“No, not all of them. I think your brother does. I think he’s waiting for his career to blossom before he settles down with somebody, and if he had met someone already, I would tell him he’s an idiot for doing that at his age, but he hasn’t met anybody that makes him reconsider, so I guess he’s on the right track.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“My point is, Elle, you probably gave up more than you think when you were with Wyatt, and that’s not a bad thing. It’s the way of life. I just don’t want you to jump into a new relationship with that mentality. No matter how good looking your mom says the guy is.” He flashes a smile that I return.
“Well, we both know Mom’s taste is often a little screwed up,” I say, making him laugh.
“Ain’t that the truth.”
Past
I’VE ALWAYS CONSIDERED myself lucky to have Victor for a friend. He’s been selfless, ruthless, and above all, loyal. When I didn’t have any place to go after I graduated and my lease was up, Vic didn’t hesitate for a moment.
“You’re living with me,” he’d said.
“Okay, let me know how much I owe you. I only need a place to stay for a couple of weeks,” I’d said, and he’d looked at me like I was crazy.
“You’re my brother. You don’t owe me shit!”
And that was how I ended up sleeping in the small cottage beside the house he’d been renting for the summer. Summer break—the last hurrah, he was calling it. The last hurrah before I left for medical school, and he settled down in law school at UCLA. Life was good during those weeks—wake up, catch some waves, eat something, drink, party, and hook up with the girls that hung around. We were treating grad school like some men would treat their last weekend as bachelors, which was funny because we’d been self-proclaimed lifers. “Who needs one woman when we can have ten?” those were Vic’s words, followed by Jenson’s, “Bros before hoes.” Junior was the only one who couldn’t participate in our crazy summer, since he’d been tied down to the same girl since the first semester of school. As much as we made fun of him, I think we were all slightly jealous that he’d found a girl he actually wanted to be with every day.
I dressed that night, much like I did every other night, but I was exhausted from being in the sun all day, and I needed to get up early the next morning to start hauling my stuff upstate. One drink . . . maybe two . . . then sleep, I promised myself as I walked over to the main house, where the party had already started.
One drink, maybe two, then sleep, I repeated, the mantra becoming like second lyrics to the song bumping off the speakers. One drink, maybe two, I was about to tell myself again when I spotted Estelle walking into the house. I felt a slow smile creep up on my face as I watched her finger comb her hair, wild from the wind outside. Her lips were pressed into a sexy pout as her eyes wandered over the room. She shrugged off the jacket she was wearing, which revealed a low cut black shirt that pressed her tits up, and a short sequined skirt that showed off every curve of her legs.
I guess she felt me staring, because her eyes caught mine a beat later, and she smiled that wide smile of hers. It told me she was up to no good tonight and that she wondered if I was fair game. One drink, maybe two, then sleep, I said to myself again, this time kicking the frontal lobe of my brain, in the hopes I’d knock some sense into myself before I reached her. My treacherous feet walked toward her, as they always did, and she stood there waiting for me, as she usually did.
“I haven’t seen you in a while,” I said, my eyes taking in those marbled orbs of hers, as she slowly looked me over from head to toe. “What’s the verdict?” I asked when her eyes finally stopped at mine. She blushed slightly and looked away, laughing.
“You look good,” she said, turning her gaze to mine again.
“You look great,” I said, and she smiled. “How have you been?”
It had been maybe two months since we’d last seen each other. Two months since our tongues did the song and dance they usually did whenever we were at one of these parties . . . or at the movies . . . or anywhere that afforded our sneaking around. We’d never gone too far, usually kissing and touching over clothes before we were interrupted by one thing or another. Our hiatus wasn’t a coincidence. I’d been going to Cal parties instead of Vic’s because the guilt of everything I felt whenever Estelle was around was starting to weigh down on me. Like the time I saw her at the mall a couple of months ago and cornered her in a long hallway that led to the bathroom. I only wanted to talk to her about stopping this madness between us, but then she pulled my face to hers and kissed me so deeply, I forgot my fucking name right then. She was dangerous for me. What I felt when I was around her wasn’t right. I had my life planned out, and the things she made me want didn’t fit into them. Not yet.
