by James, Ella
She brings the vodka to her lips and holds it there. “No,” she whispers over the clear liquid.
“Because my brother loved rules and order. He was a dork who carried—” I swallow hard. “You know that calculator I had? That was his, and he loved that fucking thing. Our day school had a dress code, so we were all walking around like little CEOs but Lyon—he got off on that shit. He ironed his clothes and mine too, and Myra our housekeeper would always laugh at that. But he knew what he liked. He liked to feel like things were taken care of. He liked to be prepared. And when we started college he rushed, but he also went out for a spot on the USG Senate, because he loved that kind of shit. The boring shit? Lyon was all over that.”
She slams the shot back, then gives me a wide-eyed look, her lips caught somewhere between a sad smile and a surprised oval. “So you don’t like rules and order?”
I laugh. “Hell no, not those kinds of rules. I memorized Robert’s Rules of Order and it damn near killed me. That’s one of the things I did for Ly.”
“You ran for SGA for him.” Her lips tuck up, but it’s not a smile. It’s something more fragile.
I nod, and when I open my mouth to say something else, the words all lined up to come out are I’m more of a wood-chopping guy. Because—fuck me—I want her to fucking know.
For just this one dark moment in my spotless, stainless-and-granite kitchen, I want Cleo to know exactly who I am—and what my life is like. I want it so much I ache with it.
My jaw clamps shut, because I could never do that to her. I’ll do everything I can to ensure Cleo stays out of my sick mess. No one really earns this kind of hell on earth, but least of all Cleo.
Least of all Lyon.
I have to turn toward the sink so I don’t give myself away.
I suck a deep breath back and try to calm my racing pulse. Cleo must know because she doesn’t make a move toward me. She lets me have my space to mourn my brother, even though what I’m really doing is mourning her.
Chapter Fourteen
Cleo
The second Kellan and I start down the stairs, a black cat streaks across the lawn, between the porch steps and Kellan’s Escalade. My first instinct is to lunge after it, because that’s the kind of spaz I am, but Kellan stops me with a squeeze of my fingers.
“Are you trying to catch her?” He grins.
“Possibly.” I giggle.
“Wait here.” He lets go of my hand and disappears into the house while I watch the yard for a black streak. I don’t see one, so when Kellan re-appears with a bowl of diced chicken and sets it on the corner of the porch, I sink down onto the top stair and figure we’re waiting for nothing.
That second, the cat pounces on my head.
I scream, tossing the cat off the porch, and Truman bounds out the front door and down the stairs.
“Shit.” Kellan’s hands rove over my face. “Are you okay?”
I laugh. “I think so.”
“Okay—wait here.”
He chases Truman down and hauls the dog back into the house. While the door is shut, the cat jumps back onto the porch beside the bowl of chicken and curls into a ball, blinking her green eyes at me.
“Helen—you pussy!” I smile at my own ridiculousness and crawl slowly over to her. She scoots back a little, but she’s not going to leave the bowl of chicken. I watch her bend over to eat, taking note of how thin she is. But she doesn’t look mangy.
I scoot a little closer to her, until I’m close enough to hold my hand over her back. She peeks over her shoulder at me, then keeps eating.
Kellan comes out the door. He slides a hand into his pocket and leans his shoulder against the door. God, he’s hot. At a glance, he almost seems lanky, but his shoulders are so wide. And that face. He’s giving me that gentle smile of his, the one that tilts up a little on one side and is always accompanied by a twinkle in his blue eyes. The world indulgent comes to mind. I look at the bowl of chicken and smile back at him. He is indulging me.
He indulges me for five or so more minutes, until Helen seems to’ve had her fill. She looks skeptically at me, and I just smile at her.
“Not going in for a rub?” Kellan teases.
I shake my head and hold my hand out. He pulls me to my feet, and I’m pleased to find the cat’s still watching us from the corner of the porch.
“I don’t want to scare her off. I’m playing the long game here.”
He squeezes my hand. “Let’s play it inside for a second.”
