by Eliza Park
“You’re brutal.”
She took another handful of popcorn and didn’t respond, pretending to be interested in the screen.
I rolled my shoulders and adjusted the bowl over my hard cock, focusing my gaze on the horrible fucking movie.
I started to count, daring myself not to look at her tits for more than thirty seconds.
I failed.
So, I tried again.
And failed.
I was ready to give up, already willing to admit that I couldn’t last as long as she could, when her hand covered my thigh under the blanket. I didn’t look at her, choosing to study the screen with squinting eyes. Her fingers traced up my thigh to my hip, following the curve of my boxers. My jaw clenched but still I pretended not to notice. I felt the pull of the band and sucked in a breath, feeling myself smile. Her thumb circled the head of my cock through the fabric, and I had to close my eyes briefly, exhaling loudly.
My left hand found its way to her thigh, the roughness of my own fingers following the soft skin to the edge of her underwear. I could feel the skin of her pussy lips beneath the fabric and brushed my fingers over her, having to open my eyes when her hand popped under my boxers to grab my cock. She started to stroke me, but I kept my touch light, never quite going under the fabric to feel her. After several minutes, she started to squirm, shifting her hips forward on the couch to give me more access, which I silently refused.
Her grip on me was firm, but her movements slow, and I could last all night with a pace like this. I saw the blanket fall from her chest out of the corner of my eye and let my gaze land on her bare tits.
“You’re driving me nuts,” Celeste said, her cheeks nearly red. I moved, her hand falling out of my boxers as I dragged her in a semi-circle under me, her thighs framing my hips. My lips met hers and I kept my movements slow, deliberately antagonizing her. Her breasts were soft, and I cupped one in my hand, letting my thumb move in a circle around her nipple without ever touching it. I wanted to feel all of her, and my hands worked their way down the sides of her torso, around to pull her butt against me, then down her thighs, hooking her knee up a little higher on my waist. Then, I did it again the other way, up her thigh, over her ass, slowly caressing her torso and back up to finally and gently pinch one of her nipples.
She tore her mouth from mine, panting, lifting her chin to expose her neck. I ran my lips down her soft skin, inhaling the scent of her hair, and shifted hard against her, my hips moving against hers in one quick beat. Nails scraped against my hair and she dragged my face back to hers, eyes hooded. She was trying to urge me to move faster, to give into the animalistic urge I was pounding down with a stick. I moved more slowly, touching every part of her body, avoiding where she wanted me most.
Celeste took her hands from my head and dragged them down my chest, nails raking into the skin almost painfully. “You’re being rude,” she said against my mouth.
“I lasted longer than you,” I whispered.
“Yes,” she admitted hastily, “yes you did. Now fuck me.”
“On the couch?” I murmured, smiling.
“Anywhere,” She breathed.
I got off of her, held firmly to her arm and lifted her up and over my shoulder, holding her ass steady with my hand.
She grunted and laughed, grabbing at my butt with her nails.
I ran up the stairs with her dangling over my shoulder, her knees bent, toes pointing, and tossed her onto the wide bed. The room was dark save for moonlight streaming through the windows. I could barely see her and as I let my eyes adjust I moved on top of her, my touch more direct this time. She mirrored my movements, eager but patient, her nails barely grazing against my skin while her hands roamed down my chest. I removed her underwear slowly, bending down to lift her knees, but she stopped me, pulling my face back up to hers. She pushed at my boxers and I took them the rest of the way off, looking up at her expectant gaze. I shifted between her legs, keeping my eyes on hers, wanting to witness the connection after I’d admitted my feelings to her. One of her feet rested on the back of my hamstring, her other hooked around my hip. I pushed into her, watching the eyes roll into the back of her head, soaking in the gasp of pleasure she let out. I stuck my hand into her hair and kissed her jaw, moving slowly, my hips creating a rhythm of their own. She was so wet, the muscled walls gripping my every inch, sending euphoric sensation through my entire body.