“I’ve been pretty good,” she said. We started walking to the kitchen and grabbed red cups with beer when we reached the table. “How about you? I heard you’re leaving for Berkeley soon. I knew you would get in.”
I smiled. The last time I saw her, I was still waiting for my application. “It almost seems surreal.”
She tilted her head and looked at me for a long moment before her lips turned into a small, warm smile. “I’m proud of you, Oliver.”
My heart thumped a little at that. I smiled and drank some beer.
“You still all about having fun?” I asked. I didn’t necessarily want to hear about her love life, but I wanted to know everything she was up to. Everything I’d missed.
Elle laughed as we reached a bench outside and sat down. “I guess you can say that.”
“Still haven’t met the one?” I asked, hoping my voice sounded light—unlike everything I felt squeezing inside me.
“Maybe I have, maybe I haven’t. How would I know if he’s the one?” she said with a smirk and a shrug.
I looked away, out into the distance where I knew the beach was just steps away. “I’d like to think we know when we meet that special person.”
“Have you met her? The one?” she asked.
I swallowed, closed my eyes, drank more beer, and let out a breath.
“I decided a long time ago to avoid meeting her until the time was right,” I said in a low voice, as if I was confessing a crime to a priest.
Estelle scooted closer to me, until our arms were touching, then she rested her head on my shoulder. “Is there ever a right time?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered, turning my face to smell her hair.
“I met a guy,” she said suddenly, quietly, and my heart dropped.
“Yeah?” I said, drinking the rest of my beer.
“He’s . . . different. He’s nice. Older.”
“How much older?”
She lifted her head to look at me, and the movement had us sitting nose to nose. A jolt ran through me, and I inched closer. Because I’m a bastard. Because I’m selfish. Because I wanted those lips to be mine, and those eyes to be mine, and that voice to only be heard by me—even if it was only for one night.
“Older than me,” she whispered, her nose brushing against mine. “Older than you.” I reared back, taking a quick moment to glance around, as adrenaline at the possibility of getting caught coursed through me. I berated myself for a moment—a quick, fleeting moment—that got lost as soon as I looked back into her eyes.
“Do you like older guys?” I whispered, my lips feathering over hers.
Her eyes flashed. “I like some.”
“Yeah?” I asked, plucking at her bottom lip with my teeth.
“Yeah,” she said breathily.
“Do you think he’s the one?” I asked in a whisper, planting a kiss on the edge of her lips.
“No,” she said, repeating my movement and dropping a kiss on the edge of mine.
“Have you ever been in love, Estelle?” I asked quietly, backing away slightly to search her wide eyes.
“Have you?” she whispered, staring at me, waiting.
“I . . .” I didn’t know what to say, and before I could sa
y anything at all, boisterous voices came from behind us, and we inched away quickly. We turned to see some guys cheering on another as he chugged his beer. The crowd cheered and hollered, but died down quickly, and we looked at each other again.
“I really want you to kiss me,” she said, bringing her eyes to mine.
If possible, my heart spiked harder against my chest. I dipped my head until we were nose to nose. “I really want to kiss you again.”
“I want you to do more than kiss me this time.”
I held my breath. “Estelle . . .”
“Please.”
I closed my eyes at her plea. I took that moment to tune out the loud party and focus on why this couldn’t happen. Victor is your best friend, and you promised you’d take care of her, not hurt her. He will kill you. He’s your brother. How would you feel if he did this to Sophie?
But then I felt Estelle get even closer to me. I felt her soft breath over my ear, and as her hand reached down between us and settled right over my dick, I couldn’t breathe, let alone think.
“I want you, Oliver,” she whispered. My eyes popped open in a flash and when I looked at her, I knew I couldn’t deny her even if I wanted to. Even if I should.