“Mm, and why is that?”
He leads me through a formal dining room to the right of the stairs, and into a small half-bath, where he opens a cabinet and produces a bottle of soap.
“Antimicrobial. Aren’t you special?” I tease. “Looks like you’re a germophobe like me.”
“Strays can carry diseases,” he says, squirting soap into my palm.
“Helen doesn’t.”
Kellan gets a laugh out of her name, even though I’ve told him my intentions before, and I force him to spend the first thirty minutes of our car ride determining plans for Helen.
“If she’s there when we get back, I want to take her to the vet tomorrow. I’ll get her a purple collar, possibly purple with a leopard print pattern—” Kellan snorts at that—“and we can start litter box training.”
Kellan just laughs at me, and after hearing all about my grand plans, he tells me he’s allergic to cats.
“What a pussy,” I joke, miming claws.
He does a hilariously realistic “meow,” and I get a good laugh out of that.
The next twenty minutes are more subdued. We listen to a bunch of random stuff on Kellan’s iPhone—none of it overly sentimental, thank God—and when he pulls over on a gravelly shoulder to let a police car fly past, he asks me to turn my back to him. He tucks a few stray strands of hair into my bun and plants a warm kiss on my nape, and after that, he takes my hand.
We talk about robots, and sex robots, and sex toys, and Kellan tells me I should get a job as a spokeswoman for LELO, which I tell him would be a dream come true. Driving through the miles of flat, hot farmland outside Albany makes it a little harder to keep things light, but Kellan starts quizzing me, asking me silly things like pie in the face or whipped cream up the ass.
We stop so I can use the restroom at the first gas station in town, and he has a shot of Snow Queen waiting for me when I climb back into my seat.
As it burns its way into my stomach, I feel an awful ache for “R.”
I think the universe is trying to send me a sign, a show of solidarity or something... because we’re driving past a bunch of businesses on the main drag when “Sea Ghost” by The Unicorns starts playing. My stomach does a back flip, the way it does when I’m riding a roller coaster with loops.
I can’t look at Kellan. I just squeeze his hand and try not to cry, and of course I’m almost sure I will. I torture myself by imagining pretty, curly-haired Olive at school, talking with her friends, and Olive at the DMV getting her license.
Just as the first tear falls, Kellan pulls over at the mall in front of Books-A-Million, cuts the Escalade’s ignition, and comes around to open my door.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
And I do see. I see that he’s a naughty, naughty boy. Instead of taking me into the store, he ushers me into the back of the Escalade, lets the seats down, and urges me onto my back. He pulls my shoes and leggings off and moves my limbs into a spread-eagle.
He teases my tears away by kissing up and down the inside of my thighs, and then he licks my slit so slowly, I wrap my leg around his shoulders and ram myself against his mouth.
He tenses his tongue so it’s firmer than before and drags it through my swollen lips. Then he laps at my clit, so softly and slowly that my ass comes off the floor.
“Oh God!”
“I’m right here,” he says in muffled tones. He drags his tongue from my clit down to the clenching, sopping core of me and, with no warning, he thrusts his to
ngue inside.
I lock my legs around his neck, tightening my thighs as I rub myself against his face.
“Oh God...” I shudder, and he twirls his tongue, stretching me gently.
“Kellan.” I tug his hair, surprised to find, “I want you... inside.”
He stops licking and smirks up at me. “What’s the magic word, Cleo baby?”
“Please!”
He takes his t-shirt off and slides it under my hips. He tugs his jeans down, freeing his enormous cock. It’s such a beautiful sight: a reminder of virility and life... I reach out and touch it, and he shuts his eyes.
He pushes two fingers into me, stroking his erection as he stretches me. I hear him rip a condom open—with his teeth—and open my eyes to watch him roll it over himself. Then he slides his fingers out of me, rubs his plump head through my slickness, shuts his eyes, and pushes deep inside.