I felt high, stoned off of the experience of being inside her and ignored the hole of guilt that had burrowed its way into my abdomen since September. I savored every second of my time, touching her everywhere, kissing her nipples and neck and collarbone. I read her reactions as I moved, increasing my pace when her breathing quickened and her chin tilted up.
When she came, I was ready, exploding inside of her while her muscles tightened and contracted, her cries in my ear. I waited until I knew I had nothing left to give and her legs stopped shaking, pulling out of her, and moving to the side to keep my body close.
“I love you too,” Celeste whispered, her voice hoarse.
A feeling, something close to exhilaration exploded in my chest and I leaned up onto my elbow, cupping her cheek in my hand. Her eyes were wide and watery, lips three shades darker than her usual pink, and her cheeks flushed, “About fucking time.”
Chapter 45
Celeste
Fourteen blissful days passed by in a haze of takeout, movies, great conversation, walks on the beach, and sex.
Lots and lots of dirty, delicious, sweaty, surprising, hilarious, and sometimes weird, sex.
I woke up the day we were meant to drive back to the city with a smile on my face.
I felt like a goddess. The way Maverick had been treating me took spoiled to a whole new level. He adored me in ways I didn’t realize were possible in a normal relationship. The way he looked at me took my breath away. The way he encouraged and sometimes teased me about my weird habits made me more confident, affirmed that I knew who I was becoming, and that person was going to be fine. The way he fucked me made me weak all over. I’d been deliriously in love before, or at least I’d tricked myself into thinking I had been, but this was a new kind of delirium. A kind of coherent mania that came at me in waves, rocking me back into his arms and bed over and over again. I couldn’t get enough. I wanted to stay at this house for months, years, just absorbing the time we could spend together and ignoring everything else. The shocking reality of just how much he really cared about me, my health, and my life, was earth-shattering. I knew he cared, but to show it the way that he was spoke volumes at the slowly repairing pieces of my mind.
I could do this. I could have a healthy relationship with a great sex life. I could get a degree. I could grow up and get a job and have friends and get married. I could start to discuss the potential of having my own family, continue to seek therapy in order to ensure my kids would be safe and protected from not just the world but from me. I had been doing all of these things successfully for the last four months and I knew I could do them forever.
I had a support system.
I had a family.
I had a super-hot boyfriend.
I was fucking excited.
I rolled out of bed and showered quickly, seeing a note on the mirror with Maverick’s handwriting indicating he went into town to grab some stuff.
I hoped it was snacks.
With my hair still wet, wearing a pair of jeans and another cozy sweater, I went down to the living room, wondering how much longer he would be gone for. I was still waiting for the results of one of my exams. Normally they’re delivered in email format and I received all but one. Spotting Maverick’s computer on the desk to the right of the staircase, I thought I’d take a few minutes to check while my phone was charging upstairs. If his computer was locked, I’d wait till we got back to the city.
I sat down in front of his computer desk, gently lifting the lid of the same Mac he had at the academy. I forgot that Maverick had a weird sense for nostalgia. He took
care of the things that mattered to him, like this laptop, and they lasted years beyond their need. The machine powered up with a gentle hum and I hit the enter button when the login screen popped up. No password. Cool. His home screen filled the wide expanse between the silver borders, and I dragged my finger across the mouse pad to pull up the Internet browser.
I hesitated when my eyes caught my own name attached to a little yellow file folder on his desktop. I bit my lip, wondering what kind of gross love letters he had stored in there that I could certainly make fun of him for the rest of our lives. I clicked it open, and my heart leapt into my throat. It was document after document about my mother, her death, her employment. My skin grew cold, the hair standing on the back of my neck as I realized the implication. It wasn’t my uncle or my grandparents or even Abel Lockwood who sent me that packet of information. It was Maverick.
The front door opened and shut, and I pulled my gaze from the screen to lock eyes with him.
He had a straw in his mouth, his arms loaded with paper bags.
