“Row,” Elijah says, and never taking my eyes off of the shape of him through the electronic viewfinder, I respond.
“Yes?”
“Are you going to stare at me all night, or are you going to take my picture?” The slight hint of a smile tilts up the left side of his mouth, and the shutter goes off.
A deep, loud sigh leaves my chest, and slowly, my eyes lift to meet his.“Done.”
“And?”
“And…?” I repeat.
“Do I have a piece of you, or do you have a piece of me?”
The question startles me, much like several of his others, and I take a moment to let it sink in.
“If I’m honest… I don’t know," I answer him.
Elijah is taking the camera from me. He’s sitting it on the desk and turning those domineering eyes back onto mine. I don’t remember Benjamin ever looking at me in such a way.
My hands grip the edge of the wood behind me, and I watch in horror as he lifts those fingers to graze my jaw.
“Then I will give you something you can understand,” he tells me.
Before his mouth can reach mine, I speak. “You’re drunk.” A soft huff of air leaves him. The place where he’s touching me hurts.
“No—I’m really not,” Elijah counters.
And then the first brush of his lips over mine is happening, so soft and so warm, and it’s as if my body knows how to react before my mind. As if I’ve been in this situation before, and now is the time when I’m meant to act on instinct.
My hands shoot out to grasp his hips, dragging him to me; under my palms is straight fire, something achy and alive. Elijah groans, as if he, too, feels this pain.
Despite how hard I’m gripping the bones of his hips, his lips are still pressed so gently to mine. Closed mouth and slow.
Something is passing between us: something that hurts as much as it thickens my desire. And fuck if it doesn’t feel right, if it doesn’t feel exactly how kissing another man is supposed to.
Elijah pulls his lips from mine, just far enough to look me in the eyes.
“What…?” He seems to be asking me what thisthingbetween us is.
“I don’t…” Because I don’t.
If Elijah sought to give me something I would understand, he has failed horribly.
And as he presses his hips into mine, I come to the realization that he doesn’t care. He is chasing this painful pleasure in the same way that I am.
Elijah’s mouth crashes back against mine, his tongue hungrily dancing along the seam of my lips. And when I allow him access,when I open for him and feel the smooth wet muscle against my own, my eyes shoot open.
He’s pressed so tightly against me that I cannot see him very well, but I’m not really looking anyway. Instead, I am seeing every moment where I’ve tasted Benjamin in my dreams. They’re playing out right in front of me—and they tastejust like this.
With one long, vicious moan into his mouth, I have his legs wrapped around me, carrying him out of the darkroom and to my bed.
Elijah does not object. In fact, I begin to wonder if he’s capable of having thoughts outside of devouring my mouth with his own.
But then I’m standing him up in front of the mattress and he’s pulling away, looking at me with another expression I have yet to see. Whether it be on him or Benjamin.
Before I can register anything else, his hand is on my shoulder, applying minimal pressure. But I get the idea, and slowly, I sink to my knees.
Elijah does not unbutton his jeans; he does not demand I touch him.
