteps. No voice. No him.

Just me. Alone.

Maybe that was okay. Maybe being alone could stitch the torn pieces. Maybe I could drown in sleep, and when I surfaced, life wouldn’t feel so unbearable. But that wasn’t the life I wanted.

I wanted the life where he was still in it.

They say love haunts. And it does. More than any ghost in this cursed house.

A sound of soft, slow footsteps crept closer. A breath grazed the back of my neck. I turned, expecting him.

But it wasn’t.

It was a little girl.

Blonde hair tangled like she had just stepped out of a dream. A doll dangled from her hand, eyes wide. She wasn’t blinking.

Something about her felt familiar.

She reached for me, small fingers curling around mine, and led me wordlessly up the stairs. I didn’t resist. I knew where she was taking me.

That room.

Für Elise played through the walls, each note more distorted than the last. Heavy footsteps followed behind. And just as she reached for the door, ready to pull me in, Dorian yanked me back.

“Do. Not. Ever. Go. In. There,” he said. “Ever.”

He shut the door without another word. The little girl stayed inside, still clutching her doll, not moving at all.

“Who is she?” I asked as he pulled me down the stairs.

“Don’t go in there,” he repeated when we reached the top step. “Ever.”

I didn’t ask again. I just followed him.

At the bottom of the stairs, I paused.

“That other night,” I said. “Was it a dream?”

He chuckled. “Which part?”

“Troy.”

He rolled his eyes. “His dick’s still chopped off. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“So he’s...?”

“Dead,” he said. “Buried in the backyard.”

My heart punched against my ribs. I swallowed the panic rising in my throat and closed my eyes, forcing myself to remember. I had convinced myself it wasn’t real. That it was just another nightmare. But now that I knew it had happened, something inside me longed. A strange hunger rose for him.

Then the piano started.

Für Elise floated through the air like a ghost, and as I opened my eyes, he was there, seated in front of the piano, his fingers breathing life into each note. The sound was haunting, beautiful. And in that moment, I knew he cared. He just didn’t know how to show it.

I moved to him, sat beside him on the bench. Nagi hissed from his perch on top of the piano, tail twitching.

I leaned my head on Dorian’s shoulder. He paused, just briefly, and turned to me. His hand cupped my cheek, thumb tracing the edge of my chin. He brought my face close to his.

“I suck with words,” he said. “I never knew how to speak. But I can change.”

I didn’t answer. I just leaned in and kissed him.

They say one kiss can melt pain away. His kiss burned it all to ash. Years of bruises, loneliness, and quiet suffering. We were shattered in our own ways, jagged pieces that somehow made sense when pressed together. It wasn’t perfect. It didn’t have to be.

It was ours. And he was my favorite secret.

Our lips parted. He pulled me closer, both hands cradling my face. He leaned in again, resting his forehead against mine. We breathed together like we were still learning how.

“Don’t stop,” I whispered. “Play,” I said. “Play Für Elise for me.”

As he turned away, I pulled my hair back and leaned down. My fingers trailed from his chest, down his abdomen, until they hovered over his crotch. His cock was already hard, throbbing, waiting for me.

His jaw flexed. His eyes darkened.

But he kept playing.

I sank to my knees between his legs, slowly. My hands found the zipper of his pants. I tugged it down, freeing him inch by inch, savoring the heat of him in my palm. Thick. Pulsing. Mine.

I wrapped my lips around him, teasing at first, slow licks, light pressure, just before sliding him deep into my throat.

His melody wavered, notes stuttering under the force of his need. I smiled around his cock, tongue swirling to the rhythm of his song. Every twitch of his hips made me take him deeper.

Then I felt the snake.

It slithered across the bench, coiling along Dorian’s thigh, gliding up his torso. Nagi was sliding toward me, scales brushing my cheek. She curled around my neck, tightening it slowly.

I looked up at him, mouth full, eyes wide. The snake coiled tighter.

Dorian’s fingers missed a note. Music died.

I moaned around him, the vibration making him hiss between clenched teeth.

“Fuck,” he breathed, pushing his cock deeper into my throat.

The snake squeezed. My lungs burned. A tear slipped down my cheek as my vision blurred, breath thinning. I was losing control, and he was too.

His hands left the piano. They gripped my head. He thrust deeper, fingers twisting in my hair, holding me down until I was choking on him, my throat stretched full. Then suddenly he pulled out.

He stood, taking Nagi by the body and slowly unwinding her from my throat.

I gasped, air rushing in, lungs aching. I was trembling as I stood.

He placed Nagi gently back on the piano and reached for me, guiding me upright.

He wiped the drool from my lips, then licked it from his thumb. His eyes burned. He closed the piano lid with a thud and lifted me onto it. His mouth crashed into mine.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was devouring.

He shoved his tongue down my throat like he wanted to erase me from the inside out. There was no room to breathe, no space to think. I clung to him, hungry.

I spread my legs as he stepped closer. His hands found the edge of my panties beneath the sheer white of my nightdress. He slid them down and tossed them aside. Then, without breaking eye contact, he yanked the dress over my head and dropped it.

He grabbed beneath my thighs, lifted me, then drove into me in one brutal, perfect thrust.

No teasing. No warnings. Just him, deep inside, claiming what he had waited for.

My head fell back, palms pressing against the cool piano as I moaned his name.

“Dorian.”

He bit into my neck, and I arched into him, legs wrapping around his waist. His hand slid up to my breast, fingers gripping, mouth hot on my throat as he fucked me.

“Tell me,” he growled, voice ragged. “Tell me how it feels to fuck your stepbrother, Trouble.”

He leaned in, grinning against my skin.

“Does it feel good?”

He leaned closer, his thrusts quicker now, voice a whisper against my neck.

“Show me.”

Our eyes locked. Our mouths hovered, breathing the same desperate air. Then he lifted me from the piano with his strong arms and carried me into the room. He sank into the leather sofa, and I straddled him, legs trembling as I settled onto his lap.

His cock filled me again. My back arched. I moved slowly at first, rolling my hips, savoring the stretch, the way he dragged against every nerve ending. The wet sound of skin against skin was loud in the dark, and the leather beneath us groaned.

All I saw was him.

I forgot the ghosts that haunted us. Forgot everything except the man beneath me.

Dorian’s hands gripped my waist. He didn’t guide me. He let me move the way I needed, let me take. His chest rose as he watched me ride him.

I moved faster. Harder.

My thighs burned. My hair clung to my damp skin. Candlelight flickered across the walls like spirits were circling, drawn by the heat building between us.

I moaned, bracing my palms on his shoulders as I slammed down onto him again and again, chasing that edge.

“Tell me I’m yours,” I breathed against his ear, trembling.

He pulled me close, lips brushing mine.

“Only mine,” he whispered, and kissed me. We didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. We were starving for each other, possessed.

Something moved in the corner of the room. But we didn’t stop.

He grabbed my hips, holding me still, and then he took over. His thrusts came hard, relentless, forcing cries from my throat. My body tightened around him, gripping him so fiercely it should’ve stopped him. But it didn’t.

He kept going.

Pleasure crashed through me. My legs shook. My body trembled. I collapsed into him, biting his shoulder as the orgasm tore through me.

He didn’t stop.

He smiled through clenched teeth, then let go, my hips jerking, cock pulsing deep inside me, spilling into me. His groan echoed off the walls.

We stayed like that. Still. Shaking. Breathless.

Our foreheads touched. Our eyes never left each other.

“Promise me you’ll stay this time,” he murmured against my lips. “Promise me, if you leave, you leave with me.”

I swallowed hard. My voice cracked.

“I promise.”

This time, I meant it.

I was staying.