She stood, grabbing my hand and started to walk toward the cottage. I looked over my shoulder to make sure nobody saw us. My eyes scanned the party and looked for Vic specifically, but I never found him. Then I felt like an asshole for doing that. I was about to disappear into a room with his little sister, and I was making sure he didn’t see us. I was supposed to protect her from the big bad wolf, yet here I was, feeling like a wolf myself. But I couldn’t help it. I didn’t see red lights when it came to Elle, I only saw green and go, and felt things that made me want to be a better man for her, even though I knew I couldn’t.
The door opened and closed behind us. As soon as we faced the other, she jumped on me, wrapping her legs around my waist and throwing her arms around my neck as she smashed her lips to mine. I held her, grabbing her ass as I plunged my tongue inside her mouth. I couldn’t help but moan when she bit it lightly, sucking it in and out of her mouth. I set her on her feet only to let her take my shirt off. Her eyes blazed as she looked at me, from my face down to my torso. Her small fingers touched every line I had, leaving a trail of fire behind every spot she touched.
“You’re ticklish,” she said, looking up at me in wonder.
I wasn’t, not really, but when she touched me like that, my muscles contracted, so I shrugged and let her think I was. I didn’t want to rush her, so I let her undress me completely. I let her take the lead and decide what came next.
“You’re beautiful,” she breathed, as I stood naked in front of her. Her hand reached out and grasped my cock, and it jumped. I groaned, biting my lip and throwing my head back, asking all the gods to please give me enough control not to come in her hands as she stroked me. Finally, my control broke, and I stepped forward, reaching for the hem of her shirt. I waited, watching as she nodded for me to take it off. I did, then stayed fixated on her bare chest. I’d pictured what she looked like a million times, and none of those did the reality justice. She was just . . . perfect. I unzipped her skirt and let it pool at her feet around the strappy heels she wore. Then I dipped my head and kissed her—a slow, leisurely kiss that deepened as my hands trailed down her body. My lips left hers and made their way down to her neck, her collarbone, the valley between her breasts . . . then I pulled each nipple into my mouth. She grabbed onto my hair with a deep moan of encouragement, so I continued plucking kisses down her body, and over her panties, which I pulled down with my teeth. I pushed them down her calves and then her feet, where I unstrapped each shoe and helped her step out.
I was still on my knees, making my way back up when a surge of desire hit me like a ten-foot wave. I stopped and looked into her eyes when I reached the inside of her thighs to push them apart. She watched me in rapt attention, as if I was some sort of beautiful puzzle she had to figure out.
“Bed?” I asked as my hands stroked her thighs softly. She nodded, lips parted, those multi-colored eyes glazed over. I stood and carried her to the bed like a bride. Neither of us spoke as I moved down her body again, my mouth kissing her, teasing her, communicating how much I wanted her. Her body thrashed against the bed . . . against my wet lips . . . and she pulled my hair as she said my name over, and over. Oliver, oh, Oliver. I’d never heard such a beautiful melody.
My fingers replaced my mouth as I moved back to her breasts, tweaking her nipples, and squeezing them lightly.
“So good,” she whimpered in a pant, and I smiled. I wanted to make her feel good. I positioned myself between her legs and paused. I never paused. I always looked for a condom, put it on and continued. I never paused and wondered if I could possibly get away with no condom. I never paused and wished that there would be no barrier between us. But this was Elle. My Elle.
Her hands moved down my chest and to my cock, where she squeezed again. “I’m on the pill,” she said quietly.
“Do you do this often? No condom?” I asked, matching her tone. My heart was tripping over itself in anticipation. Why had I asked that question? Did it matter? Since when did I care what my lovers did with other partners?
She shook her head. “Never.”
I let out a sigh of relief. Never. I felt high. I could give her something she’d never had. I wasn’t the one who took her virginity. I wasn’t the one who’d had the pleasure of her first kiss—but this, I could give her. I bent lower and teased her folds with my cock.
“Please, Oliver,” she said, doing a shimmy below me. “Please.”
I dipped my head and kissed her again, letting her taste herself on my lips, moaning when she pulled my hair to bring me closer. “We’ll go slow,” I whispered against her.
“No. I don’t want slow,” she said, her eyes wide. She moved her hips up. I grinned.
