His overly large body is buck-naked and stretched out on top of the doona, and the muscles in his chest and arms are straining as he pumps his fist up and down his shaft. I know I should look away, I should walk out and quietly close the door behind me, but I can’t. Has there ever been a more magnificent sight then a man pleasuring himself? If so, then I haven’t seen it. This is not the first time I’ve witnessed Elijah touching himself, but it is the first time I shouldn’t be allowed to watch. He’s not aware he has an audience—not that I think he’d mind if he was made aware of it, but it’s the principle that counts here. I shouldn’t be watching because he’s not mine anymore and this sight, as glorious as it is, is not mine to see because I gave up that privilege when I told him we couldn’t be together.
It’s at the exact moment, when I decide to leave quietly, that he opens his eyes, rolls his head toward me and says, “You just gonna stand there, baby girl, or are you gonna join in?”
“I didn’t know you were … I am so sorry,” I blurt and grab for the doorknob behind me.
He slows his stroking and looks me dead in the eyes. “I’m not.”
I swallow hard. “I’m just going to go now. So, have fun. I mean, enjoy your … bye.”
I’m just about to slink from the room like a dog with its tail between its legs when he whispers, “Stay.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“You shouldn’t be entering my room without knocking either, but you still did and here we are.”
“I did knock. I just didn’t wait for a response … I really should go.” I mutter.
“You should, but you won’t,” he says with certainty, and begins stroking himself again, faster this time.
He’s right. A hurricane couldn’t tear me from that room. I lean my weight back into the door and ignore the humming sensation between my legs that quickly turns electric. His hand glides up and down over his length, and he makes no effort to pretend he’s not staring at me. And why should he, when I’m clearly eye-raping him?
“Take off your clothes.”
The hint of a smile pushes at my lips, despite the fact that I know we’re walking on dangerous ground. “No.”
“Please?” he grunts.
“Come on, Cade, you and me, naked in a room together? That spells disaster.”
“No, baby, that spells fucking incredible sex.” He moans and his eyes glaze over. I don’t know how he hasn’t come yet. I’m ready to explode from watching him alone. “Please, Ana, don’t make me beg. Just this once, let me come while I’m looking at that fuckable little body. I won’t touch, I swear. Please, just let me see you and then we’ll pretend this never happened.”
Maybe it’s the pleading in his voice or maybe I’ve just lost my ever-loving mind, but whatever the case, I find myself slowly peeling off my singlet top. I let it fall away to expose my breasts. My nipples harden into peaks and I can practically feel his tongue gliding over them as he wets his lips, though I’m still standing several feet away.
“Pants too, baby, don’t cheat me outta seeing that beautiful fucking pussy,” he commands, and I hesitate with my hands on the elastic waist of my PJs. I’m not sure I’m entirely ready for something like this.
“No,” I whisper.
“Ana,” he warns.
“No. This is as far as this goes. I don’t trust either of us with any more than that.”
“You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?”
“The feeling’s mutual, Cade.”
He lets out a long sigh and begins stroking again. One hand is cupping his balls and his eyes never leave my body as he drives himself closer to orgasm. My heart kicks into overdrive, my head is spinning questions and my body is screaming out for his touch, but I don’t do anything more than lean against the door with my breasts exposed as I watch the single most erotic scene I’ve ever witnessed. I don’t know what I’m doing here and yet I can’t turn away. My heart feels as though it’s cracking open.
“Touch yourself,” he commands.
“No.”
“Come closer.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Fuck! Why is it always no with you?”
“Because I don’t trust myself with you.” There. I said it. It’s a dangerous admission, especially in a situation like this, but I said it all the same, and oddly enough the sense of relief I feel is overwhelming.
As if in retaliation, Elijah quickens his pace. His hands on his body are no longer languid but almost punishing. He’s brutalising himself as punishment, and I don’t know if that punishment is meant solely for him, or me, or for the both of us.
