Page 21

CHAPTER 21

EDIN

Dak was furious with me when he picked up Mo and saw my bruises. Not because I was hurt, but because I didn’t tell him I was hurt. He actually yelled at me. I’m not sure when the last time he did that was. He was so pissed that I didn’t ask for help when I very obviously needed it. Yes, I’m still limping slightly.

Mo helpfully informed Dak I had lots of help. Eli never left. “He even helps Daddy go to the bathroom and shower. And he cuddles Daddy, too.”

The way Dak looked at me made me blush from the roots of my hair to the tips of my damn toes. He didn’t say anything at all as he ushered Mo into his car with his eyes locked on me.

“I’m sorry,” I told him.

“I’ll call you later.”

Yep, I’m in trouble. Yet all I fucking think about while I’m skating around the ice is Elijah. Dak is going to not only ream me a new fucking asshole, but then he’s going to grill me about Elijah. I’m not at all ready to talk about Elijah since I haven’t considered what it is I’m doing with him.

The minute I got hurt, my walls came down. I just didn’t have the mental capacity to keep him at a distance when I couldn’t move without a stupid amount of pain. Pain so bad that it left me nauseous. The honest truth was, I needed help with Mo.

If Eli hadn’t shown up, I would have called Dak. There was simply no way I could care for my kid in that state.

But Eli showed up and… I gave in. It’s easy to reflect on the fact that maybe I wanted to give in. I wanted to stop fighting to keep him away. Maybe I want someone to cuddle with and enjoy orgasms with.

This is what leads me to picking up ice creams after I skate for a couple hours and wait for Elijah outside the gymnasium where he has cheer practice. I’d have gone in to watch, but if cheerleaders are anything like hockey players, they can be superstitious. So I opted to remain outside.

I wasn’t there long before he came out. The way he looks at me when he sees me makes butterflies dance wildly in my stomach.

Now we’re on our way to his room. I don’t speak as I concentrate on walking, eating my ice cream, and trying not to cut off circulation in his hand since I’m holding it so tightly. I feel a little… hysterical under the surface. I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s like I’m in a car careening down the highway, head-on with a tractor trailer as its lights flash and the horn blares and I can’t stop.

I’m not sure I want to stop. Maybe I want the impact.

I frown. Why does my metaphor need to sound dooming? Is that a reflection on the darkness my mind had been drowning in for years, or does that make sense in describing how I feel?

There are a lot of voices and chaos coming from the DIK house when we step through the side door. I can hear laughter, then a loud thud and more laughter among shouting.

“Typical Saturday,” Elijah says.

I don’t think OXL is that loud, but maybe it was before Mo and I moved in. Sometimes I wonder how much it changed to accommodate my kid. Should I feel guilty about that? I went from imposing on Dak and Sparrow to imposing on forty-plus frat boys. I’m not sure one was a better move over the other.

Elijah’s room is just how it looked the last time I was here… yesterday. Wow, was it just yesterday? This last week feels like a month has passed. Not seven days.

This part of the house is much quieter, with an entire floor separating the third from the chaos on the bottom. I lick my fingers clean of the rest of the ice cream as I turn to Elijah. He’s already finished his ice cream and is leaning against his closed door, watching me.

I lick my lips. Telling him what I want is no easier now than it had been yesterday. Even if I’m positive he’ll give me what I want. I’m willing to bet he wants it, too.

“Take your clothes off,” Elijah instructs me.

The low, sexy tone of his voice makes me shiver. There’s a quiet voice in my head that balks, not wanting to do what I’m told, despite the fact it’s exactly what I want to do. Since I want to get naked, I don’t argue and slip out of my clothing.

My ribs ache a little when I pull my shirt over my head. The pull of my muscles as I do it makes me cringe. Thankfully, I can just drop my pants and underwear without having to worry about irritating my hip. It’s throbbing lightly right now because I’d been skating for a couple hours. It wasn’t strenuous. All I was doing was trying to stretch it a little.

