Page 68 of Saving Sparrow (Slow Burns & Tragic Beginnings #2)

Then

Elliott and I sat in the back seat, holding hands in between kissing and making plans for the summer. Quentin drove the whole way—because we didn’t know how to. Luckily, there wasn’t much traffic, because he kept swerving into the next lane, unable to keep his eyes off us making out in the back.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what the rearview mirror was intended for,” I’d joked when he adjusted it to see us better.

“I’m going to cook us dinner every night,” I said over the warm breeze blowing through the windows. I’d finally be putting my mother’s handwritten recipe book to good use.

“I’ll decorate the place,” Elliott offered, pushing at the long, red strands of hair whipping around his smiling face. He’d been flipping through interior design magazines for weeks now.

“And I’ll make sure you both are well compensated for all your hard work,” Quentin said in a sleazy tone. I leaned forward, and as expected, he’d palmed his crotch through his jeans.

“You can’t see me, but I’m rolling my eyes right now,” I said dryly, reclining in my seat again.

Quentin laughed, gripping the steering wheel with both hands as he released a happy whoop into the air. Ten miles to Wembly the sign read as we sped past.

Elliott glanced out the back window as if he could see the weight we’d shed left on the road. I squeezed his hand, taking Quentin’s when he reached his hand back.

We fell silent, but it wasn’t a joyless moment, more like a moment of reflection acknowledging all we’d left behind. No more Dylan, no more Amelia, no more waiting to live our lives on our own terms.

“It’s just us here,” I reminded them.

“Just us,” they said back. We let go of each other, but our bond kept us linked. Quentin turned the radio up obnoxiously loud and pressed on the gas.

We reached our exit twenty minutes later, then the heart of the college town shortly after that. Elliott poked his head out of his window as Quentin cut the music off and slowed to a crawl. This strip of road was paved in cobblestones, making the ride bumpy as we checked out our surroundings.

Rainbow flags flew proudly over the quaint bookstore and coffee shop doors along Main Street, and University of Wembly banners hung from the fancy lampposts lining the grassy curbs. We made a game of spotting the school’s mascot as we drove along.

“There,” Quentin called out, pointing out his window. I scooted closer to Elliott’s side for a better look at the girl strolling along in a Wembly Hawks T-shirt.

“The dog, too,” Elliott said, and sure enough, her bulldog sported a hawk on his doggy shirt, too.

Sliding back over to my seat, I pointed out my own window while calling out, “Hawk’s Bakery.”

Quentin smashed on the brakes, the scent of pastries filling the car. He inhaled, exhaling on the word, “Chocolate.”

A car honked behind us, and cursing, Quentin started moving again. I made a mental note to come back and buy him a brownie or something.

A few blocks up, past the shops and bars, we rode by an urban park with a statue of a hawk at its entrance.

“Nice.” Quentin nodded in appreciation of the guys tossing a football around on the lawn.

I wondered if they were part of the Wembly football team or just students passing time and having fun.

Quentin didn’t recognize them from the bonding-stay, but we weren’t close enough for him to be sure.

We kept going, spotting a group of girls sporting spirit wear, chatting on the sidewalk.

We cruised past the sprawling campus next, taking in the school banners hanging between the pillars of Wembly Hall. The campus went on for blocks, each building more impressive than the last, the brickwork beautiful.

Quentin made a right up ahead, following the signs for Housing Row.

“You okay?” I asked Elliott, reaching over to lace my fingers through his again.

“Yeah,” he said, his pearly whites on full display. He’d been nervous about his senior year at Locklier, but he seemed excited about college now.

“This is us,” Quentin said, turning onto a tree-lined street named Poet Lane. Every sandstone walkup had a late poet’s name engraved over the doorway. We’d be living on the fourth floor of the Langston Hughes building.

“That’s ours at the end,” I said, remembering the brownstone from the photos we saw online.

The spring semester was winding down with the official last day of finals at the end of the week.

There’d likely be a lot of activity near the dorms with students already moving their stuff out for summer break.

Unlike living on campus, we wouldn’t need to switch housing locations every school year, nor would anyone else living on our street, so things were relatively quiet on our block.

Quentin parallel parked in front of our building, and we all gave each other one last goofy smile before hopping out and getting to work.

The bad news about living on the fourth floor of a walkup was that we had to walk up.

There were no elevators. The good news was that we had private access to the small deck on the roof.

We could watch the sun rise and set from up there, and we could eat dinner under the stars.

All of which were part of our summer plans.

We were a sweaty mess by the time we got the last of the boxes upstairs. That was when we realized we couldn’t unpack—or even sit down. We had no furniture.

“Shit,” Quentin muttered as we surveyed the living room, boxes everywhere. “We probably should’ve brought some folding chairs.”

“Yeah, and maybe we should’ve thought to order furniture before coming here.” I scratched my head, wondering why the heck we hadn’t thought this out better.

“Let’s just go get some furniture.” Elliott shrugged. “It’s still early.”

Quentin swooped in, sweeping Elliott off his feet. “I knew there was a reason I loved you.” He gave him a dramatic peck on the lips. Elliott laughed, wriggling until Quentin set him on his feet again.