He fills me so thoroughly my legs fall open. I lift my hips on instinct but he’s so deep, there’s nowhere else for him to go. He shifts his hips and settles snugly into me. I let out a cry they probably hear inside the bookstore.
He leans over me and laces his fingers through mine. His hips pump, making me moan at the deliciousness of being filled.
“You like it when I fuck your pussy, don’t you, Cleo baby?”
I nod, tightening my inner muscles around him. He grinds against me, burying himself deeper, so I gasp and arch up toward him.
“You like to have your nipples sucked,” he says. I feel my nipple tighten, then his lips find it. His thumb comes over my clit, stroking gently, and my pussy pulses as I buck my hips.
“God—you’re beautiful,” he murmurs.
He suckles my breast, then kisses up my chest, toward my neck. I nuzzle his head and find his mouth with mine. I slide my tongue in, taking charge of this one thing, even as he dominates the rest of me.
I nip at him and lick his lips. He’s so hungry, his kisses start to hurt. Our hips move in frenzied sync as he surges deeper. I tighten around him. I suck on his tongue and am rewarded with a sharp jerk of his hips. I feel his moan in my mouth... then inside me as he throbs with his release.
I tighten around him, coming in a violent rush. I’m still panting as he feathers kisses on my cheek. I peek up at him. His face is filled with soft intent; his big hand strokes my hair. And I feel cared for. Very cared for on this sad day.
“I think we might be soul mates,” I tell him as we drive toward the cemetery. It’s nestled in the middle of a well-off neighborhood, far from our family’s house, which is closer to the Flynt River.
His hand is in mine, his thumb stroking my knuckles. It goes still at the comment.
“What makes you think so?” he asks in a voice that’s too relaxed.
“Among other things, you just played a song I really like, one I usually play when I’m coming here. But other things too,” I add.
“What things?”
“Like you tucked my hair back up, and how you made me drink the Snow Queen. My friend used to always say to drink before I come here.”
“Anything else?” He gives me a strange smile.
“I don’t know. I just... feel weird about you. Good weird. Like I know you, even though I know I really don’t.”
“You know me better than most,” he says. His fingers resume stroking mine.
“I have a feeling that’s still not very well.”
“Can’t argue that,” he says quietly. And that’s the end of such talk.
I leave Olive a tube of my favorite lipstick and a shot glass full of Snow Queen. I ignore the bouquet of sixteen roses lying against her headstone, and I don’t look at the card.
Kellan strokes his thumb over the seashells I left here several years ago. I look around the cemetery, searching for some sign, but there’s nothing. The sun is shining, the sky is ordinary blue, the grass yields no secrets for me. It’s neither dead nor particularly verdant. The trees sway in a breeze that’s no different from any other day. The only thing significant about today is Olive’s absence.
I don’t stay too long before Kellan wraps his arm around me and guides me back to the Escalade.
The whole way home, I talk about an article I read in TIME Magazine about how, years from now, no one will die. I keep it technical, and again we talk of robots. When we get back to Kellan’s house, Helen is waiting by the door.
Chapter Fifteen
Cleo
Kellan carries me to the windowed room. I assume he plans to pull the covers back and peel my clothes off, but instead he tucks me into bed and disappears, returning a few minutes later with a mug in hand. Steam wafts off the top. He sets it on the nightstand and leans against the mattress.
“Sit up a little,” he whispers, smiling softly down at me. I’ve got my head propped in my hand and I’m lying on my side, just looking out the windows and thinking. I drag my tired self up, and he plants a kiss on my forehead.
“Thanks.” I wrap an arm around his back, and for a blissful moment, his forehead is against my neck—and I have him. The weight of him. The smell of him. All his wonderful intentions, and my fantasies, which have only just begun to simmer.
Then he leans back, hands me the mug, and winks. “Try that.”
“What is it?”
“What does it smell like?” He smiles and tilts his head, watching as I take a tentative sip.
“Ahh, that’s—whoa, that’s really good. It’s hot chocolate with...”
“Brandy and Frangelico.”