I’m self-conscious as I stand before Elijah with nothing on. Not because I hate my body, but because he looks at me like he wants to devour me, and I don’t really understand why. Maybe my body is… nice? I suppose I can agree with that.

But though his eyes travel over me, it’s not entirely sexual. He examines my bruises from where he’s leaning on the door. He looks at all of me, head to toe. But then his gaze remains locked on mine.

He’s looking at me . I’d even go so far as to think he likes what he sees. Which makes me feel self-conscious because I know I’m a fucking train wreck inside. What kind of person has a mental or emotional or what-the-fuck-ever kind of breakdown after sex? Every fucking time! Until I’m hurt so bad and far too damn tired to actually break down.

Who wants that mess?

Elijah pushes himself from the door and crosses the room. He discards an article of clothing with each step until he’s standing in front of me. “Want to tell me what you want?” he asks.

I shake my head.

He gives me an amused smile. “How about I tell you what I want to do?”

I nod.

“I want to bend you over my bed and fuck you,” he murmurs, his fingers trailing gently over my skin. “I want to bring you so close to orgasm over and over again, until you beg to come.”

My eyes narrow and he grins.

“Don’t worry. It’ll be torture for me, too.”

“Then why do it?”

His lips press to mine lightly. “Because I want to be a part of your body for as long as possible.”

I’m not sure if I feel a sudden burst of heat or chills. My body shivers, but my blood boils. I nod.

“Face down, Edin,” he says and gently nudges me toward his bed.

Stepping away from him, I’m overcome once more with the feeling of being self-conscious. It makes me hurry to the bed and lie on my stomach. That does nothing but heighten the feeling. It’s loud in my ears, which makes no sense at all. It’s just a feeling. So why does it sound like that feeling is screaming in my head?

Elijah’s touch jostles me out of the moment, and I take a deep breath. His body weight comes down on me and I can feel the slick press of his lubed dick press between my ass cheeks. I wiggle, bringing my hips from the bed so my cheeks part, and I can feel his dick against my hole.

He chuckles. “I’m prepping you this time,” he insists, and I scowl, which only makes him laugh again. “I want to fuck you hard, so I need your body ready to receive me. You cool with that?”

The moan that escapes startles me. My cheeks flush as I nod. Obviously, I’m cool with that.

Elijah doesn’t get off me as he fingers my hole. Pushing lube in. Pressing his fingers in to widen me. It’s business and a little awkward. I don’t know why I feel a little embarrassed as he does his thing. I’m riddled with these weird feelings until he begins pressing his dick inside me.

My head drops and I groan as he enters. My heart immediately begins a loud, rapid rhythm like the drums of war. My blood whooshes in my ears.

He wraps me up in a way that feels very reminiscent of how I forced everyone before him at Confessions to remain perfectly still while I did what I wanted. I’m immobilized by the way he hugs me beneath him. My arms are locked over my head, unable to move below my shoulders. My elbows move, though, and I flail a little as he begins to pick up his pace.

If someone had asked me weeks ago whether I wanted to be powerless during sex, I’d have probably gotten very belligerent and aggressive. For years, I’ve lived my life feeling powerless. There’s no way in hell I’ll ever allow myself to be put in that position again.

Especially not during sex, which was the root cause of what set my life on its course of destruction to begin with. Without truly thinking about it, I imagine that’s why I took the power away from my partner in each scene. Because I needed to have control. I needed to take control back in all aspects of my life. I needed to dominate the act that led to my initial failure and command it for my own.

But right now, all those thoughts are gone. All I feel is pleasure. Elijah’s grip on me is strong as he fucks me into the bed. His hot breath warms my skin. His heavy breathing in my ear. His moans and grunts and everything sexy that drives my arousal on and on as it inflates like a balloon.

