A wave of excitement courses through me as he nips along my thighs, stretching them until I’m in a perfect split, utterly exposed. My body is vibrating with need.
“Your family are literally downstairs,” I gasp, trying to sound composed—and failing miserably.
He bites my clit and releases it. “Then you'll have to be quiet.”
Easier said than done with that talented mouth of his.
“You know I can't be quiet,” I pant, arched toward him, every nerve on fire, and he's hardly touched me.
“Believe me, I know. Just keep your legs open for me.”
I obey, trembling as his two fingers slip into my mouth. “Suck on them while I fuck your pretty pussy with my tongue,” he commands.
His mouth, tongue, and teeth drive me wild. Every movement is precise, every touch designed to unravel me. I suck on his fingers, gagging slightly as they reach the back of my throat, the sound of my moans muffled. He doesn't falter, doesn't pause, and in no time, he pushes me over the edge—not once, but twice—his attention on my piercing amplifying every nerve-ending until my legs go weak and my body trembles, utterly spent.
And then, in classic Elijah fashion, once he's had his fill, he doesn't just leave me. He lifts me in his arms, washing every part of me, hair and body, with almost reverent hands, lips on my neck, soft murmurs of how happy I make him, slipping between kisses.
I relax into him, every fibre of my being still singing, my heart pounding not just from what he just did to me, but from the way he looks at me. It's as if I’m everything he’s wanted and more. So much love radiates from him that the world around us seems to vanish, and I realise, with an ache in my chest, that this—him holding me like this—is what perfection feels like.
Chapter 50
Willow
Three weeks slipped away far too quickly after Christmas. I spent the holiday with Elijah and Rivers' family, who, if I'm honest, have come to feel like my own. The atmosphere was loud and delightful, a whirlwind of joyous chaos that enveloped me. Beneath that surface, however, lay something profound—a genuine warmth that I had never truly experienced before. I could feel their happiness, the kind of love that filled every nook of their home, a kind I often longed for while growing up.
Don't get me wrong; having my dad was everything to me. He was more than enough, as he always had been. Yet, there lingered a small, quiet ache within me for the family dynamic we didn’t possess.
This was my first Christmas without him. The last one we shared was overshadowed by his illness; he was too weak to even realise where he was, never mind enjoy himself.
We still had decorations, the tree stood proudly in the corner, and soft lights twinkled gently in the room where he slept. But it wasn’t the same.
I held it together. Mostly. When we were all sitting around the table, pulling crackers, it caught me off guard. The memory was small and so ordinary, but it hit me a lot harder than expected.
My dad always won. It was pretty annoying because it happened every single time, and I would occasionally accuse him of cheating cause, let’s face it, nobody wins that much. Hewould just grin, mess up my hair, and then hand me the paper crown along with whatever shitty prize was inside.
Elijah held my hand through it. It's like he just knew when my mood soured, and I couldn't be more thankful for him.
After everything had settled and Christmas had come and gone, Elijah and River took a day to themselves—paintballing, of all things. Apparently, Elijah thought it'd be a perfect excuse to let River take a few shots at him, work through whatever frustration he had about us.
I suppose boys will be boys.
From what I gathered, they actually had a proper conversation about everything and weren't just shooting at each other for fun.
I tell you what, it doesn't sound like my thing at all. You couldn’t pay me enough to willingly sign up for that kind of brutality. I saw the aftermath when Elijah got back—bruises blooming across his skin, dark and angry- and he tried to play it off like it was nothing.
Still, I ended up rubbing cream into every sore spot, my fingers tracing over marks that made me wince more than he did.
Yeah… definitely not my thing.
Now, today was the day of the dance show, and I am trying really hard not to freak out and bolt.
“You look like you're about to be sick.”
Aria appears beside me, her hand settling gently on my bare arm as her eyes skim over my outfit, taking everything in.
“What gave me away?” I mutter, forcing a weak smile.
She huffs out a small laugh, clearly amused. “I can just tell, but there's honestly no need to be this nervous. You're going to be incredible. You've worked far too hard not to be. So I want you to enjoy this, okay?”