And he looked terrified.
I stood from the desk, the chair rolling out from behind me and cleared my throat, trying to keep the emotion from destroying my ability to communicate, “You knew? For how long?”
He pulled the straw from his mouth and swallowed, “Since before Ramirez.”
The air left my lungs, my heart dropping into my stomach. I heard the bags hit the floor and saw him move towards me.
“You have to understand, Celeste, I wasn’t allowed to tell you.” He was quiet, sincere, his voice strained.
I couldn’t look at him. “You sent me the package. In rehab.”
“Yes.” It was an admission he didn’t want to make.
My throat closed up, tears springing to my eyes, “I can’t believe you knew the whole time. Every detail.”
“Your dad could have taken serious legal action against anybody who tried to get into contact with you about this. NDAs were signed—.”
“What are you talking about?” I snapped, wiping tears from my cheeks.
“My dad told me some stuff—.”
“How long did your dad know?”
Maverick’s mouth snapped shut, blue eyes watching me with eyebrows knitted together.
I swallowed hard. I knew Abel Lockwood would have known before my 18th birthday, he was the one I’d expected had sent the package, I just wasn’t sure how long. Maverick’s lack of an admission meant he’d known from the beginning. And done nothing. I moved around him, racing up the stairs to throw my clothes into my suitcase. My chest hurt, my stomach churning. I felt like I had been betrayed by every person I’d come to trust. I’d thrown four things into my bag before my body erupted into sobs, angry heavy sobs. I heard Maverick stepping across the wooden floor, saw him fall to his knees beside me.
“I wanted to tell you sooner,” he said quietly.
“Why didn’t you?” I managed.
He scratched at his head, “I’m not really sure. There’s some more I need to tell you about, but I didn’t know—.” He hesitated.
“What? Didn’t know what?” I snapped.
“I didn’t know how you would handle it.”
I stared at him, “So you do think I’m a basket case?” I threw more stuff into my bag, slamming it shut and buckling it as he tried to protest. “You do, even after the last few months, after I fell in love with you, again, you still think I’m fragile.”
Maverick stood, his chin above my forehead, “I was trying to find the right time to tell you.”
“I can’t believe you kept all of this from me. For years, Maverick. I could have met my real family before everything happened with Eli. I could have moved to Idaho that summer, gone to a different school, and my parents couldn’t have stopped me!”
“I had to protect my dad, too, Celeste. There would have been an inquiry, he could have lost his license.”
“And what about what I lost?” I yelled. I was buzzing with anger, from my head to my toes. I turned away from him and stormed down the stairs with my suitcase.
Just keep breathing. Just keep breathing.
I had to hold on to some semblance of the person I was when I’d come here, and I felt like I was losing her with just another betrayal.
“Wait, please, Celeste. Listen to me.” Maverick was running down the stairs after me, “There’s more to the story I have to tell you.”
“I don’t want to listen to you, Maverick. I want to go home. You should have told me.”
“I’m sorry. Actually, I can’t even be sorry, you could have been written out of your trust.”
I scoffed, “Because money can solve all your problems, right? I’ve hardly even made a dent in what my mom left for me. Here I am, permanently damaged and surrounded by money with no one to trust.” I swung the front door open. “You know what I’d rather have, Mav?”
He stared at me, his mouth open, “Please, just come back inside and talk to me.”
“I’d rather have a boyfriend I could trust than any amount of money in the world. This,” I gestured between us, my cursed heart breaking with the sentence that flowed out of my mouth, “Isn’t love, and it’s over now.” I shut the door behind me, lugging my suitcase down the stairs and away from the house as quickly as I could, hoping he wouldn’t follow me. I had become so good at not just feeling my emotions but learning to keep them under control and now I felt like I was beginning to unravel.
The driver was there in less than five minutes and I slid into the back seat, cursing the sun for making the day so happy and sunny. I needed rain. Lots and lots of rain.