Right before I come, Elijah pulls out of me, and I practically scream in frustration. I was so close. His body weight settles on me again, keeping me pinned to the bed so I can’t even get a partially earned, not-quite-as-satisfying orgasm by creating my own friction on the bed.

“Not yet,” he croons in my ear. Then his grip loosens and I can move my arms.

Just as I catch my breath, he begins fucking me again. His dick slides inside in a single thrust, forcing a choked moan out of me as my body tries to arch. He’s picking up pace when his door opens.

I’m so startled that I’m surprised my jump doesn’t send Elijah flying off me. I don’t need to ask who this man is, since he looks alarmingly like Elijah.

“Huh,” the twin says. What did Elijah say his name was again? “This is new.”

Elijah’s forehead drops to the back of my head. “What do you want, Zeke?”

“Hurry up and finish.” He shuts the door behind him.

We don’t hurry and finish. Elijah tortures us for another round of edging. Then another. He’s just about there again when the door opens for a second time.

“Seriously,” Zeke grumbles, sighing. “Finish, already.”

This time, he doesn’t leave. He steps into the room and shuts the door behind him. I’m alarmed when he gets on the bed, sprawling out over our heads as he brings up his phone. I try to look at Elijah over my shoulder. He’s not serious, right?

Elijah only smiles and his thrusts pick up again. He fucks my discomfort out of me until I completely forget Zeke is even there. I’m half delirious by the time I come. It’s loud. It’s intense. I can’t catch my breath. It’s the most delicious feeling I’ve ever experienced, made even better because Elijah sighs and wraps me in his arms as if to shield me from the world.

Or my errant emotions. But I think even they’re exhausted from the edging, they’re too sluggish to make me break down. I refuse to acknowledge the fact that I haven’t broken down with Elijah since my injury.

“That was hot.”

I startle again at Zeke’s voice. The bed shifts and he leaves the room.

Elijah chuckles. He gets off me enough to roll me onto my back. Then his dick is back inside me and once again, he’s slowly rocking. Excessively slowly. Extending the moment. Keeping us intimately connected.

“He’ll be back,” Elijah says.

“Do you always fuck in the room together?” I ask.

He kisses my neck, and I close my eyes. “No. I’m not sure we have in the past. Once we figured out that we like different things, that option was taken off the table.”

“Different things?”

“He’s straight. Remember?”

Right. He’s told me that before. “Right. Different things, meaning he likes girls and you don’t.”

“Correct.”

“I see.”

“But I’ve been neglecting my brother, and he’s lonely.”

“Why doesn’t he get a girlfriend?”

Elijah snorts. “He’s ace.”

“Ace?”

“Asexual.”

I nod, but after a second, I say, “That doesn’t clear anything up.”

He laughs. “Sorry. It means he doesn’t necessarily feel attraction or sexual arousal. He’s not sex-repulsed, but he’s not all that jazzed about sex in general. He’d rather not partake. However, he craves a relationship. Intimate moments and touch. The things most people equate to sex and the cuddles after. It makes finding a girlfriend difficult because they want to fuck and he doesn’t like it. The times that he wants to get off, he’d much rather get himself off. Curious that he felt the need to watch us. He might be less straight than he thinks.”

“Oh. That sounds… hard.”

“I hate that he’s lonely,” Elijah admits. “But I don’t know how to find him what he needs. So when he’s feeling particularly lonely, he cuddles beside me because he’s my twin and he knows he can when he needs a cuddle.”

The door opens for a third time, and sure enough, Zeke’s back. He drops back onto the bed again where he’d been above our heads. My cheeks burn once more knowing he’s there, I’m naked, and Elijah’s dick is still moving in my ass. Something Zeke doesn’t miss.

“Really?” Zeke says. “You’re not done yet?”

Elijah grins as I bury my face in his arm. Fuck’s sake.

“I enjoy his body, bro. What’s up?”

Zeke snorts. “You. Apparently.”