We spent hours furniture shopping only to return empty-handed. Well, we got groceries, an air mattress, a fold-up table with chairs, pots, utensils, sheets, and towels. But apparently , you can’t just take the furniture on display. You pay and then wait weeks for stuff to be slowly delivered.

We did what we could. Inflated the mattress, hung whatever clothes needed hanging in the closets, got the little kitchen set up with the table and chairs, and then we ran out two more times.

Once for curtains and again for a garbage bin and toilet paper.

We refused to go back out once we realized we also needed paper towels, so the toilet paper ended up serving two functions.

I made La Bandera for the first time that night. It wasn’t the best, but we were too happy to care. We skipped the table to eat on our temporary bed, huddling in as close as our plates would allow.

“Detergent,” Elliott said. I fed him another spoonful of rice and meat before adding detergent to our growing list of needs. We planned on being smarter tomorrow to avoid ten trips to the same place.

I scooped a forkful of food into my mouth as Quentin fed Elliott his next bite. We’d piled extra food onto our plates so we could take turns feeding him.

“Oh yeah, lube,” Quentin said, leaning in to lick sauce off the corner of my mouth. “Lots of lube.”

“So, the eight bottles you packed aren’t enough?” I asked. It was the one thing he hadn’t forgotten to bring.

“It’s never enough, Guelly.” He set his fork down on his plate, pulling me to him by the nape, kissing me with a little tongue before backing away with a smile.

“Lamps. We didn’t order lamps,” Elliott said, passing me the soda next. I took a sip, setting it down while Quentin nibbled and kissed Elliott’s bare shoulder.

I added lamps to our list, then Elliott leaned forward for a soft kiss. He backed away, his cheeks pink, his smile shy.

He shook his head when Quentin offered him more food. “I’m full.”

Quentin fed me his last bite instead, and I fed him mine, then I jogged to the kitchen for the brownie I’d gotten him. It wasn’t from Hawk’s Bakery. I’d sneak there on my own one day. I got this one from the bakery at the supermarket when he wasn’t looking.

I fed him piece by piece, licking the corners of his mouth clean between each bite as Elliott watched. Quentin took the fork from me halfway through, feeding me and licking my mouth clean.

We ate and fed, licked and touched, and pretended Elliott wasn’t even there. By the time we did turn to him, his skin was flushed, his mouth parted, and both nightgown straps had fallen. I circled a finger over the smooth, pale skin of his shoulder, loving the way he shuddered.

“What do you want, pretty girl?” Quentin asked.

“I-I want to watch,” Elliott breathed.

“Then what?” Quentin removed his T-shirt.

Elliott flushed harder. “Then I want you to spank me.” He reached a trembling hand toward Quentin’s muscled chest, his breath catching when his fingertips made contact.

“And what about after that?” I asked, pulling my shirt over my head too. Elliott’s eyes widened, as if he’d never seen my body before.

His gaze shifted between mine and Quentin’s. “Then”—He swallowed—“then I’m going to tell you no , but I want you to take turns with me anyway. Is that okay?” Still, he asked that question. Still , he held on to this innocence after all we’d done to him, in front of him, and with him.

“Para,” he said before I could remind him of our safe word. “Will you still… fuck me even if I say no?”

“Anything for you, Ellie,” I promised. “ Anything for you.”

Quentin and I stood to kick out of our pants.

Elliott nodded, already panting, slowly scooting backward to the edge of the mattress to give us room.

He looked like a scared bird, a caged or cornered animal, but it was all lust. Shy, overwhelming, beautiful lust, and Quentin and I were goners for him.

Quentin and I made love, forgetting we weren’t alone the moment we got started. Elliott loved that most about watching us.

We’d ended up on the floor in order to save the mattress, and our gazes latched onto Elliott’s the moment we were through.

Quentin disappeared from the room, and I had Elliott standing and naked by the time he returned with one of the folding chairs. Quentin lowered onto it, pulling Elliott between his spread legs and sucking his cock while I opened him with lubed fingers from behind.

“No,” he whimpered, but we ignored him.

“He’s ready,” I whispered, biting down gently on Elliott’s throat before backing away. It was my turn to watch. Quentin lubed his dick, then forced Elliott down onto it, spanking him as they fucked.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Quentin praised when Elliott gripped his shoulders and tossed his head back on a cry of ecstasy. His hair brushed along the scar on his back as he rode Quentin’s cock, and Quentin’s palm made repeated contact with his ass cheek.

I stood in the corner, touching myself, waiting for my turn.

We never made it back to Locklier for our graduation. We had a celebration of our own up on the deck, then came inside in search of Elliott after he’d left us saying he’d be back.

“Surprise!” he’d shouted when we walked in. He’d quickly set up a birthday party for me and Quentin. A party of three.

We spent our summer taking long walks while holding hands and making love every morning and night.

We had picnics in the park, and then Quentin and Elliott would play while I read under the shade of a nearby tree.

We ate the food I cooked for us every night, and we fell deeper in love. I couldn’t have asked for more.

Things changed once the fall semester started, and we didn’t see it coming.

We’d spent so much time dreaming about being on our own, about leaving Dylan’s house. I never would’ve thought we’d ever wish we could go back… or ever wish we’d never left.