Page 77 of Our Elliana

Weird, right?

“Yeah, I know. But I’ve always been curious about it. I’d hear about movies like that, but Mom and Dad never approved.”

It hits me that this movie has some gore in it, and I study Elle. Yet, she seems unperturbed despite recent events. If she’s good with it, I’m good with it. Remote in hand, I click play, then spy on my housemates as much as I watch the film. Noah and Jackson have their eyes focused exclusively on the big screen, but Elle keeps stealing worried little glimpses at the musician.

During one of the slower, less intense parts at the beginning, Noah leans his head in her direction.

“Please tell me I got all the funk off.”

She buries her nose in his strands, playing with the spikiness of it. “You’re good, honeybunny. I love how soft yours is.”

“Are you saying ours isn’t?” Jackson indicates himself and me, but his usual mischievousness is only partially present.

“Noah has the softest hair. Your hair is curlier and bristlier while Tristan’s is a bit coarser but still silky. Just not as much as Noah’s.”

“So now it’s both silky and soft. I don’t know about you, Tristan, but I feel attacked,” the musician deadpans, or at least I think that’s his intention. Without his customary laying it on thick, it’s difficult to tell.

All I can think to do is play it off.

“Oh, yeah. Clearly, the kid here is the favorite.”

“Yep.” Jackson nods, with only a vestige of his cocky grin.

“I don’t have a favorite,” Elle claims, and I weigh that for authenticity.

We each have our own connection and relationship with Elliana, and up till now, it hasn’t occurred to me to compete with the other two for the top position. She’s most solicitous with Noah, and due to the lunch excursions, has sex more often with Jackson.

But I’ve never minded that. When Elle asks me to come to her bed, she makes me feel like the center of her universe. And I, in turn, return the favor. Even during the wilder times when I’ve been in the room while one of the others is fucking her, I’ve never felt left out.

The scene with the three succubae seducing Keanu Reeves’ Jonathan Harker comes on, and it reminds me of the memory of those women at the strip club. I’d forgotten all about that—or maybe I blocked it out—but I can’t change it. I make myself watch. Harker’s character has to deal with true peril because these creatures obviously mean him harm.

Did those women mean me harm that night?

I shove the memory all the way back into one small corner of my psyche. I no longer want to think about it. That’s old news, and I need to goddamn move on.

The scene continues on the screen, and the succubae bite Harker on the nipple, making him cry out. Noah flinches.

Jackson, snorting, makes this big production of plopping into the kid’s lap.

“So you don’t think you’d like to have your nipple bitten?” Jackson snaps his teeth at thin air.

“Heck no. That looks sick and messed up.”

“Biting anyone to the blood does sound painful,” Elle chimes in. “I’m not vanilla by any means, but that’s pushing beyond my bounds.”

“Sure, full-on biting would be uncool, but nibbling feels good,” Jackson insists, yanking up Noah’s long-sleeved t-shirt.

Before I realize what he’s going to do, Jackson brings his lip-wrapped teeth around one of the kid’s nipples and gives him a hands-on demonstration. I assume Noah will throw off the musician’s over-the-top ass, but he doesn't.

Instead, Noah groans, and it’s not one of pain. Grinning from ear to ear, Jackson hops up, his chin quirking toward Noah’s cock which is now a thick broom handle protruding from the top of his sweatpants.

“See,” Jackson cajoles, his own pupils blown. “You fucking liked it.”

My mind is as blown as his pupils when Elle says, “I for one love to have my nipples nibbled.” She tears her V-necked sweater over her head, exposing a neon yellow bra that’s cut so low it barely encapsulates those nipples she just talked about. Sliding each breast out of the cups, she leaves the bra on, making her tits stand proudly front and center. “Anyone care to try that move out on me?”

I haven’t had sex with her for nearly a week now, and I’m sick of being stuck inside my own head. Sure, that thing at the club happened. And yeah, my folks had better things to do than take care of me during my formative years.

Once, after getting knifed during a mugging when I was seventeen, I was told in no uncertain terms to man up and get myself home from the ER on my own. I wound up taking a taxi. But lots of people have less than ideal childhoods.

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