“What’s Frangelico?” I ask before taking another long, warm sip.
“Hazelnut liqueur. Italian.”
“God.” It pools in my belly, and with the next long sip, I feel a blanket of drowsiness cover me.
“You should get some sleep,” he says. He walks to the head of the bed and I feel his hands on my hair—pulling the rubber band off the bottom of my braid, then separating the wavy locks.
I sigh. “That feels amazing.”
“Good.” He smooths my hair down my back and kisses my temple.
I blink at him. Is this the same guy who disarmed and cajoled me.... what? Mere days ago? I feel like I’ve known him my entire life.
“What will you do while I sleep?” I ask, folding my hands around the mug. As much as I’d love to go to sleep, I think I want him near me more.
“I’ve got a dealer meeting, then a thing with Manning.”
“Oh, a thing?” I smile, teasing.
“We do it twice a week. I’ll bring you to the next one.” His mouth presses tight, then curves back up into a pensive half-smile. “It’s for the charitable distribution.”
“Oh, like for the ailing people?”
He nods.
“I’d love to go to one. I want to help.”
“That’s what I love about you,” he says quietly. Without another word, he turns and goes.
I’m asleep in minutes, dreaming of his arms... his blue eyes, crinkled with his smile. Around the corner somewhere, Olive dances with my lipstick in her hand.
* * *
I don’t know what time I wake up, roused by the strange and lovely sensation of something vibrating in my pussy. My legs are spread, my knees bent and the soles of my feet touching, drawn up under my bare ass. As the undulations grow stronger, I try to writhe toward the pleasure and I find I can’t. I’m bound at the ankles.
I test my arms, both spread, and find they’re tied as well.
I open my eyes and look around the room. The canopy is gone, so I can see the moonlight pouring through the wall of windows.
I see the shadows shift outside, and find Kellan outside on the balcony. He’s leaning against the thick cement wearing nothing but an open robe, watching as I struggle with desire.
I roll my hips. I clench around the thing inside my cunt and feel my clit throb. Oh—I want to moan.
I tug against the binds around my wrists. I gasp as the vibrations change. Now the egg is throbbing, working itself deeper into me. So deep, I have to
move my hips. I lift my backside off the bed and watch as Kellan glides across the balcony and pulls the door open.
The tempo of the throbbing increases. I pull against my binds because if I could just roll over, if I could get this egg thing closer to my clit, then maybe I could get off.
Kellan seems to drift onto the bed. In his black robe, he looks like the grim reaper as he leans his blond head down and licks my pussy. I’m reminded of a tiger’s tongue—and then I only know the trembling of my fists, the fierce throb deep inside me. I’m already so aroused, it only takes a few soft, hot licks before I’m pulsing. I gasp his name and let my pleasure take me under.
When I open my eyes, I find Kellan sitting near my hips. He’s cross-legged, his dark robe pooled in his lap.
I start to laugh at how hard I came, laugh out my embarrassment, when my gaze finds his face.
“... Kellan?”
His eyes are fixed somewhere out ahead of him, on the wall beside the door. He doesn’t look down at me as I say his name, nor in the seconds after.
“Hey,” I say more gently. “You okay?”
He blinks, and my gut clenches. There’s something strange about his eyes. About his whole face.
My hand flinches in its knot. “Kell—can you untie me?”
He blinks.
“Please?”
I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Anxiety streaks through me. What’s going on? I’m tied up—totally defenseless. How much do I trust him? Those are fear’s questions.
Then I see his mouth move—just a tremble—and everything falls away except a thick swell of concern.
I try to turn my body toward him, try to reach him with my hand. I can’t, of course.
“Kellan? Hey... what’s wrong?”
His eyes shift to my body; not my face. He blinks again, doll-like. In a low voice, he says, “You should go.”
“What?”
His eyes shut. As he opens them, he moves onto his knees and starts to untie me. I watch the gorgeous ripple of his shoulders, the column of his throat. His face is pained. His gaze is everywhere except my face.