I rode back into the city in complete silence, watching the river and fellow traffickers the whole two-hour ride. My phone buzzed a few times before I turned it off, wishing Maverick would just leave it alone for one single night.
In a matter of thirty minutes, I’d gone from the happiest I’d ever been straight into a dark ocean of depression.
I tried not to think about how different my life could have been if I’d found out just one whole year sooner. I wasn’t sure what Maverick meant by the legality behind the situation, but I could guess well enough. If I’d known, would it have changed anything? Would I have been conscious enough to talk to my dad about it, or even to contact my grandparents? Would it have made a difference in what happened with Eli?
I touched my fingers to my forehead and took a deep breath. I just wasn’t sure. I couldn’t process this.
The driver left me off on the road where I lived and I stepped out, feeling disappointed in myself for the way I’d reacted and curious about the rest of the information he had, even if it wasn’t something I wanted to hear. I went through the front doors and up to my floor through the elevator. The doors slid open, and I turned down the hallway, the key in my hand.
I was in my apartment for less than five minutes before there was a knock at the door and I turned back, my heart racing, knowing Maverick had followed me all the way here to offer more of an explanation. Without even checking through the peephole, I threw open the door, a scowl on my face that quickly turned to dust.
Elliott stood there, his curly dark hair hanging limply down to his shoulders, brown eyes rimmed in dark circles. He was wearing a long coat, wrinkled and dirty. He smiled when he saw me, and my heart plummeted into my stomach, the cold shock of icy fear crawling up my spine. “Well, no shit.”
I moved to close the door as quickly as I could, but his arm shot out between the door and the wall, and he used his brute strength to smash it back open again. I walked backwards, making a quick inventory of the weapons I had at my disposal. I could use my body like I’d been trained to do, but Elliott looked more than just a little angry. He looked manic. And mania was the one thing you wanted to flee instead of fight. I backed up to the kitchen counter, thinking of knives, the fire extinguisher, maybe even the broom.
It was then I noticed Elliott limping. His right foot was dragging slightly on the ground as he moved. He reached his hands int
o the pocket of his coat, and to my horror, he pulled out a gun. My breath caught in my throat as I froze, putting my hands in the air. “My intel was wrong. I came here to kill your fucking boyfriend, but this will be so much better,” he laughed dryly, “I can fuck you, just like I used to, maybe while he watches, and then I’ll shoot the son of a bitch.”
I told my feet to move, trying to recall all the training I’d had as I backed against the oven. Distract, distract distract. “What did Maverick ever do to you?” I asked, my voice coming out shaky and unsure.
He looked astonished that I didn’t know, “He didn’t brag to you about it? He not only broke my fucking ankle, Celeste, he shattered both of my kneecaps,” My name sounded like dirty oil dripping from his mouth. “He ruined my soccer scholarship and any chance I had at playing in college or going pro.” He pointed at his foot with the gun. “Even with physical therapy, I’ll never recover.”
“Why would he do something like that?” I asked stupidly. I knew, of course I knew.
He limped around the apartment, throwing his arms up in the air and gesturing with the gun. “Why the fuck do you think? He wanted you for himself, Celeste. He didn’t like anyone else encroaching on his territory.”
I stared at him, my arms falling to my sides as my blood began to boil with less fear and more anger. My trembling fingers found the edge of the knife drawer and I inched it open, moving my body at an angle to block it. “Encroaching on his territory?”
He limped closer to me, holding the gun out, and I brought my hands back up into the air. The big knife was at the front of the drawer because I used it the most. I was close enough that I could reach it, but I wasn’t sure if I could be quick enough before he pulled the trigger. “You still high, Celeste? I took what was his, and he didn’t like that.”
“You raped me, Eli.” I said, my voice still shaking, “You tried to get me pregnant against my will.”
He was standing right in front of me, his breath reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. “Yeah, how did that end up working out, Celeste? Where’s my baby? What’s wrong with you that you couldn’t get pregnant in five fucking months?”