His eyes lock with mine as the first wave of pleasure rocks through him and that’s exactly where they stay until his creamy semen spurts from his cock all over the bed. As Elijah rides out the euphoria I swiftly throw on my shirt and then I quietly creep out the door the way I should have before I let it get this far.
Have I just ruined everything by allowing that to happen? And what exactly did just happen? God, I really have to learn to knock.
I lean against the door for a beat until I hear Holly calling out about wanting her pancakes, so I quietly tread up the hallway and head into the kitchen like nothing has happened.
“Oh my god, what took you so long? Mini Coop just about shrivelled up and died of hunger waiting for you to get back.”
“Sorry, I had to go to the bathroom.”
“Well, is he joining us? Because if not I am so eating his share,” Holly asks and then narrows her eyes on me as she glances between my clothing and face. Her mouth gapes open as her eyes zero in on something. I follow her gaze and realise that, in my haste to leave Elijah’s room, I’ve put my singlet on inside out. “Oh my god! Did you? Did he? Did the two of you finally bump uglies?”
“Will you keep your voice down, please?” I slip it off and turn it the right way out before Jack comes running to find out what all the fuss is about and draws the same conclusions as Holly. In fact, why stop at just my housemates? Why not have a giant neon sign made up that says I’m a dirty slut who takes her clothes off so her ex-boyfriend can get a glimpse at the goodies as he jerks off, so the whole town can see it? Oh, right, the town already thinks I’m a slut, so I guess I can probably save my money and forgo the sign.
“No. I did not have sex with him.” I go about throwing my ingredients into the bowl and mixing up the batter.
“Well, then why does your sweet little face look so goddamn guilty, Ana?
“Because I might have done something I shouldn’t have. Now can we please stop talking about this?”
As usual, Holly ignores me. “Hell no! I want details, what did you do?”
“I walked in on him.”
“You walked in on him? Walked in on him what?”
“You know,” I say and give her the wide-eyed head nod that comes with letting someone fill in the blanks.
“Holy shit, did you walk in on him jerking his chain?”
We hear someone clear their throat behind us and spin around to find Elijah—in only a pair of faded old jeans, his hair still damp from his shower and looking every bit as enticing as he was in his room just moments ago—leaning against the kitchen counter.
“Mornin’ ladies.”
Holly folds her arms and leans back against the counter opposite him. “And what a glorious morning it is.”
I turn back to my batter and whisper in an aside, “Would you please stop referring to his morning glory?”
“That it is,” Elijah shoots back, and I know without even having to look at him that the smug smile is back on his face. “A perfect morning, in fact.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re all sitting around our kitchen table eating pancakes. I look at my flatmates and think that we may be an unconventional family and we might fight and scream and yes, admittedly some of us might want to tear one another’s clothes off from time to time, but we are just that—a family. And I wouldn’t change that for the world.
Elijah’
s eyes lock with mine across the table, and instead of seeing the intense heat he’s been spearing me with all morning, I see them soften in a silent question; are we okay? I smile back at him. It’s not seductive, coy or even playful; it’s the kind of smile I’ve been giving Holly since the day we met. It’s the same smile I give Jack when he says something so unbelievably stupid that I burst out laughing. The same smile I give Sammy when he gets the green light to leave the bench and join the game in rugby. And the same smile I give to my dad when he’s being a pigheaded, bull of a man who suddenly quits yelling and guffaws out loud mid-sentence because he can see what a shit he’s being.
It’s love in its purest and unsullied form, without desire and sex and greed and complication. It’s just love.
Are we okay?
We’re better than okay.
We’re home.
Chapter Thirty Six
Elijah
Christmas morning I’d been woken just after six by two girls bouncing around half naked on my bed. No, it’s not as naughty as it sounds, and yes, do I ever wish it had been. Ana and Holly had been like little kids, giggling, jumping up and down and screaming that Santa had come while we’d slept.
