Not this time.
“Rue.” He let out a breathless laugh. “If only you knew how fucking good this feels to me.”
“That’s nice.” She bent down to kiss his cheek. “I want you to feel good.”
He groaned. “Okay, new plan.” He guided her off him. “I’m going to turn you around.”
“Around?”
“Yeah. That way I should be able to . . .” He arranged her to face the wall, then guided her until her palms were on the headboard. He pushed back inside without giving her time to adjust. Her gasp matched his grunt. “I can control my thrusts better. And I can touch you more easily.” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss against the valley behind her ear. “And even if you don’t come, at least you can . . .”
He circled the heel of his hand against her clit first, then his fingers. He pushed in and out of her, shallow thrusts that had her ass grinding against his groin. “How are you—”
“Good,” she exhaled. “I like it.”
“Yeah?” He touched her some more. “Is it working for you?”
She nodded, and he felt her breath speed up. “You just—you really know where to touch me. And it’s not even . . .” She whimpered at another stroke of his thumb, and when she contracted against him, he felt his balls tighten and the pressure at the base of his spine tingle. “I think maybe I could . . .” She exhaled again, but he knew what she was about to say.
“Yeah,” he breathed in her ear. “Maybe you could.”
Every thought of his own pleasure was forgotten. He surged against Rue, as deep as he could go, and once he bottomed out, he kept his strokes shallow and began moving his fingers on her. “Like this?”
She nodded eagerly, almost violently, and Eli felt like this was what he’d been put on this earth for—get Rue off, right here, in this very moment. “Oh, sweetheart. Why does it feel like you’re going to come, huh? Why do you feel so wet and soft and—”
Abruptly, she seized around him. Her entire body clenched, the sound of her winded breath stopped, and even though all Eli wanted was to fuck her into the mattress, he pushed in to the hilt and let her ride her orgasm until she collapsed in his arms.
“You just came around my cock,” he rasped out. His words sounded shocked—just as shocked as he felt.
She nodded, lost for words.
“Rue.” He kissed her temple. Her cheekbone. The line of her jaw. He held her to himself with shaking hands. “I’d like it if you said it.”
Her voice trembled. “I just came around your cock.”
“Okay. Okay. I need to—I’ll finish, okay? Let’s see how long it takes me to . . .”
He pushed in, then out again, then in.
And that, apparently, was how long it took.
28
IN ANOTHER TIMELINE
RUE
My eyes fluttered open to the uncharacteristically loud rumble of a faraway motorcycle, and stayed that way when I noticed Eli’s head next to mine on the pillow.
The moon must have been near full, because despite the darkness and the late hour, I could see him clearly. The perfect emperor nose. The curls, at once flattened and wild. The slight part of his lips and the regular breaths, matching the surge and fall of his shoulders.
We’d fallen asleep facing each other, sweat still cooling on our bodies, eyes searching as we willed our hearts to slow down. Neither of us had moved in the intervening hours. Eli’s hand still grazed my lower back, forearm draped over my waist, an unfamiliar but pleasant weight.
I remained still in the bluish quiet of the night, pretending to be a photograph of myself, emptying my mind of everything but the faint scent of petrichor seeping in through a window. A few minutes later, Eli’s eyes blinked open, too. “Hey. What time is it?”
He was the kind of insufferable person who slept quietly and woke gracefully. No disorientation from an unknown bed, or the hours of daylight he’d lost. Just that peaceful expression, and his hand resuming where it had stopped before our unplanned nap: drawing scribbles into my skin.
“Eleven.” I glanced at the clock. “Eleven fifteen, actually. Don’t you need to go home and walk your dog?”
I was genuinely curious, but halfway through I realized that my words could have been construed as an attempt to kick him out. Eli, though, just smiled, like he often did when I was my odd, socially awkward self.
He smiled like I delighted him.
“Tiny’s with Maya.” He propped himself up on the mattress. My eyes caught on his strong biceps. “But yes, I should leave if—”
“Wait.” I reached out. Wrapped a hand around his forearm. “Can you wait?”
“Wait?”
“Could you stay a bit longer?”
His brow furrowed with worry. “I’ll stay for as long as you—”
“I didn’t mean to imply that you should leave. Just—you told me your worst story. Before you go, I want to tell you mine.”
“Rue, you don’t owe me—”
“I know. I want to. But this one, it’s not like the others. I don’t think you’ll be able to look past it. So I’ll just tell you. And then . . . then you can leave.”
His eyes softened. “You were able to look past mine.”
“It’s different. Mine is bad. Mine is my fault. Mine is . . . I’ll just tell you.” I pulled the sheets up to my chest. “I don’t talk about this stuff to anyone. My brother. The way we grew up. Tisha knows some of it, because she was there, and Florence . . . it’s not something you say over dinner.”
“Rue.”
“So I’ll tell you. And if you decide to . . . I guess you and I were never meant to be part of each other’s lives. Being with you was a betrayal from the very start. I just couldn’t stay away.”
His expression was inscrutable.
“And if you can’t bear to look at me after all these things I’m about to tell you, you’ll just leave, and everything will be as it should. It’ll be like I screamed them from the edge of a cliff.” Cathartic, but ultimately meaningless. Lost in the ether. Nothing would change, except for this one moment in time, in the quiet of our bed. “Okay?”
Eli briefly cupped my cheek, then immediately let go, as if aware that I couldn’t have borne a prolonged touch. His eyes, his tone, everything about him felt distant and enigmatic. “Go ahead,” he said, and I was thankful for it.
I started before I could change my mind. “My dad left when I was six. Vince was a little more than three. I don’t remember life before, so I assume things were mostly fine. After he was gone, though, we were poor. Not always. It depended on a lot of things. Whether Mom had a job. What kind of job. Whether something broke in the house and we needed to replace it. Healthcare expenses. That kind of stuff. When I was thirteen, for instance, our landlord decided that she was going to sell our apartment, and between moving to a new place and the increase in rent . . . it wasn’t a good time.”
I felt naked in an uncomfortable, intolerable way. I spotted one of the oversized T-shirts I slept in, quickly pulled it over my head, and then sat up, cross-legged, to continue. “My mom—she had her own issues. Mental health, I’m sure. Some addiction. As I understand it, her parents were part of one of those ultraconservative churches, and when she decided she didn’t want to stick around, they withdrew any sort of financial and emotional support. She had us when she was very young, and . . . What I’m trying to say is, she’s not the villain of this story. Or maybe she is, but she was a victim first.