We barely managed to crawl out of bed this morning. The shower has been long and slow, steam thick in the air. He’d washed my hair for me, gentle and thorough, just like he had weeks ago when I didn't have the energy to care for myself.
The same steady care and quiet devotion.
That's the thing about him, he can ruin you one minute and handle you like something precious the next.
After the shower, he’d given me a look before mentioning that he had something he wanted to try. From the drawer, he produced a small, glass toy, which was heart-shaped and pink at the base.
A but plug.
He had given me a but plug.
At first, I couldn't believe it.
I've never been taken there before. And when he slid it in, the sensation had been strange, but different in a good way. He’d been patient, Intentional. He wasn't just chasing pleasure but making sure I felt safe in it.
Understandable and so needed because his dick is huge.
“Careful, Willow,” he murmurs, amused. “You're blushing.”
Elijah's knee knocks against mine. “Enough, Ez.”
I shift in my seat, suddenly very aware that both of them are watching me now. Tingles run up my spine.
“I’m going to see if your parents need cooking—” I wince. “I mean, if they need my help.”
Smooth, Willow.
I’m on my feet before either of them can respond, escaping the dining room and the weight of their twin stares. Just as I reach the kitchen doorway, I hear the loud smack of what definitely sounds like a hand connecting with someone's arm, followed by Elijah's low, irritated voice.
“You're a fucking idiot.”
So two people know about us, and neither of them is horrified by it.
Even if it is a messy, complicated situation.
I step into the kitchen to find Moira alone at the counter, plating up dinner with quick, efficient movements, sleeves pushed up, cheeks slightly red from the oven's heat.
The room smells incredible.
“Ah, hi there, love,” Moira says, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Hope my boys haven't been drivin’ ye mad.”
“Nothing I can't handle,” I reply, half-truth, edging closer to the counter where she stands. “Was just wondering if you needed any help.”
She waves me off. “Ah, don't be botherin' yourself, I’m all done. Ye’re the guest here. Though those two could learn a thing or two from ye, I swear on my soul.”
I look around. “Where's Oscar?”
Moira rolls her eyes. “Ran off to the loo, as per usual. Only ever gets a stomach ache when there's actual work in the kitchen.”
I let out a small laugh, more wistful than anything. “Sounds like my dad. He hated cooking, so we ended up eating out a lotor surviving on takeaways until I finally taught myself. By then… well, he didn't really have much of an appetite anyway.”
I trail off, the memory of nights spent cleaning up after him still vivid in my mind.
Moira nods, eyes soft with understanding. “I remember his mam telling me about the time he nearly burnt the kitchen down tryin’ to make soup once. She never let him cook again… not even toast.”
I've seen pictures of my dad's parents, and he spoke about them often. Tragically, they died in a car accident just before I was born. I've lost so many people in my life.
She reaches over, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “I just hope ye know how strong ye are.”