I’d mumbled some half-arse reply about him coming again if they kept jumping around in their underwear and they’d laid into me with their tiny fists of fury. Which, surprisingly, had hurt more than it should have. Then they’d dragged me and Jackson out to the living room to exchange gifts under the tree with bleary eyes and hangovers from hell.
We’d all gone a little nuts this year, pooling our money together to buy one another gifts. Ana had been harping on for ages about buying herself some overpriced fancy electric beater, and I’d gone with Holly earlier in the week to pick one out. She’d been over the freaking moon when she unwrapped that sucker and Holly had already requested a long list of baked goods to come from it.
I had something else small for her, but I wanted to wait until we were alone before I gave it to her. It wasn’t much, but it meant the world to me, and I hoped it would mean the same for her, too.
Holly had been given a new car stereo, which we’d fitted last night, but the excitement she’d felt over that little piece of machinery was swallowed completely when Jackson hurried off to his room to get “something” and came back pushing a baby cot he’d made and painted himself.
Jackson got a new toolkit and I was the proud new owner of a bottle of Blue Label Johnnie Walker. Best fucking Christmas I ever had, and the sun hadn’t even risen properly yet.
Now, I groan and sit back in my seat, waiting for the food coma to take me under. While the rest of us had gone back to bed, Ana had been dashing around the kitchen like a blue-arsed fly. She’d made Christmas lunch for the whole family and still managed to look like a fucking goddess in her little white cherry dress.
Sammy’s sitting beside me shoving asparagus spears up his nose and pretending to be a walrus. Fuck, I love that kid. He’s like six-year-old me with ADHD. He shoots one of the veggies out of his nose and giggles hysterically, and then from out of nowhere he turns to me and asks, “Hey Lighie, do you and Ana Cabana thleep in the thame bed?”
I choke on my beer. How to answer this one without having Bob cave my head in with his meaty fist? “Er …”
“Sammy!” Ana chastises.
Holly’s laughing her pregnant arse off. Jackson’s shaking his head and Bob’s turned white as a sheet. He’s been eyeing me suspiciously from the head of the table throughout the entire meal, probably because I’ve been staring at Ana like I want to put her over my knee and spank her for making my naughty list this year. I feel my mouth tip up in a crooked smile as Ana’s apologetic gaze meets mine.
“What? I wath just athking if you guyth ever have thleepoverth. When I’m growd up I’m gonna have thleepoverth wif girlth all the time.”
I bump my fist with his tiny one and say, “I don’t doubt that at all, little man.”
“Please do not encourage him. The women of Sugartown are still recovering from you two—” Ana points to me and Jack “—they’re definitely not ready for Sam Belle.”
I laugh. “You just stick with me, mate. When you’re old enough, I’ll teach you everything I know.”
“And the women will run away screaming,” Holly deadpans.
“Ah, but it’s what they’re screaming that counts.”
Ana shoots up out of her chair. “Who wants dessert?”
Everyone mutters their approval and Ana hurries off to the kitchen. I follow after her. Despite the fact that it’s thirty-four degrees outside, she pulls a couple of pies out of the oven and places them on the bench.
“Holy shit, that smells amazing,” I say, breathing in the sweet, homey smell of caramel, pecans and pie crust. “Need some help?”
She just glares at me, so I get to work pulling out bowls and cutlery and the ice-cream from the freezer. As she serves, she sings along to some folky, sweet-sounding song playing from the stereo—thank fuck it’s not Christmassy—and she sounds terrible. Kinda like a cat in heat, but when I look over she’s swaying her hips in a way that makes me want to dance with her. I don’t. Because I’m an Aussie bloke and we don’t fucking dance. Ever. But that doesn’t stop me from fantasising about sliding my hands from her waist to her sexy-as-fuck full hips and down to her completely fuckable arse and back up again.
I move closer and she glances up at me. I half expect her to rim me out for not helping but there’s a hint of curiosity in her gaze. “I have something for you.”
“For me?”
I nod. “It’s my real gift to you.”
