I went up to his room again the next morning and we ended up fucking in his shower, then kissing behind the cafeteria at lunch, and again in the elevator that afternoon.
Eli: Come kiss me.
I smile wider. My brother stopped by earlier, asking if I wanted any snacks or groceries. He and Dash went to Blackwood Point to stock up on beer, so I won’t have to worry about getting caught sneaking around with his best friend.
We haven’t agreed to keep it quiet, but it’s been one stolen moment, then another, and another. Creed doesn’t push to change it and it should probably bother me more.
Maybe it does, just a little, but I’m not pushing either. I’m not ready for the spotlight, labels, or my brother’s reaction. I don’t know if Creed wantsme, or just the thrill of stolen moments.
And if this falls apart soon, I don’t want it echoing through his friendship with Hyde, so for now, we’re kissing in dark corners and fucking in them, too.
I shake my head before I spiral and start wondering ifI’m too much or too little and how much is enough.
Stop asking if you’re too much and start asking if you can tolerate being seen.
I don’t know...
34
Creed
I can’t recall the last time I set foot in the library. Must’ve been freshman year when I was still eager to pass my exams. When Gravemont looked like a way out, making life seem a touch easier.
I thought the new environment would change something. I thought it’d offer freedom. It didn’t. The ghost of my past, or rather the demon wearing my father’s face, followed and poisoned what was supposed to bemine.
But that was then and this is now.
I step into the dimly lit building, inhaling the scent of old books, dust, and Millie’s perfume. I’m so accustomed to her scent I’d find her even if I went blind tomorrow.
It’s been twenty-four hours since I buried my nose in her neck, but the honeysuckle mixing with her unique sweetness is unforgettable. I haven’t touched her sincelunch, and I’ve been itching ever since. Couldn’t focus in classes, my head circling back to her every time I tried hard not to imagine her in my bed.
I promised myself I’d follow her signals, but I’m weak. Always have been. Weak and fucking addicted to her mouth, her pussy, all ofher. Every smile, frown, and little quirk, like her unconscious dry doodling.
I find something new to obsess over every single day and no other withdrawal has felt as awful as spending time away from her. Every hour is fucking torture.
My fingers flex uncontrollably, searching for purchase, for the warmth of her skin, the silk of her hair. My ears perk in the middle of the night, straining to hear her hastened breath, the way she lets out that sweet, perfect gasp whenever we pull back and my lips go to her neck, sucking and biting soft skin.
I barely sleep, and if I do, I dream about her. About those gorgeous eyes, lips, how she tastes, smells, and fits in my arms. I wake up drenched in sweat, hard, and fucking aching all over because she’s not there. Not with me.
Unhealthy doesn’t scratch the surface of this quiet obsession. I’m always on the lookout for her, always waiting for a glimpse like a junkie waiting for another hit.
Even now, stalking the library, I’m damn near shaking. The place is deserted, so silent you’d hear a pin drop, but she’s here. Either reading at the back or going through the stacks, fingers trailing the dusty spines.
The smell of her perfume grows stronger with myevery step. Her blonde hair catches my eye at the far end. She’s wearing headphones, listening to her favorite playlist, no doubt, so I don’t worry about the sound of my steps as I round the shelves.
I emerge from the shadows, grab her wrist, and pull her after me. Her eyes grow wide, then settle when she sees me. I don’t give her a chance to think about what’s happening.
There’s a small, secluded alcove at the very back, hidden behind a shelf of books no one ever touches. I drag her in, my pulse sky-high, every fiber in me aware of the way her small hand fits between my fingers, how warm her skin is, her erratic pulse thrumming in the hollow of her wrist.
I don’t think I ever held a girl’s hand like this.
I push her against the wall, grip her throat, and take her mouth, a pained, almost animalistic grunt tearing itself out of me when I taste her. Heat explodes inside my chest and she melts into me, matching my rhythm without hesitation.
Her fingers grab my pullover and she tugs, forcing me to crush her against the stone. She gasps when I inch away, latching onto her neck, my mouth dragging along her thrumming pulse and higher until I bite her earlobe.
“Hey, baby.”
She whimpers when I suck the soft spot, then come back to her lips, my thumb against her jaw, steering her face.