Elijah shifts, reaching one arm above my head. I peek out to see what he’s looking at, surprised when I see that he’s holding his brother’s hand. I’m not sure if I’m warmed by the gesture or slightly horrified because his cock is still moving in my ass!

Zeke’s phone rings. I expect him to excuse himself to answer it, in which I can insist we get up and dressed before he returns. This isn’t how I want to meet new people.

But he fucking doesn’t. He answers and even worse, he puts it on speaker!

“Hey, Judey,” Zeke says. The noise on the other end sounds like shouting and then laughter. A crackling sigh meets our ears.

“Sorry. Just a second.” The noise gets further away until a door shuts and silence fills the phone. “I swear, they waited until I was on the phone to cause chaos.”

“Man children,” Zeke muses.

Whoever Judey is—a masculine-sounding voice for sure—huffs in response. “Anyway, we play Los Angeles in a couple weeks. You coming up?”

“Yeah,” Zeke says as my eyebrows knit together.

“Who are you playing, Jude?” Elijah asks.

“Los Angeles,” Jude answers. Jude makes more sense. “I just said that.”

“What team are they again?” Elijah asks.

“Are you kidding me right now? The fucking Golden Tides.”

My breath stutters to a stop as my eyes go wide. What… who are they talking to? Who is Jude? Elijah looks at me, meeting my eyes, with a big smile.

“Anyway,” Jude says. “Thanks for being weird as always, Eli. I have two tickets waiting for you.”

“Cool, but think you can make it three?” Zeke asks.

“Sure.”

Mo. My mouth moves to form her name.

“Four tickets,” Elijah corrects.

“Anything else? You guys bringing dates or something?”

“Or something,” Elijah says with a grin.

“Fine, whatever. Four tickets. Los Angeles Golden Tides. In Los Angeles. Did I miss anything?”

“Nah, you’re good,” Zeke answers.

“I swear, twins are fucking weird,” Jude mutters. “Okay, good. Glad we got that out of the way. Dare I ask if school’s good? Gracie? She was freaking out about telling a girl she’s neurotic last I spoke to her.”

Elijah laughs and buries his face in my neck. Who’s Gracie? No, wait. Back to hockey. Jude… oh, shit. Jude Vincent? Who plays for the fucking Dallas Bulldogs?! No. Oh my god, no! That’s impossible.

The call hangs up while I’m mentally spiraling as I connect the dots. “You and Mo free in a few weekends?” Elijah asks.

I nod. “That was Jude Vincent?”

“Oh, no,” Zeke says, laughing. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

Elijah smiles. “To an athlete who lives and breathes hockey? No. I prefer to be liked for me. Thanks.”

“He’s your…” I prompt.

“Brother,” the twins say together.

“Oh fuck. That means?—”

“Yes. Owen Vincent is our father.”

I close my eyes. In reality, I didn’t know Elijah’s last name. I never thought to ask. Even had I asked, I wouldn’t have guessed he was Owen Vincent’s son. Vincent might not be as common a surname as Smith, but it’s not all that unusual, either. Not like Bozik.

“Oh, my god,” I mutter and bury my face in his neck again.

“I’m sure we can convince our dads to fly out to the game if you want to meet them,” Zeke suggests.

“Yes, but no. Not… not this time,” I stammer.

Elijah chuckles, kissing along my neck and making me shiver with jolts of heat. His gentle rocking that never ceased picks up. Further out of my body and deeply back in. I groan.

“You staying to watch another round, bro?” Elijah asks. “I have a feeling this man is going to go wild now that he knows who our daddy is.”

Unintentionally, I moan as he already hits the good spots inside me. I’m feeling a little raw, but I don’t even care. “I don’t care who your parents are,” I say, though my words crack in the middle.

“No?” he asks, his lips at my ear.

I shake my head. “Not at all. You make me feel good all on your own.”

I must have said something he likes because the way he fucks me has my eyes rolling in the back of my head for what feels like days.