“I want slow,” I said, pushing myself inside her with one deep thrust. Her body bowed off the bed with a yelp. I pulled back, and she sighed, I pushed back in, she yelped again. “You still want it fast?” I asked, groaning when she clenched around me.
“I still want fast,” she panted, meeting my thrusts. I pulled out completely, then pushed back in slowly, and smiled when she growled at me. My thrusts were long and hard. I relished the way she felt around me. I tried to absorb her heat, her wetness—everything I could—so I took my time. I took my time until she trailed her hand down her flat stomach to the spot where our bodies were joined and began to rub, and then I lost it. I lifted her leg and started to move—really move. She screamed my name, I groaned out hers. She clawed at me, and it made me move faster. Then she started whimpering Oliver, Oliver, I can’t, I can’t, as her head swayed side to side and her eyes rolled back. I pulled out of her, and she gasped, and looked like she was going to kill me, so I scooted back and sat down, picking her up and positioning her over my hips. We never lost eye contact, and when she took me in and started to move, I was a goner.
The way her eyes searched mine said, do you feel this? Can you feel it too? Am I making this up? The words were never verbalized. They were spoken with our tongues against the other’s. Are you still searching? Do you still believe someone else is better for you? My hands framed her face as hers did mine, and we held each other there as she reached the brink of her orgasm. I fell right behind her. It was slow at first, then all consuming and powerful. We looked at each other as we caught our breaths, still searching . . . questioning . . . wondering things we didn’t dare ask.
Present
“IS THAT A new dress?” Vic asks as I take a seat across from him at the table.
“I got it with Mom yesterday. Mom and Bettina.”
Vic groans. “God, what a pair. And they managed to pick up a douche for you to date while you were shopping.”
I laugh, because he’s not completely wrong. Zach coming over last night solidified my belief that the dating pool available right now is less than spectacular. He
’s good looking, charming, and talks about himself ninety-percent of the time. He used the other ten percent to tell me how much he could profit from my kaleidoscope hearts. By the time Victor got there, I was ready to go to sleep, but I stuck around because he was so flustered. On his way to our parents’ house, he’d gotten a flat tire and had Oliver pick him up because he’d already been riding on his spare. That led to a confused Oliver standing in the dining room, looking between Zach and me with a weird look on his face. I wasn’t sure if he was jealous or if he was just put off by how much Zach talked. At any rate, he excused himself pretty early, and as soon as he left, I went upstairs.
“All he did was talk about himself,” I say, shaking my head.
“Like a true artist,” Victor says, and grins when I slap his shoulder. “You have great luck with dates, huh?”
“You dated him longer than I did. I went to sleep,” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“Whatever. You’re not dating him. He’s a womanizer and a cheat, and I’m pretty sure he’s involved in some weird shit.”
“You say that about everybody. ‘I’m pretty sure he’s involved in some weird shit,’” I mimic, rolling my eyes.
He shrugs. “I’m usually right.”
“You’re worse than Dad. You’re never going to approve of anybody I date.”
“That’s not true,” he says, his brows furrowing. He looks up at the sound of the door closing behind me, and before I turn around, his eyes lock with mine. “As long as he’s a good guy, not a player, and isn’t involved in weird shit, I approve.”
“Approve of what?” asks Oliver, whose voice makes me shiver. I stand up and head to the kitchen, glancing back and greeting him with a smile.
“Vic is telling me who I can and can’t date. Don’t worry, so far, you are not on the list of contenders.”
Vic spurts out a laugh and mumbles something about, “That’ll be the day.” While Oliver just stares at me like he can’t believe I just said that, it takes everything in me not to flash him my middle finger. Instead, I turn my attention back to the pantry and sort through the cereal. I don’t know what I’m so mad about, but it seems like every time my heart involves itself in Oliver, everything inside me goes haywire. My already loose screws rattle. My already questionable judgment vanishes. And lastly, the possessive chip I never knew I had, surfaces. The only thing I remember is Bobby mentioning “Grace night,” and that’s enough to make me want to throw something at the man who’s not even mine.
Kaleidoscope Hearts Page 15