She arches her brow and twists her lips into a disapproving frown, like she expects me to whip out my cock and dangle it before her. “Okay, I so do not have time for this.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter, dirty girl,” I tease and then I make out like I’m going to kiss her as I lean over and hook my hands behind her neck. It takes some effort to get the tiny clasp to open and then close on account of my giant hands, but eventually the necklace complies and I let its weight fall and rest against her chest. I step back and allow her to take in her new gift.
A tiny golden swallow rests on a gold chain, just above the line of her cleavage. It’s just as perfect on her as it was on its previous owner—maybe more perfect, and seeing it again on someone so beautiful makes me smile like the cat that didn’t just get the cream, he got the whole fucking carton.
Ana runs her fingers over the swallow and tests its weight in her hand. “It’s beautiful.”
“It was Lil’s. It’s been taped under the seat of my bike since she died. I had a jeweller clean it up and fit it with a new chain a couple weeks back.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t accept this.”
“Yeah, you can.”
“No, Elijah, it was your sister’s. It’s all you have left of her. I can’t take that away from you.”
I ignore all this. It suits her, and I’d rather see someone as perfect as her wearing it than know it was collecting dirt and dust under my bike. Lil would want that, too. Lil would have loved Ana. She would have idolised her, the same way Sammy idolises me. Hell, one look at Ana and Lil would have asked if she could swap siblings. “You know what they mean?”
She shakes her head, no.
“Love, freedom.” I stick my hand out in front of her and turn my palm up, then I trace my finger around a tiny shape beside the reaper, hidden amongst the rest of my tattoo sleeve. It’s Lil’s swallow. Ana’s swallow, now, I guess. Maybe that tattoo was always intended for her and I just didn’t know it. “Loyalty. A swallow represents the loyalty of a person always returning to them. I’ll always return to you, Ana. There’s never been anyone else for me.”
Ana stares up at me, all doe eyes and sad smiles, but there’s something else in her expression, too, and it’s as clear as the day is fucking hot. She wants me. Right here, in this moment, Ana Belle wants to fuck my brains out. It doesn’t change anything, though. She still won
’t allow herself to give into it and I won’t push it upon her because she’s not ready yet, and when I do finally get that woman beneath me I won’t ever be giving her up. Not even if she begs me to.
I pull her in and place a soft kiss to her lips. I hadn’t meant to linger there, but her mouth is so god damned inviting and she doesn’t push me off, so I take the opportunity to draw out the moment I’ve stolen. I don’t force my tongue down her throat, it never even leaves my mouth, but there’s heat all the same because our eyes are open and neither one of us is walking away.
“Ewww, dude,” I hear Sammy whine behind us. He runs back to the dining room complaining, “Dad! Anath’s thucking on Elijath’s face again!”
I place once last kiss against her lips and then I saunter away, feeling satisfied. I’m probably about to be murdered by Ana’s father in the next few minutes, but I don’t care. Every second was worth it.
I’m halfway to the dining room when Ana says, “Elijah?”
“Yeah babe?”
“I love it,” she whispers and gives me a megawatt smile.
Best fucking Christmas ever.
Chapter Thirty Seven
Ana
“Hurry up, bitches, or we’re starting this lame-o movie without you,” Holly yells from the lounge room. Elijah and I are in the kitchen; apparently we’re the designated snack providers for our impromptu cinema night. I swear, sometimes being the only person that can cook in a household of constantly hungry boys and cranky pregnant women kinda sucks arse.
“Yeah, and don’t forget the beer.”
“Popcorn and beer? That’s disgusting!” I hear her say, and Jackson rattles off a list of reasons as to why ‘that shit is the fucking bomb’. “My baby is crying right now inside of me, you know that, don’t you? You’re making him cry with your disgusting eating habits and then he’s going to throw a tanty and start kicking my vagina and then I’ll want to throw up all over you, so could you please, just for once, shut up? And where the heck is my chocolate milk? I had like, half a glass left.”
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